This is an opinion column

Her name is Heather—but that’s not her real name. It’s her first day at work. She’s a tech at a local hospital, trying to decide if she wants to go to nursing school. May 6-12 was Nurses Appreciation Week, but that may not mean much to the Heathers out there— young, eager to help people, and hoping to learn what makes the human body sick and how to get rid of the sickness in a typical one week stay.

Some people aren’t sick, just injured. They fell off a truck or out of a tree. Somebody shot them after an argument over nothing. This is an example of our “anybody can carry a gun around” rule. It eventually turns against us.

But there are other things Heather will learn. Some patients—not many— are difficult. Insulting, even. One nurse told me that before going to nursing school, he’d been a bartender in college. That was a perfect lead in to dealing with frustrated patients, he said. Whatever they say to insult him, he’s heard before.

He shrugs it off as he manages their medicines, their vitals, their fears and their need to gain some control over their normal life that was snatched away with an illness or a fall. He listens, tends to their bodies while they pour out their souls, sometimes telling him the fears they won’t admit to their family.

During my days of being at the hospital with a sick family member, I saw all manner of nursing types—the stern, “Big Nurse” kind, who firmly reminds a patient that yes, the bed alarm will go off if he tries to get up unassisted—again—, and the more gentle reminder about the same issue an hour later. Heather may find that she has to do the same thing over and over again, using the same words and the same phrases. She’s watching that happen on the floor she’s assigned to.

Heather will learn about charting, the constant listing of the patient’s vital signs, temperature checks, consults with doctors, and the beep-beep-beep of oxygen monitors up and down the hall. She’ll learn which senior nurses will take the time to explain a diagnosis, offer a little bedside teaching. She may learn that nursing is not for her, but how best to figure that out than being right on the hall, shift after shift, day after day, getting literal hands-on experience.

We first celebrated Nurses Appreciation Week in 1982, on May 12, Florence Nightingale’s birthday. She was the founder of modern nursing. Because of her efforts, five million nurses are working in this country today. And yet we have a shortage. Why?

Is it easy work? No. Is it messy work? Sometimes, yes. Are there tragedies every single week? Yes, Death and overdoses and long, lingering illnesses that patients must endure.

“What’s the best part of nursing?” I ask a male nurse striding down the hall. He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “The people. Hearing their stories. Finding out what they plan to do when they’re well again.” And the worst part?

“Explaining to people why I am not a doctor since I am a man. Explaining to people that I chose to be a nurse. Being a man should have nothing to do with it.”

I see Heather right before the end of her shift. She looks tired after her 12 hour day but who wouldn’t? I asked her what she’d learned that day. She said she’d learned to listen to patients’ fears and not brush them off; to reassure the family members; to appreciate the therapy dogs that bring joy to hospital rooms with a sweep of the tail and an offer of a head scratch.

She has a long commute home but will listen to a podcast on medical terminology on the way, always learning. Maybe she’ll worry about a few patients that seem to be slipping. She’ll check on them first thing tomorrow.

Maybe she’ll choose nursing and, years from now, somebody will remember her during Nurses Appreciation Week. You could do worse than have a new nurse named Heather by your bed.

Contact Beth Thames at [email protected]