The Nurse Who Climbed Walls
Fifty years of compassion, courage, and care
When I was a kid, my mum and sisters told me I’d make a great nurse. I was kind and gentle, and I liked caring for others. At school, I often wiped my best friend’s face after vomiting when she had the flu and helped her blow her nose. I was also her unofficial tutor since she was slow in class. Some things seemed to point me toward a career in nursing, but there was one problem — I passed out at the sight of blood and felt people’s pains when they suffered. Even if I’d tried hard, it just wouldn’t have worked out.
I admire people who manage to do that job without sinking in front of other people’s suffering, however. Today I’m meeting a woman named Gillian who’s been a nurse for over fifty years for a book I’m writing on healing. As I arrive at the hospice, I’m a little nervous, wondering if someone with so much experience might seem distant or worn out by the job. Instead, I’m greeted by a six-foot-tall woman with short grey hair, lively blue eyes, and the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. Right away I feel at ease.
We shake hands, and she leads me down a narrow, dimly lit corridor to a small room. A floral couch takes up most of the space next to a desk piled high with paperwork. I smile when I notice the walls are covered with colorful children’s drawings, letters, and…
