The Day I Started Celebrating Nurses

I have always been fond of nurses. So much so, I married one. Actually, my wife was not yet a nurse at the time but a Nurse’s Aide, and my affinity for nurses goes back even further.

My mother and I were set to board a U.S.-bound military transport ship in Yokosuka, Japan, when a review of our records showed that we lacked documentation that would allow us passage. We were travelling without my mother’s husband (my newly adoptive father whom I had yet to meet) because he was a navy man who had already been transferred back to the states. Given my mom’s limited English and the bureaucratic confluence of customs, immigration, and military regulations, ours was not a situation that would find quick relief. When my mom began wiping away tears, I was bewildered, clueless to what was happening.

My mother had talked up “America” for months and I was eager to board the ship and get the journey underway. I spent much of my time in the terminal daydreaming about my heroes who either swung samurai swords or baseball bats. I knew that America was where baseball came from but I had also resigned myself to not watching another samurai movie anytime soon. That was until I saw my very first American western, “Rio Bravo” starring John Wayne, just months before. I realized then that the western was very similar to a samurai movie and I could easily imagine a cowboy with a six-shooter AND a samurai sword.

But as my mother negotiated and pleaded with the authorities, I sensed that America was not too keen on us. Returning to the bench in the middle of the embarkation terminal, her crying became more pronounced, and my bewilderment turned to dread. I was convinced that her sobbing meant we would not only miss the ship, but would never be allowed into America. Clutching my mother’s arm, I too began to weep.

It was that moment--as if the star appears for the first time on the big screen--a nurse walked into the terminal and immediately caught everyone’s attention. She chatted briefly with a naval officer who directed her our way. As she approached, I tried to hide behind the bench but stumbled and scraped my knee. I attempted a furtive glance, but instead made eye contact with her just as she scrunched her brow, cocked her head to one side and exaggerated a sad face, then offered up a huge grin. I was captivated--it was the very first time I ever saw a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Standing in front of us, she wore a very kind face with soft features that offset her crisply starched white blouse and white skirt. She also wore white stockings, white shoes, and her light golden hair up in a bun that was partially hidden by a white nurse’s cap. She seemed the very model of the circa 1960 registered nurse. When she sat down beside us and began speaking to my mother in Japanese, I saw her as our angel, a beautiful and blithe spirit who, with an arm around mom’s shoulders, comforted her with a warm and reassuring tone that proved a gentle salve for my mother’s fractured emotions.

Within a few minutes the nurse had mom smiling and soon escorted us to the medical dispensary where we would receive new physicals. Apparently, our health records were incomplete, and the officials had to make sure that we would not be importing any exotic diseases. The nurse also put antiseptic on my scraped knee and introduced me to the Band-Aid. Within a couple of hours, we were cleared to board the ship.

I departed for the states that day with three ideas embossed prominently in my thoughts: 1) baseball is best in America; 2) don’t mess with John Wayne without a samurai sword; and 3) if you get hurt playing baseball or messing with John Wayne, find a nurse.

My wife became an RN in her own right a few years after we were married, and whenever I remind her of this story, my brunette wife is quick to add jokingly that it also explains why I was so attracted to blondes in my youth. Of course, she does not mention that she too has helped heal countless physical and emotional wounds throughout her years as a nurse. I have read the many cards and letters addressed to her from grateful patients and family members who have been deeply touched by her caring.

While the doctor may be working on the best strategy to fight the disease or ailment, it is the nurse who is treating the patient, so take a moment to think about who took care of you or your loved ones in the hospital or clinic. Nurses give much to help others--too often to their own detriment--so wish those angels the very best (no matter the color of their hair).