A Registered Nurse from Detroit reflects on her life altering experience in Baton Rouge, LA.
Here I sit in a strange chair, breathing air I don't know in an airport I've never been in. I am ill. I feel shaky and disoriented. It's as if I'm time traveling and my cells are not configuring properly.
I left my home nine days ago and return a different person. Then I was a wife, mother, sister, daughter and a friend. I worked full time as a nurse at a job I loved and felt useful at. There were boundaries and boarders that I could define.
But then Katrina made contact with people's lives, and I went to help. Was it for them, or to answer some need I felt? I may never know.
I flew to a city I had never seen, paid for by a group I had never known. I took my first solo taxi ride to a hospital that seemed to have been part of the distant past with the appearance of a jail. Within 10 minutes I had a nursing license in Louisiana, and picked a bed out of the seven in one of the 6 rooms on 5N. It was to be my home for the next nine days.
I immediately changed and went to work, and passed meds to people displaced, or left, or caught in a gun fight. They spoke with an accent I had never heard, and often didn't understand. Every staff member, nurse, supervisor, CNA, housekeeper, pharmacy tech, greeted me with a smile and a "Welcome Miss Diane."
Later, throughout the remainder of this day, I met the first of the 35 new faces I would commit to my memory, and to my heart. All were nurses, all but one from California – a place as foreign to me as Baton Rouge. All had come for the same reason, to help in any way they could.
We spent a week covering the floors, listening to the "war stories" of surviving not only the hurricane, but the time after. The stories were offered by the patients, their family, friends, the staff, and any and all persons we met if we ever left the hospital. Everyone seemed to need to talk it through to be able to make it part of their past. We would start IV’s, do dressing changes, or sponge baths, and listen with our mouths agape, and our hearts leaking. This area was in shock.
They had lost much of what tied them to who they were, and they were struggling to redefine themselves in this new world. The staff of this hospital that had not had their homes destroyed and pumped into Lake Pontchatrain were exhausted from their valiant efforts to make a dent in the suffering. And yet, every person I met greeted me with a smile and left me with a "Thank you Miss Diane. Thank you for coming to help us."
Now as I try to put myself back into the role I had nine days ago, I can't seem to fit. I know some of the patients are still in the hospital, the staff continues to care for them. Some will rebuild, some will move. The group of nurses, my new family, are also returning to their previous lives. A new smaller group will fill our rooms again and help and listen while doing whatever nurses can. And I sit here, in this chair, in this airport, on my way home and some of the cells that won't fit back in leak from my eyes.
It was quite a week. Thank you to the California Nurses Association for the experience. You are all true to the profession.