Massachusetts General Hospital School of Nursing - Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 26 text:

Came that morning in November, our first day on the wards. Bihless, we came in clusters, weak-kneed from excitement and fear. At last we were really nurses— or so we thought. Dutifully, we noted the fire equipment, the nurses’ station, the medicine closet, and the tail-capped Seniors with their knowing smiles, at once benevolent and sympathetic. We met the watchful eyes of our instructors over that pile of linen under which, somewhere, was our patient. No sooner had we mastered one technique than new challenges faced us: The bedbath, the Clinitest, foot care, and that most challenging first in a student’s career, the first injection. As the summer came, we would spend our lunch hour on the now extinct Bulfinch lawn, or suggest to the T.L. that our patient might like to go outside for a while (right, Mrs. X?). On rainy days we would await the dinner hour on White 3A, where there was always something new to see. la 22

Page 25 text:

We had, fortunately, the Junior Proc- tors, living proof that surviva l in dis- aster was possible, and our kindly big sisters who seemed at the time so know- ing, so accomphshed. Life at The Lincolnshire included, of necessity, escape. With every weekend off, some of us went home, some to fraternity parties, and some to self- styled TGIF parties. And some of us simply shut our doors and went to sleep, content to let MGH and the world rush by without us for awhile. For all of the diversion Boston offered, there was no escaping January twenty-fourth, day number one of our “week that was,” when we were buried under such an avalanche of exams that some of us never saw dayhght again. Trips away from Gharles Street were few and even Scharaff’s lost its appeal. We were well-acquainted, too, with that old Monday morning feehng as we returned to an exam or two or three, ready to G R, to examine the innards of our yellow rats, to ponder the Hopi way, to flame our loops, to give our patients that old one-two: back care, mouth care and emotional support. We even learned to make a flaxseed poultice (thank heavens for Hydro- colator packs ) . Phrases drift across the span, sifted from the complex maze of our daily activity: ... In Dr. Mead’s article, I beheve that’s number 739 on your yellow list . . . You’re going to be in seeerious trouble . . . Judy Germ . . . The Smile . . . When I worked at the Gity there was a patient who . . . Now, Girls . . . But which femur is it? . . . Pith it yourself ... A nurse? Just a minute. I’ll get you one . . . You’re here for education, not service . . . The which cycle? . . . At MGH we hold the washcloth this way. J 21

Page 27 text:

Now the air was filled with the anticipation of junior year. Willingly we would part with the lowly “S-1” title, shrug off the weights of twelve long months and make our lives as portable as possible for our coming travels. We would bequeath to the incoming freshman of this and all years, the summation of the comprehensive experience of the first year: Ya Gotta Wanna! OCTOBER 16, 1846 The Beginning of a Great Era In Surgery OCTOBER 16, 1963 The Beginning of a Great Error In Surgery 23