The Bologna Blog

Where were you?

I was in the third day of my clinical psyche rotation for nursing school. Our assignment was to talk to the patients about the events leading up to their hospitalization or just things that were going on in their lives that were making it hard to function. We were all gathered in the lounge, playing games and chatting in small groups. There were 3 wanna-be nurses and about 15 patients. There was only one actual hospital employee watching over all of us at the time. One very large television was playing in background, to serve as a distraction during lulls in the conversations. The first lesson of nursing school was that you couldn't force a patient to talk. You could only offer questions or options that made them want to engage. The variety of patients served was vast, ranging from alcoholics that had fallen off the wagon,drug users unable to control their habits, schizophrenics with mania induced delusions, and people with depression and suicidal thoughts in need of monitoring. .
The television flickered back and forth in the background between several news stations. The sound had been turned down low. We were watching the aftermath of the plane hitting the first tower as a backdrop to our conversations. No one was focused on the events playing out until the second plane hit. Everyone in the room, rose to their feet, almost in a mechanical fashion, screaming at the television as if it would somehow undo what we'd witnessed. Within seconds the volume was increased on the television and the newscaster relayed news of the events that were occurring. Suddenly, and without warning the room turned into a chaotic center of emotion. Problems once faced by the individual turned to rage for the nation. There were a few patients that cheered as they replayed the plane crash and others that began throwing things at the television in anger. I will never forget the fear I felt, first for my own safety in that moment and then for our country and all that we had lost. We turned off the television and eventually restored calm to the room. There were so many tears and hugs. Our instructor pulled us out of the room during a break and told us to call our families.
We were not allowed to leave our clinical commitment because they needed us there. It was the first day that my conflict as a mother and as a nurse reared it's head.I live near an Air-Force Base and my kids attended school in a military community. My oldest son was six and in kindergarten My daughter was in day care nearby and only three years old. When I called to check on them I was told that they needed to be picked up immediately because all of the nearby military kids were being picked up because the base was going on lock-down.I was frantic when I called my husband not knowing how to get to the kids. He was able to leave work to pick them up. He talks about seeing the buses pick up the kids going back to base with armed guards on board. He talks about having to explain to our son that they weren't allowed to take the backpacks with them and that all of his favorite things would be safe at school. It broke his heart to see our son waving goodbye through tears to his friends boarding the buses. None of the children understood the fear and sadness in the faces of the adults that surrounded them. And none of the adults understood the devastation taking place at that time, only later did it become a sad historical page of our history. When I finally got home, I hugged my kids so tight. I wanted only for the ugliness of the day to rubbed away by their goodness. Days later when the kids returned to school and Americans loved each other and our flags were embraced we took a picture of the kids by the fence of the school. The children of the school had made a makeshift flag from painted solo cups glued to the webbing of the fence. I cried once again, but for many reasons. While a nation busied itself with the task of mourning, there were many people lifting us up in unity and strength.