The Baby Boomer Briefing: A Promise Kept

I’m an ER nurse, but on the night of my 50^th birthday, I worked the graveyard shift on the medical-surgical floor of our small rural hospital. Yup. That right there should give you a clue about how exciting my life is.  

In preparation for the approaching fifth decade, I’d spent months reading every magazine article, online blog and waiting room brochure I could find dealing with life’s second half: “Hairstyles for Women Over 50,” “What People Over 50 Should Throw Away,” “Health Changes Expected After 50,” and, of course, “Celebrities Over 50 – Where Are They Now?”

Nothing about being 50 was going to catch me by surprise. The trick was to survive the first day.

Working Through My Misery

I actually chose to work that night. The alternatives, I figured, were to 1) suffer through a predictable 50^th birthday party in the back room of some restaurant, complete with black “Over the Hill” balloons and ribbon-wound bottles of Milk of Magnesia, or 2) hide at home and mope about the approaching shadows of old age until driven to the freezer to find and finish the reserve supply of chocolate fudge ice cream, hidden away for such emergencies.

Working, on the other hand, seemed a brave way to snub that looming mid-century mark without suffering any ill consequences the next day.  Maybe I couldn’t stop the “Big 5-0” from casting its dreaded shadow across my life, but I would not let it catch me sleeping.

My co-workers did their best to brighten my shift, but crankier than usual, I attacked every “happy birthday” greeting with as much distain as my tired, achy body could muster. Sure, the other nurses were telling me, “Wow! You don’t look 50!” and “If we’d known, we would have stopped at a gas station and bought chips and dip!”

What they secretly meant, however, was, “I suppose you won’t be able to help lift and move patients as well anymore,” and “You’ll probably expect easier assignments now,” and—of course—“When will you find a less stressful job somewhere else so I can climb up the seniority list here?”

The usual patient load was doled out during report, and I was probably given the usual 4-5 patients—the usual collection that likely included a post-surgical patient needing physical therapy, a C.O.P.D. patient with trouble breathing amidst the late-spring pollens, and maybe a little old lady with a urinary tract infection. I don’t remember them.

I only remember one.

Dealing with the Dying

She was in room 211, a 40-year old patient, her body destroyed by cancer. Unable to control the pain at home, she was living her final hours in a hospital bed, surrounded by family and friends, IV poles and pumps, monitors, wound dressing supplies, and a half-dozen pillows used to reposition her deteriorating body.

As a seasoned nurse, I surveyed my patient assignments with no doubts about my ability to provide good care to this woman. After all, a competent nurse can give compassionate care without getting entangled in the emotional webs of the situation.

Or so we tell ourselves.

Besides, I had my own burden to carry. At the stroke of midnight, as anticipated, I turned 50.

50! My knees throbbed in mockery as if to proclaim, “Let the celebrations begin!”  Cursing the familiar arthritic pangs, I reached for the ibuprofen and a swig of cold coffee. Then, the lower extremity joints still griping with every step, I doggedly headed down the hallway to continue my rounds.

The shift moved forward, not measured in hours but in the nursing cadence of call lights, patient assessments, and scheduled IV piggybacks. Sometimes in response to her summons, and other times in anticipation of her needs, I’d slip into room 211 to give the patient more pain medications, offer a sip of water, or reposition her frail body from one side to the other. The dim lighting in the room and the soft music emitting from the CD player by the window offered what kindnesses they could to the occupants sitting around the bed, but nothing could hide the tears moistening her mother’s cheeks, the soft sniffing of her teenage children, or the sorrow in her husband’s eyes as he held her hand.

My keen nursing power of observation understandingly noted their heartbreak. Hour by hour, again and again. And each time I left the room, an unwelcomed feeling swelled a little higher out of the pit of my guts. Gulping down a determined breath, I’d squeeze the vile feeling back into its pit.

Every nurse will tell you that weakness is their most dreaded enemy, the bane of professional behavior. Yet, even seasoned nurses know when they’ve met their match. Around 4 a.m. I ducked into the medication alcove behind the nurses’ station to grapple with my overwhelming emotion.

Not pity. Not sorrow. Not heartache.

Raging at Reality

I was angry. ANGRY! Angry that I lived in a society that places diminishing value on years of life, and even angrier that, there I stood, buying the lie.

Closing my eyes to deny the tears an escape route, I imagined walking back into room 211 and clearing my throat. “Excuse me, folks, I know you have problems, but just to let you know, today I turn 50, and I don’t think I can handle this burden.”

And I imagined the patient turning to look at me and replying with her weak voice, “I’ll take those 10 extra years. They won’t be a burden at all.”

Ten years. One decade. How should we measure it? By the spinning of the planet? The digital face of a clock? The pages of a calendar? Or do we measure it by the markings we’re taught to fear? Gray hairs. Facial wrinkles. Varicose veins. A busier bladder.

I thought of how my patient would measure an extra decade…by celebrating a son’s graduation, rejoicing at a daughter’s wedding, helping with the health needs of a parent, hugging the first grandchild, growing older alongside her spouse.

So ordinary, but never to be.

As the birds began chirping outside and the world lightened around the eastern horizon, my mind flooded with images of my past 10 years: as big as the flights around the world, and as simple as the walks down my autumn painted street. Memories overflowed of the people I loved dearly, and the people I still struggled to love—all of them woven into my life’s precious tapestry.

In short, I held 10 years that I hadn’t earned and couldn’t purchase with all the gold in this world. Ten years that my patient would never experience, despite the fervent pleas rising from that room.

Shedding a Light on Life

She couldn’t be healed, but my patient would be honored. I made a promise as the sun rose that I would never, never, NEVER complain about another birthday.

My 50^th birthday passed. So did my patient in room 211. Within the next 24 hours, the room was cleaned, sanitized and soon occupied with another patient, cared for by another nurse. So is the way of the world.

That patient’s memory lives on. She’s remembered by her family and friends, certainly. But I, too, will remember her always. For over a decade, I’ve kept my promise. Although I can no longer remember her name or face, every year I thank that patient for the priceless gift she gave me that night.

It was the most important birthday present I ever got – the unforgettable reminder that life is a gift. A glorious, undeserved, “HALLELUIAH-I’M-ALIVE!” gift.  Every single year. Every single gray hair. Every single ache and pain.

That’s why I’m here, blogging The Baby Boomer Briefing. I’m not a scholar, nor a genius, nor even particularly profound, but I know that when life gives you a blessing it’s meant to be paid forward. So in the coming weeks I’ll share my post-50 ponderings and offer some practical to-do lists to help lift your load, too.

Take it from this baby boomer ER nurse: Life is a crazy thing, and we all can use a helping hand.

Gratitude Day by Day

TO DO LIST to celebrate life each day:

1. When you open your eyes in the morning, let your first thought be thankfulness for another day of life. Not everyone gets the chance to try again.
2. Realize that everyone carries a burden. When your problems start weighing you down, reach out to help someone with bigger problems than yours. It doesn’t have to be a huge sacrifice – a phone call, text, gas station greeting card or Facebook message are all good places to start.
3. Remember that the same thing that picks you up will uplift others, too. In the middle of your daily routine, make deliberate eye contact with someone and give them a warm, sincere smile. You’ll be amazed by the reaction.
4. Find something to laugh about. (When I run out of ideas for this, I just look in the mirror. Works every time.)
5. Let your last thought of the day be like your first thought: gratitude for another day of life. You have been blessed.