Becoming...

This poem tells the story of the student nurse transition to registered nurse. In my time and before. Uniforms were slightly different depending where you worked. I’ve captured as many variations as I could.

Becoming

The day she became a nurse.

The day she became a nurse.
Checked blue dress. Regulation length.
Cuffs. White.
Starched apron.

Her belt. A silver buckle. Kept all in place.
Hair carefully folded. Cardboard hat.
Held in place with hair pins.
Hair tied back. In a bun.

Black lace up shoes.
Cream tights.
Navy cape.
Blood red lining. Scarlet red sash.

Nails, short and clean.
Simple gold band on ring finger. No stones.
No nail varnish. Definitely no false eyelashes.
Makeup aesthetically pleasing.

Badge proudly stating her name.
Worn with pride.
Her fob watch. Inscribed with love.
Hidden away from sight, so as not to harm.

Yes, sister, no sister 3 bags full sister.
Nurse this; nurse that.
Would that ever happen, that error.
Not on her watch; not on her shift.

Off duty, screwed.
Hardest thing in the world to get right.
Family plans ruined. Again!
Too often.

Lost sleep.
Risks ignored.
Abuse from colleagues, as well as patients.
Accepted. Expected. A given.

Consumed with passion, with love.
Gave her all. Goes without saying.
The newbies. Held their hands.
Taught them well.

Learning.
Studying past midnight.
Exams. Exams. Exams.
Up before dawn.

Stayed late.
Started early.
Watched with pride.
Observed with intent.

Long commute.
Snow, wind, rain, ice.
Had to turn up.
No slacking.

Hard working.
Long hours.
Never regretted her choice.
Made her the nurse she aspired to be.

A warm smile for her patients.
Those in pain.
Compassion for the dying.
Every single day, since she became a nurse.

Responsibility; then accountability.
Given ‘the keys.’
Told to get on with it.
And she did.

Vowed to do better.
Tears in the sluice.
Told off. Again!
Made her the woman she wanted to be.

The day she became a nurse.