Friday's Potpourri

Long ago, I really WAS a nurse. I loved it. For years now, I've had my dream job: wife, mother and the most fun job of all, grandmother.

I was planning to write a little bit of this and that in this blog, hence the title. That was until I got my mail and discovered two articles from my mother. I should have known something was up. My mother doesn't send much mail. Seriously, if I get anything from her, I save it just so when I die each kid could have a little of her handwriting, it is that rare. Anyway, she sent me an obituary and tribute to Dr Farrel Hansen, a doc I used to work with many moons ago when I was an RN. I've since been doing some reminiscing about that part of my life. In those days, some of the biggest jerks you could meet (or work with) were doctors. Well, not all of them, but some of them. That was before they gave them lessons on bedside manner, etc. I remember working with one doctor in the ER. He said, nurse, do this. Nurse, do that, etc. When he knew the sixteen-year old orderly's name, I said, "Doctor the nurse's name is Sandy, (That was WAY before I was Mom 'O Nine) and my name badge is right here if you forget." After that, if he saw me coming down the hall in the hospital, he went WAY over to the other side. I was walking with one of my coworkers after that and said, "Look doctor so and so is coming down the hall and he avoids me like the plague." She said she was certain I was wrong until he veered WAY over to the edge of the hall. We had a good laugh. I can't even remember his name. We'll call him the "doctor".

I remember "young" Dr Staker. I guess not to be confused with "Old" Dr Staker? He was a compassionate man. I had gone home to Idaho for my aunt's funeral. The hospital needed help in their intensive care unit, so I worked a couple of weeks while I was home. I only worked with him for a week or so, but I remember him. An elderly patient who had outlived every single one of her family members was admitted from the nursing home that was attached to the hospital. Dr Staker told me she was going to die that night and to treat her just like she was my family member. I had tears flowing all night. I remember it as a quiet, reverent night, but her passing left me feeling very drained and sad. My patient the next night died, too. I think there were three in a row. The fourth night, Dr Staker came in and I looked at him and smiled. He asked if I was having a better evening. I told him I was. He checked his patients and said "It will be a good night for you, Sandy, I don't feel the destroying angel's presence this evening." That man really understood life and death.

The article mom sent had some pictures of Dr Hansen. (I attempted to get a couple of them for this post from The Post Register on line, but didn't want to pay their $6 online membership fee.) There were some pictures of him as I remember him; a tall, brown haired middle age man taking care of a patient. He was wearing a sterile gown made out of cloth, not a paper gown like we have now. Those were the days. There was also picture of him with ice all over his face and beard with a backpack on his back. He loved to hike tall mountains. He was quite an adventurer. I remember telling Dr Hansen I was going to marry Mr. Wonderful. I was running up the stairs of the hospital to the fifth floor and he was coming down. He told me I was too young to be getting married--wait until I was at least 30. (I didn't take his advice.) When I found out I had a genetic disease that I more than likely would pass on to my children, I consulted him. He said, "Sandy, I wouldn't let that stop you from having children. They will get more from you than a disease." In 1981, after Mr Wonderful got out of the Navy, I spent the summer working in the emergency room. I enjoyed working when Dr Hansen was on duty. He was professional, quiet, calm, and a teacher.

Along with his four grown children, Dr Hansen had a little "late in life" child, Alexander. He was a little blue eyed blonde angel of a child, and obviously his father's pride and joy. He stayed at the nurses' station a few times with us while his dad checked on patients. Alex loved chocolate ice cream cones and always wanted us to blow up a balloon (latex glove) for him. He died when he was five years; had darted in front of a truck. I felt really bad for Dr Hansen--couldn't even imagine the pain of losing a child. His marriage didn't survive the tragedy. The article said Dr Hansen had married again, climbed many mountains, served two missions. There was also a picture of him as a elderly man, frail with the effects of Parkinson's disease. All in all it seems life went on and was good to him. As I read the articles, I realized that I don't have the bittersweet memories of Dr Hansen and his little son that I used to have. All is well. They are together again. What a reunion that must be.

I decided to leave the title of this blog "Friday's Potpourri. It seems to fit. I had looked up potpourri to make certain I had spelled it correctly. In French, it literally means "rotten pot". That is quite a leap from the fragrant leaves, petals, spices, etc. we usually associate with the word, or a collection of ideas as I had originally planned to write about. Without the Atonement of Christ, our entire life would be a "rotten pot". Because of Christ, and his tremendous love and gift to us, potpourri is possible. Actually, much more is possible, but you get my drift. May you have a very nice weekend. "See you next week!"