Dear Reader,
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Today it's my pleasure to share an Honorable Mention column, written by Jan McLellan, from last year's Write a DearReader Contest.
RM 516
1931: "Phee, the congregants are coming. Hurry up! Get out to the corn you horrible child and keep quiet," stepmother shouted. Phee, a small, blond, curly haired, six-year old, ran out of the back door, grabbing up her kitten as she went through the kitchen, but forgot her sweater. Oh, f*ck, s*it, f*ck she said to herself and the tics continued. She ran into the cornfield till she was well hidden and far enough from the farmhouse to drown out the horrible noise that was coming from her mouth. She couldn't stop the sounds. She stayed in the field, holding her kitten until the visitors left. By then, it was dark and getting cold.
1982: I worked the evening shift as an RN on the Orthopedics Unit, at University Hospital. I received a report and started rounds on my patients. As I entered Rm 516, I read; Ms. Phee Marten, 64-year-old, female, Lt. Meniscus repair this morning. Past Medical History: Tourette's Syndrome. I saw a small woman, with a long gray braid, her left casted leg elevated on pillows. She was anxiously staring at six men standing at the end of her bed. An older man in a long, white lab coat was holding a chart folder, a staff doctor. The other five younger men wore short white coats, each with stethoscopes around their necks, these were med students. No one was saying anything. I looked at the staff doctor, he said nothing. I finally said, "What's going on here?" Just then, Ms. Marten said, "F*ck, S*it", bark, and covered her mouth with her bed sheet. One of the med students laughed and elbowed another student who smiled. The staff doctor said, "My students have never seen a Tourette's patient, so we want to see her perform." I looked back at Ms. Marten, she had tears running down her cheeks. I turned, opened the door and said, "Leave now, how dare you!" The men trooped out giving me hateful looks. The staff doctor asked for my name and left.
I spent as much time as I could with Ms. Marten that shift. I apologized for the doctor and medical students. She told me that since she was a child, she has always shouted, barked, or swore when she got nervous or anxious. Her mother died of a flu when she was three. Her father was a preacher and remarried a woman who thought Phee was a wicked, possessed child. She was sent out to the cornfield behind their farmhouse whenever visitors came to the home. Her formal schooling ended in third grade. She grew up and married the boy from the next farm over. They were happy, had one son, who was healthy, without Tourette's Syndrome. He had grown, attended college, married and had three healthy children. She said she rarely saw him or her grandchildren, which made her very sad. Her father had been kind, but didn't understand her illness. He was always busy with the congregation. Her stepmother was mean and Phee's noises had embarrassed her son. She said the only person that had ever truly loved her, was her husband. He picked her, when he could have had anyone else. Throughout our chats that night, she never had any tics, loud swear words, or barking. She wasn't nervous or anxious. It's a nurses' duty to protect, care and comfort their patients. It is an honor to hear their stories.
Epilogue: The staff doctor filed a formal complaint against me. He argued medical students needed to see and experience different illnesses during their clinicals. That complaint stayed in my record. I never apologized for telling them to leave and I would do exactly the same thing again.
I have never forgotten Phee. Her story serves to illuminate the human spirit defined by the moments of love and abundant grace that get us all through.
-- Jan McLellan
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
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