When I was about ten, eleven, I wanted to become a nurse. First of all, I’d read about Florence Nightingale. Then I found a book in the school library, called Bunty Brown – Probationer. I read it several times, and I was convinced I was going to become a nurse.
Now, when I started to type up this blog, I remembered her name … Bunty … so I did a Google search, and as soon as I saw the name of the author, I recognized it — Barbara Wilcox. The memory is a funny thing, sometimes. It was an English book. A little later, I found out about the Cherry Ames books. They were a little different, as they were partly about solving mysteries, but it was the nursing I cared about. I read them all.
I saw nurses in a very glorified way. I was too young to have any type of romantic dreams, that I’d marry a doctor or anything like that, but I could envision myself working in ER:s, with all the drama involved in saving lives. It was basically Florence Nightingale that started the process, but that first book about Bunty really did it.
I can’t remember if I had some kind of awakening … realizing that nursing was not for me, but it didn’t happen and that was a good thing. I was never a ‘people person’ –not all people are fit to be care givers, even though many people end up being one anyway. Later in life I ended up working in hospital environment anyway, but solely in administration.
Now I’ve spend a great amount of time, searching for a photo that I remembered well … this was shot in the clinic, just a few days before I left Sweden. We had a party at work, people were supposed to wear hats, I didn’t bring one so someone folded a sheet of paper into this nurse’s hat.
[this was the suggested topic in wp daily post]