From a very young age, I was incredibly fascinated with playing nurse. Whenever a friend visited, I immediately suggested the game of hospital, where my visitor would be a patient, and I, the nurse. My favourite toys were real medical tools such as a thermometer, wooden tongue depressors, injection needles, glass syringes, and intravenous sets. They were all sealed and brand new! Equally treasured was a German microscope, which allowed me to observe the hidden world within a drop of blood, hair, or an insect’s wing for hours.
Most precious of all, however, was the stethoscope. I acquired it during a family vacation by the sea. My parents and I were strolling down the streets of a summer resort, when I noticed the stethoscope in the window display of a medical supply store. I was entranced and stubbornly refused to walk any further. Despite their best efforts to talk me out of it, I would not budge. My unwavering persistence paid off as my father eventually bought it for me.
Throughout my entire childhood, this stethoscope was my most treasured toy, and I still have it to this day!
While tending to my friends as patients, I always wore the proper white uniform with a nurse cap on my head. Those headpieces were especially meaningful to me, as each one represented a different nurse’s designation. I owned three authentic caps with either a red, black, or blue stripe across. With the stethoscope around my neck and the name badge on my uniform, I truly looked the part.
My strong and unexplained passion for the medical profession puzzled my parents. They were not doctors themselves, so my unusual fascination was not the result of modeling their occupation. Back then, I had never even been to a real hospital before. They did their best, however, to obtain authentic medical instruments, knowing that nothing in the world would make me happier than receiving one.
When using them, I felt an undeniable sense of familiarity, beyond explanation even to myself.
Years went by, and I happily kept playing nurse, listening with my stethoscope to the patients’ heartbeats, checking their pulse, bandaging ‘broken’ limbs, and looking into ‘sore’ throats. I attentively fastened the intravenous sets to their sleeves and pretended to deliver babies from under sweaters. My fascination continued until the day I visited a real hospital.
I eagerly went there with my cousin to witness her baby daughter’s blood work being done. My excitement was cut short, however, when the nurse poked the baby’s tiny finger and loud screaming filled the room. I empathically felt the little girl’s pain and nearly fainted myself. It was hard for me to accept that a nurse could cause such discomfort! Never before had I associated my innocent play with hurting others. My perspective on being a nurse shifted instantly and resulted in a total loss of interest. As strong as my childhood fascination was, it quickly faded.
Since then, the smallest thought of a hospital makes me look the other way.
I later learned that my unexplained nurse phenomenon was a strong carry-over from another lifetime. In that life, I was a nurse working in a military hospital alongside my surgeon grandfather.
by Hanna Isabelle
English