Nurse Protectors

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It's been some time since I've posted. This year my words have been few, allowing my paintbrush to express what words could not say. Instead of a barrage of chatter, I've only wanted to speak words of life. 

I imagine because of yesterday's routine medical procedure and today being 9/11, I've felt the strong pulse of The Muse inspiring new empathy and compassion. I am feeling the deeper invitation of the role we are all invited to partake in, the role of a tender technician and nurse protectors in a world of flaming towers.

Years ago I had encounters with Red Cross Vehicles regularly appearing in my neighborhood and surrounding areas. I received Red Cross brochures in the mail and even had a woman attend one of my home group meetings who ironically worked for the Red Cross.  I went so far as to research the Red Cross's origin and discovered that it was originally established to bring aid and relief to victims of war. Even though I am not a professional nurse, nor plan to be, the significance of that fact has spoken volumes to me through the years concerning the wars we all face in our individual lives, not to mention corporately, as human beings, thus the poem that follows.

 

NURSE PROTECTORS

Hooked up to wires, 

Warm blanket failing to insulate me from the flood of raw vulnerability,

Windex-clear memory.

 

A tender technician reads the uneasiness on my face.

Hospital lighting taking me back, unearthing tears I thought were all cried out.

Those last goodbyes and scars embedded like arrows in a families heart.

 

A routine IV prick and the thin veneer of a hospital gown have the ability to wobble ones demeanor.

Surrendering to the hands of strangers, skilled or otherwise takes courage. All I needed was a little tenderness.

 

Anesthetist erasing my awareness of my gown open wide, probing and disarming any knowledge of drool on my face.

If only the pain tape could be wiped as clean, the flames in those towers squelched, the diagnoses recalled, the wondering refugees planted in real homes.

Yet where would humanities' empathy and compassion find it's lexicon?

 

I applaud those nurse protectors, those soldiers with hoses dousing our flames. Those words spoken aptly in our time of need, cradling our wobble and soothing an ounce more of humanities pain. 

If not for the courage and bravery to enter another's burning building, to stop in ones tracks and enter the barrage of another's flames, we will only increase in casualties on the battlefield of life. Vulnerability would never be spoken and true connection never made.