Celebrating International Nurse’s Day, The Lady With The Lamp

I proudly present guest blogger and my talented daughter Aimée Grosz, who has had the courage, and fortitude to practice nursing in three foreign settings.  I can’t think of anyone more qualified to write about experiences in transcultural nursing, than Aimée!

 

Today is May 12th, and It’s the first time I’m actually aware and giving reverence to this special day. It’s the birthday of Florence Nightingale, the founder of the profession of Nursing of which her birth is celebrated globally as International Nurse’s Day.

Florence was made famous by the Crimean War, reducing mortality by two-thirds in establishing sanitary means in the hospital. She was remembered by soldiers at night as ‘the lady with the lamp’ administering aid at their bedside.

When I was a nursing student, I was inspired by Florence Nightingale’s philosophy of healing. It’s a profession that I can say I am proud of, that validates my beliefs in healthcare, an essential science based on the beneficial effects of caring and holistic approach of the entire individual and their environment and surroundings.

This is a role that I have been blessed to take part in Benin, West Africa and professionally practice in the US, Switzerland, France, and a US military hospital in Germany.

Every single human has a story to tell, and as a psychiatric nurse, I always believed in this basic principle of being testimony to another soul, allowing the voice of a suffering human to be heard, to be understood. I thought if anything, in my role, no matter how complicated, bad, hopeless, or despair a person was in, I at least could be that listening ear at their side and actively engage what they wanted to express, allow them to feel, cry, scream.

There is a satisfaction to being heard and understood; it keeps dignity and respect intact to that individual, and lets them process and be where they need to be. And what is even more important, is the more they hang on and breathe and live, the more hope is around the corner.

I was an avid reader of National Geographic as a child, and learning about other cultures had instilled in me a desire to travel. My first opportunity was after I graduated from Tulane,  when I joined the Peace Corps and was sent to a tiny village with no running water and electricity in Benin, West Africa.

My official title was Guinea Worm Eradication Specialist. The large and short of this tale, is that I went from village to village in my precinct with a guide who translated into local dialect my instruction, telling people to filter their river water supply through a fabric (that would filter the microscopic crustacea that had guinea worm larvae).

The guinea worm larvae grows its cycle inside the human body. To complete its cycle for further reproduction, this gruesome long, fragile thin worm bores a hole and exits very slowly, causing an open wound leaving the person to high fevers, inabilty to work in their farming fields, and having high risk for infection which becomes more deadly than having the high fevers.

This illness, Dracunculiasis, dates back to biblical times, and theories are it may have been the symbol for medicine with the drawing of a worm wrapped around a stick. The reason being is that with guinea worm, a tiny match like stick is attached to the wound because the worm takes over 6 weeks to completely come out. If the worm breaks, it goes back in the body and rebores another hole. That is why it’s very important to have the worm coiled on a stick.

After these village meetings, each and every person afflicted with a physical ailment came out of the woodwork: adults with elephantisis, Gastroschisis, a birth defect of the abdominal (belly) wall, bacteria eating wounds, malaria, dengue fever.  The Peace Corps issued me a large tin canister of aspirin tablets to give, and believe me, it was considered like gold and very appreciated.

I saw medical ailments that were taught to me in textbooks with photos, but with living humans in front of me and asking for help, all I had was a tin canister of aspirin. Reality was hard, and needless to say this was very overwhelming during my stay of one and half years.

I felt powerless as I began to observe how healthcare is managed in third world countries, and at the end of my stay became very malnourished and sad from being alone isolated in a village.

Overall, my experience with the Peace Corps though was a window to the world and forever changed me for the good. I learned so much from the villagers about many things.

One of which was their festive celebrations when someone died. They would tell me that the person died no longer suffered and was freed to go back to the other side.

They would have a 3 day wake with continual music playing. It reminded me exactly of the jazz musical dirges with a marching band in New Orleans that I saw as child! There were other similarities as Benin was the birthplace of voodoo. But most importantly the villagers taught me the beauty and joy of simple living and the value of being with family.

It was at Payne Whitney Clinic in New York City that I began work as a nurse in acute psychiatric care. I learned so much as it was never tranquil with crises every day. I recognized how one’s culture, religious and dietary habits, and maternal language were so important to healing.

After 3 years there, I still always had my travel desires, and therefore this work experience gave me confidence, incorporating the Big Apple adage, ” If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere! “. This became my launching pad to go discover healthcare in Europe.

Acquiring accreditations to practice nursing in France wasn’t easy. Many sacrifices were made, but I wanted to follow my dream. In the beginning, I worked as an English teacher. Mom was doing her weekly psychotherapy discussions at cafe Jussieu about mental illness and treatment modalities.

At the cafe talks, I started to learn about European psychiatric schools of thought including psychoanalytic ( origins of Freud and Lacan) and France’s adaptation to ‘Western influences’, meaning American neurobiological basis of mental illness. I instinctively remember meeting a French psychoanalyst telling me that “Americans monopolized France with McDonalds, and now they are doing the same by spreading SSRI medications!”.

One of my students told me I could work in a hospital and conduct clinical research studies. I took a one year course at a French university while continuing to teach english, passed an exam in french, and landed a job with Professor Pierre Amarenco in Neurology at Bichat Hospital in Paris.

This job helped me so much because not only did it expose me to French hospital care for patients with strokes and heart attacks, but it forced me to speak french which I built up my fluency.  I loved talking with the French nurses, and I began to miss working as a nurse. It was at that time, I was informed that my American nursing degree was accepted in Switzerland.

Et voila! Off to the French and Swiss Alps at a private psychiatric clinic that was next to Lac Leman with the Alps and the snowy peaks visible of Mont Blanc in the background. I was happy to practice nursing again.

I had the opportunity to care for many english speakers renowned from all over the world who wanted private anonymous care in Switzerland. And particular patients sometimes would carry on with their lavish comfort having their private chauffeur at their beck and call and installing cable satellite to the roof of the clinic so that they could have the comforts of their country’s channels. It was a beautiful historical clinic dating back to the late 1800’s that was a forerunner for treating mentally ill patients with dignity.

The Iraq war was going on at that time, and there was a lack of military psychiatric personnel to take care of the ever increasing amount of soldiers coming back afflicted with PTSD and suicide attempts. I felt called to take the job and move to the countryside of Landstuhl, Germany where the American military hospital was based as the major European headquarter ‘pit stop’ as short term transit to care for soldiers coming from Iraq and going back to the States for further care.

Out of all my nursing experiences, I can say that this one was the most emotional for me. It really was heart rendering to encounter our American youth, men and women, and be witness to their sufferings. I always told people, ” I am not for the war, but I am for the soldier! ” All blessings to every single man and woman who have served. There are not enough words for their sacrifice and courage.

Now, I am living in Paris, France, and I work at Saint Anne Hospital. Last week’s post described the beautiful gardens and statues where I work. I work in a outpatient clinic for Rehabilitation for those with schizophrenia. It’s nice because it places the role of advanced nursing and allows our team to be a forefront in being leaders of our speciality in training other nurses or other outpatient clinics in France.

I have to say that the love and support of my mom has helped me tremendously in following my dreams and sharing my love for travel. A large part of fulfilling this dream goes to her. My mother has a lot of gumption like her father who served in WW 2 as a fighter pilot. I always called my mom my giddy-up girl with the American bravado to follow her dreams. Thank you, mom. I love you!

Happy International Day to all Nurses!