Watching the movie
Atonement recently, why was I so moved during the scenes of WWII-era nurses rushing through a besieged London hospital to triage wounded soldiers being trucked in from the front? Why did watching the terrified and beleaguered nurses dressing the horrific wounds of war move me to tears? What was it about the heroism (and I do see it as heroism) of those nurses that caught me unawares? Is it that one of my aunts served in Patton's Army and saw such horrors first-hand? Was it the years of watching M*A*S*H and seeing how nurses---aside from being sex objects and handmaidens to overblown male doctors' egos---actually carry out the day-to-day care that can spell the difference between life and death, between full recovery and permanent disability (while the docs retreat to drink martinis)? Is it my astronomically low dose of Prozac?
I think what I felt in that moment (sentimentalist that I am) was an unedited response to a (admittedly) Hollywood depiction of how nurses have always been, and will always be, on the front line of care. Whether male or female, whether ready for Hollywood or not, nurses are the backbone of the global healthcare system, and their presence has meant the world to billions of patients since time immemorial. While
Florence Nightingale (remember her?) staked her claim during the
Crimean War , and
Lillian Wald changed history with the
Henry Street Settlement , many more nameless and faceless nurses have followed in those women's high-profile footsteps, hopefully properly feted by friends and family, but unnoticed by the wider world.
But it isn't recognition we seek as nurses, is it? If so, we're in the wrong business. It wasn't for the pay. It certainly wasn't for the glamorous outfits or the sexy shoes. (Maybe it was the hats?) But seriously, only we know---deep down---why we really became nurses. As cliche as it might sound, we stand on the shoulders of those nurses who came before us, and whether we acknowledge it or not, we are reaping the rewards for their blood, sweat equity, and tears.
So, yeah, I cried during
Atonement more than once, the most profoundly when I saw those nurses running towards the wounded and the dying. Sentimental? Sure. Cliche and maudlin? You bet. Heartfelt? Without a doubt. And thankful that I am proudly yet another nurse passing through the pages of human history? Assuredly and unapologetically so.
