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Hospitals are major pillars in any community, and today they are getting lots of attention, mostly for the wrong reasons. Lack of beds, a shortage of supplies, too few staff — the list goes on. Here is something different.
I have enjoyed reading the advertising columns “100 Moments” that have been running in the Citizen to commemorate the centenary of the Civic campus of The Ottawa Hospital, which opened in 1924. I was born there eight years later, and since then the Civic has played a pivotal role in my life, not just for the medical aid it offered.
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It all started when my father had a serious illness and was hospitalized at the Civic for a time. I was in Grade 11 and starting to become aware of the fact that in a few years I would have big decisions to make: where to go, what to do, how to earn my living. My mother and I visited Dad regularly, and his private nurse, Gladys, asked me if I would like a tour of the hospital — presumably to give my parents some time together, and keep me busy.
I remember these tours clearly, how fascinating the different specialties were: the O.R., the nurseries with the tiny new-borns, the emergency department with its high-drama possibilities, the pediatric ward for children with serious health problems. During our walkabouts I took in the atmosphere of the hospital, and it appealed to me enormously. I loved the clean. fresh aroma and the parade of medical staff who all looked so professional, as if they knew exactly where they were going and what they would do.
I especially had eyes for the nurses, so attractive in their crisp pink and white uniforms and caps, looking very businesslike. I remember the feeling I had: “I love this place, I want to be a part of it.”
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That summer, I applied to the hospital for a job, saying I was 16, the required age to work there. I was hired, but to my disappointment was assigned to the staff dining room and adjacent service rooms. It was the first hard work I had ever done, and I remember it well: hours behind the steam table, clearing the tables, even running the old dishwasher — which involved stacking the soiled plates in wooden racks, dragging then through a boiling water bath, then quickly snatching them out and piling them in stacks. I recall my pay was $55 a month, which was why I stayed.
The next year, I applied again, saying I was 18 and requesting to be a nurse’s aide. This time I struck gold, and I thoroughly enjoyed my impromptu introduction to nursing. I had a lot of housekeeping duties but was frequently asked to help the nurses with patient care, feeding, turning, and ambulating. This was what I wanted: just being there to help. It was the first time I realized the importance of presence, just being with the person and sharing a difficult time.
After graduating from nursing school at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal, I returned to Ottawa and spent some years as a clinical nurse, then supervisor. My career included director of staff education at the newly opened Riverside Hospital, and after acquiring more academic credentials, a professor in the school of Nursing at the University of Ottawa. For more than 20 years I enjoyed taking groups of students to the Civic for their clinical practice and with them, discovering the changes in patient care.
It was a most rewarding career, and I feel I owe some of it to my fortuitous “Civic Hospital moment.”
Jean Jenny of Ottawa was a registered nurse for 35 years.
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