Do you remember your first patient? The first patient that was assigned to "your care". Mine was Mrs. Satan. (Names have been changed. Of course.) She hated where she was, she hated life and more importantly she hated me. I should have known I was in for trouble when the nurse that was supervising us students, laughed out loud in my face when I told her who I had picked.

I remember going in the day before clinicals and being very meticulous in my decision for my first patient. I didn't want anything too difficult. I tried hard to steer away from anyone with a trach or foley catheter. The truth is I was scared to death at the thought of touching people and I didn't want to overstimulate myself on my first exposure. She seemed simple enough. No major health concerns besides dementia. Recently had a carotid endartectomy. I was going to have to look that one up when I got home. Comfortable in my decision, I headed home to prepare for a sleepless night. Mostly sleepless due to the ridiculous busy work associated with making sure nursing school clinical instructors felt important and were able to chastise you and humiliate you in front of your peers. (Not that I was treated that way. By no means, but I have heard the stories of some.)

3:30 a.m. came early the next morning. My clinicals were an hour away and I had to be there at 5:30 am. After our briefing and demonstration of lame excuses for prep work, we were released like hounds upon the floors. I'm sure to the outside spectator it looked like a bunch of idiots wandering around trying to be useful and to be honest that's what it felt like. Seasoned nurses weren't interested in helping you develop your skill because for all they knew you were after their job. So we spent the morning assisting the aids who soaked up all the help they could get.  All I wanted to do was blend into the wall paper and pray my NI forgot I was there.

I had a whiff of bravery and went to meet my patient.  She wasn't awake yet.  Oh, Lord.  What if she's dead?  I remember standing in the doorway to her room scared to walk in.  I did not want to be the one to find someone dead.  Screw it.  I'm going home.  What the crap am I doing here.  Nope...must keep going.  Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.  What if I can't wake her up?  Do I yell real loud?  Do I poke her with a stick?  Stick of dynamite? 

No need to worry.  She got up.  We got dressed.  She glared and snarled at me.  She yelled at me for putting her hearing aids on wrong, for not being able to find her remote for her TV, I picked out the wrong clothes, I was stealing her clothes.  I had the audacity of suggesting a shower.  My butt still hurts from that one. 

I thought about her the other day.  I googled her and found her obituary.  She passed away a couple of months after clinicals.  I hope some day, I'm someones first patient.