Editor’s Note: For now over 75 years, The Baylor Line has been publishing vivid storytelling from across the Baylor Family. I don’t think our archives full of deep, inspirational features should live solely on shelves, so we are bringing them back to life in BL Classics. In this June 1973 Classic article, Baylor School of Nursing alumna Mary Nell Arnold reflects on the trials and tribulations of a young nurse-to-be.
As far back as I can remember I have always wanted to be a nurse—one of those white-capped heroines who can fix up any situation from splinters to chicken pox. Of course. I abandoned the idea a couple of times in hopes of becoming a great movie star, but my lack of acting ability and my need to be a nurse prevailed and I finally went off to Baylor University to seek the fame and fortune of the medical world. Now that I have almost completed nursing school, I look back and see that after four years of hard work, miles of tape and gauze, two years of lost sleep, several dozen pairs of white support hose, much thought and pondering, and much love and understanding from patients, family, instructors, and dear friends, a transition has taken place in me–I’ve become a nurse!
The transition had its beginning in Waco in two wonderful and carefree years of academic work. It is during these two years that a nursing student delves into the world of microbiology, anatomy, and chemistry. These studies made life less carefree because I was not scientifically inclined, but I memorized the scientific approach and somehow survived. Life was not by any means totally academic, and some of my best memories will be from this period of my life. I loved staying up late to talk, eating out of vending machines and popcorn poppers, walks with someone special, football games, All University Sing, and Burleson Quadrangle in the spring. Looking back on it, I think I even liked Chapel!
This time was also memorable for the fact that I learned to get along on my own for the very first time. I don’t think my checkbook ever balanced the first two years and I was constantly trying to figure out a way to keep my mother from knowing what I had written checks for. A check for sixty-seven cents to Jim Dandy Fried Chicken was not impressive to my mother, but neither was my greenish-blue underwear and sheets which had been washed with jeans and a Baylor sweatshirt. The most important decision of that time seemed to be whether I could afford El Chicos Restaurant and escape dormitory food. It was a good time, but I became anxious during this time that my raw talent was going to waste away while I studied English, political science, and sociology. This had not been my idea of nursing school. Where were the syringes, needles, operating rooms, and white caps?
Seeing the first breaths of life . . . and the last . . . evoked some ageless questions about he meaning of life and death.
Just when I felt I could stand the waiting no longer, Dean McLaughlin of the Nursing School would come to Waco. Now the Dean was from Dallas–that place that every pre-nursing student holds dearest to her heart, that place closest to heaven on earth. Because in that most esteemed of all cities existed the Baylor University School of Nursing. Any news from the Dean or the Dallas campus was NEWS. I always listened carefully, hoping to find out some precious piece of knowledge that would shed more light on my ultimate destination. The Dean would come and talk enthusiastically, although I surely didn’t need enthusiastic talks to make me enthusiastic; I was raring to go! It was during these visits that the Dean told us about the new integrated curriculum in which nursing was taught in broad concepts rather than in the block courses such as nutrition or surgical nursing. It sounded great but I was a little confused; however, it didn’t make any difference because at least she was talking as if someday we would be nurses.
Finally, after two years came the day that we all ordered our new green uniforms and our very own monogrammed bandage scissors, a must for a nursing student, and bought our orthopedic support shoes. It seemed to me that life had just begun!
On July twelfth, we were all to report to the Dallas campus for a six weeks orientation to nursing. At last the time had come. I came from a very small town, and it is hard to describe how I felt coming to Dallas the first time. My mother and father brought me, and it is an understatement to say that my high spirits were dampened upon getting lost in Dallas the first time. My father, being a male, refused to stop and ask questions because he was sure he knew exactly where we were. After miles of futile and exasperating driving, a feeling of hysteria set in and it was a feeling I soon learned would accompany all my driving experiences in Dallas. When my parents left, I moved myself into Wilma Bass Hall, that legendary edifice of the Dallas campus which has a swimming pool and volleyball court. It was so exciting, and yet, it was the most frightening and the loneliest experience I can remember. That city seemed so strange and large to me even with familiar faces all around and there were so many new experiences just ahead.
That six weeks was a very trying time. There was so much to learn, not only from books and instructors, but about ourselves and other people.
The very first couple of weeks we were thrust out upon the public! At that point, we had mastered how to take a blood pressure, a temperature, and a pulse and how to count respirations. Our first assignment was to go on to the hospital floor and take one temperature, pulse, blood pressure and count the patient’s respirations. There were so many extremely important things to remember in carrying out this task—like to wash the thermometer off before putting it into the patient’s mouth and shaking it down before using it.
I had four hours to complete this task and it took every minute of the four hours. My patient was a sixteen-year-old boy and I was petrified of him. I was so scared of him that I couldn’t find the thermometer, which was sitting exactly where it was supposed to be. When I finally found it I was so nervous that I forgot to wash it off and shake it down! Next, I tried to take his pulse, which is traditionally found in the wrist but which escaped my anxious index finger. After several unsuccessful tries, I looked at my new Timex nurse’s watch for a minute and made up what seemed to be a good figure.
Now when a nurse counts respirations, the number of times a patient breathes in a minute, she does it in such a way that the patient doesn’t know what she is doing. This is because he might breathe differently knowing he is being observed and, so she is supposed to watch out of the corner of her eye. Well, my patient stopped breathing, or so it appeared to me. Finally, I began staring at his chest and I put my hand down on his rib cage—it was what I would call an obvious attempt at watching someone breathe. After an eternity, he sighed once and I made up another vital statistic.
Last came his blood pressure. After pumping up the cuff at least three times, by which time his arm had turned blue, I heard the precious sounds I had read about so often in my skills book. I’m sure I would have succeeded much earlier had I put the stethoscope in my ears. All of it was such a painful experience because I was so scared of being recognized as the new nursing student that I was—what a stigma to have to live with! I longed so much for a slight bit of confidence, but there was none at all to rely on, just blundering inexperience and awkwardness.
It is during this time that a student nurse has her first encounter with bedpans. There were lots and lots of bedpans. I had a very victorious feeling when I finally learned how to manipulate these fine pieces of equipment in such a way that they were beneficial to the patient and not disastrous to me. I learned a lesson quickly about bedpans: if you squirt water into them sharply to rinse them out, they will squirt it sharply back all over your new green uniform, hose and shoes. One develops a firm but gentle hand with bedpans.
Of course, learning to give shots is of prime importance during this time. I must have given fifty in one day–all in one absolutely beautiful Sunkist orange! I have been great with oranges ever since. So went the first six weeks and the transition had really begun.
In the fall, we began obstetrical nursing, that field of nursing which deals so closely with the real miracle of life. We all followed mothers through the long and arduous task of bringing a new human life into the world. I remember quite well my very first mother. It was her first baby and she, her husband and I were an ecstatic trio. As labor grew harder, she would moan and groan, and then her husband and I would moan and groan. When we finally wheeled her to delivery, I was excited and very nervous. I scrubbed in on her case and was so shaky that I put my thumb and finger in the same finger of the glove and it stayed that way throughout the delivery. The doctor arrived and began telling our patient to push. I found myself pushing madly but it didn’t seem to help her much. Finally, a beautiful baby boy was delivered and I was awed and amazed by the sight. In that one minute, my faith in God was renewed and exalted to a point that it had never been before.
It seems strange that during that same time I became aware of death for the very first time. With all the emptiness and sadness of death, I began to wonder about God. I saw a baby fight for his life, but at last too tired of fighting the odds against him, he gave up and died. I wondered why God would let such a fresh little creature die. These experiences brought many questions which my limited experience and lack of wisdom could not answer, and many times I felt tired, lost, and disillusioned. It was during this time that I wanted to go back to Waco and enjoy a carefree life again.
I did go back to Waco on weekends and visited with all my old friends. However, when I went back things seemed to have changed. I didn’t find nearly as much fun, and all my friends seemed different. I pondered the situation because I really longed for the old times. Then it occurred to me that I had changed, that all the experiences in nursing school from births to deaths had really added something to me and that I would never be able to go back to things the way they used to be.
The concerns of nursing a withdrawn and often tearful cancer patient caused its effects on study and sleep.
Next came geriatric nursing, nursing of the elderly. I had made up my mind that I was going to hate this six weeks, but to my surprise I really enjoyed it. That is, I enjoyed it until I was assigned to take care of Marvin and Sudie K. Marvin and Sudie were husband and wife, and both had multiple problems, not the least of which was Marvin’s broken hip and Sudie’s inability to swallow. Let me say here that I have a very easily stimulated gag reflex—a problem which has proved disastrous in nursing school. Sudie had fourteen pills to take at eight in the morning, and it took from eight until nine to accomplish this task. She would try to get them down by popping them into her mouth with copious amounts of water, but she would usually choke on them and the pills and water would land in my hand—then I gagged. When I finally finished this, I was nauseated, but I still had to give Marvin a bath. He liked everything to be warm so I filled the tub with very hot water and turned on the very effective heater. It seemed at least 120 degrees in the bathroom. Then, by myself, I got Marvin from his wheelchair into the bathtub. Somehow between the wheelchair and the bathtub, with Marvin suspended in midair, I got very sick from the heat and the previous pill episode. I lost my breakfast in Marvin’s bathtub and then had to get Marvin back into his wheelchair so I could crawl away and die. I topped that whole experience off by charting all fourteen of Sudie’s medications on Marvin’s chart and all Marvin’s on Sudie’s.
The next semester we were introduced to psychiatric nursing, an area which is a challenge to one’s ability to ask questions. A good psychiatric nurse can find a question to ask from every utterance a psychiatric patient makes. For instance: Patient: “It’s a nice day outside.” Nurse: “What causes you to think it is a nice day?” This period was very destructive to my ego because of my experiences with one particular patient with whom I was to talk for one hour once a week. She always hid from me, and I spent forty-five minutes of the hour looking for her. She said I asked too many questions! I guess she hadn’t read my psychiatric handbook on therapeutic techniques. I’m afraid I didn’t learn a great deal about my patient during this time, but I learned a lot about myself. I asked myself so many questions that I began to think I was schizophrenic. I finally returned to my more normal state of mind.
Mixed into our curriculum was a wealth of experience in medical-surgical nursing. The faculty of Baylor University School of Nursing has a real talent for picking out the most choice patients to assign students for laboratory experience. Finding out one’s laboratory assignment was like going to the dentist to see what he can find to fix. The patients were usually a conglomeration of medical problems which usually included diarrhea.
One of my first patients in this experience was a lovely lady named Mrs. B. She was a young mother who had had cancer and was treated with cobalt. These treatments had left her extremely thin, almost completely bald, and with several open wounds. She had withdrawn into herself and, in a way, had given up hope. In taking care of her, my feelings on dying and on her general state of being got in the way. She cried a great deal, and I didn’t know how to help her cope with her situation. Any experience I had had before seemed of no use with her now.
I got so wrapped up with her case that it really started affecting my life—I couldn’t study or sleep or do anything else. I finally prayed to God, asking that He take care of her and help her to get better. After that, I didn’t worry so much about her and, in fact, I really lost touch of her care. I heard that she went home after five months of hospitalization.
Not long ago I walked into a restaurant and saw Mr. B. sitting with an unfamiliar but lovely lady. I greeted him and then paused awkwardly because I wanted to ask about Mrs. B. but was scared she had died or they had divorced. After a few minutes, a voice said, “Well, aren’t you going to speak to me!” It, of course, was Mrs. B. That was my finest moment of nursing school. The Lord had really done an excellent job.
Over the past two years, I have had many challenging experiences that have taught me to rely on myself in making decisions. I have grown in my confidence and I don’t feel nearly so awkward as I used to. I have had happy experiences like the one involving Mrs. B., and I have had sad ones like the time that my twelve-year-old patient died of heart failure a week before Christmas. I have learned that nursing can be hard emotionally as well as physically because you make yourself very vulnerable to life and to the experiences it deals out. It has been very rewarding and I’m thankful I picked a school that stresses nursing human beings and their problems rather than medical problems as such. I’m thankful, too, that the achievement of my educational goal is approaching and that the transition from apprehensive beginner to confident practitioner has been accomplished.
Mary Nell (Larson) Arnold received her Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing May 18, 1973. She plans to work as a staff nurse at Wadley Hospital in Texarkana, Tex., where her husband, Tom (JD ’72), is a practicing attorney.
