Compassion Transcends All Differences

{ Jay Prosser }

I HAVE BEEN A REGISTERED NURSE FOR 20 YEARS. I have been a gay man for my entire life. Oddly, the two have never intertwined.

What drew me into nursing was the desire to help people. I thought I could make a difference in people’s lives. It was that simple belief that took me to nursing school with its very long, tedious hours. Now, looking back after twenty years, I was right, and I would never do anything different.

My bedside nursing career was spent taking care of critically ill cardiac-medical patients as well as emergency department patients. I have seen the very best that man can offer and the very worst…a lot of the very worst. I’ve had the privilege of being with patients and families in situations that most could never imagine and certainly did not know existed.

Through those times, I have come to understand some truths. Three truths.

First is that miracles still happen…every day. The world is full of selfless and amazing people. These people come from a motley crew of backgrounds and situations, but they show up every day and deliver their best to patients. People get better because of them. People live because of them. Impossible things happen every day because of people like this. They perform miracles.

The second truth is that all patients are vulnerable. It doesn’t matter if you are in the emergency department for an earache or in the intensive care unit for open heart surgery. When you are a patient, you are vulnerable. I’ve seen it in all my patient’s eyes; hundreds of them. For some it was fear, but for all of them, it was the sense and knowledge that things were out of their hands. They needed help.

It was not uncommon for our unit to receive a patient who suffered a heart attack late at night or in the early hours of the morning. I have treated more than I can count, but this patient’s circumstances were a first for me.

He began having chest pain right after completing his drag performance. His colleagues called paramedics, quickly changed his clothes, removed make-up, and his life was saved in the cardiac catheterization lab. Amazingly he did well. I provided care for him in the immediate aftermath and then prepared to talk to his family.

His family was his male partner. When I met him that night, he had fear in his eyes, not just vulnerability. Through his tears, he expressed his worry about the health of his partner, who was his love and life. After his initial fears were calmed, he laid bare the real truth. “Please, I’m his partner. I want to be able to be here with him. Please.”

That may seem a little strange today, but fifteen years ago in the deep South, this was a real issue. Yes, if you weren’t “officially” married you could be excluded from seeing the critically ill patients. He knew I understood because we both had been afraid to be gay before. It happened back then…sometimes more often than I’m comfortable admitting.

His was an uncomfortable vulnerability. This was real. In that moment worn-out rules from the past no longer mattered. No one was going to keep this man away – we made sure of it.

It’s this type of vulnerability that taught me the third truth. Stories like this one happened multiple times a day. Each time they were different. Sometimes it was the conservative fundamentalist, the police officer, the politician, or the person who had no idea what a fundamentalist was and had never met a politician.

It never mattered to me. I treated all my patients the same. I cared for them, and I cared about them. No matter who the patient was, I never had one ask me if I was gay or treat me differently based on how I acted or because I wore a rainbow wristband. And I never asked them either.

All my patients treated me the same and looked at me the same. They looked to me for help.

Something amazing happened in those moments. Compassion never looks at our differences or the things that divide us. Compassion concerns itself with people, and people at baseline are…get ready for this…all the same.

During those moments all the things that so sharply divide our world and foster feelings of rage and hate disappeared. I’m not naive enough to think they went away forever, but compassion always gave a reprieve, even if it was a temporary one.

In the “real” world we may have stood on different sides of issues and viewpoints, but in those moments, it didn’t matter that I was gay or that they were whatever they were. They talked to me the same way. They said, “Thank you,” grasped my hand and even hugged my neck at times.

I don’t know how many people get to experience that kind of truth. A moment where we are all the same. I’ve seen it, felt it, and experienced it. Those are amazing moments where compassion produced neutrality.

You may not know that Nurses Week always occurs in May and always occurs during Florence Nightingale’s birthday, the founder of modern nursing. It may not mean anything to you, but it will one day. One day you will cross paths with a nurse. That nurse will understand that you are vulnerable, and they will make a difference in your care.

Maybe that has already happened. Either way, find a nurse and thank a nurse for the job they do. Thank them for caring. Thank them for using compassion to see past all divides, hurts, and pains to make a difference in people’s lives.