Eyes that see the good in things- April 29, 2019

Washington State Senator, Maureen Walsh has been walking back comments that she made while debating Bill SHB 1155. This bill was originally intended to protect the lunch and rest breaks for nurses who work 12 hours per day or more, a shift that is standard for most hospital nurses and to limit mandatory overtime. Her comments were specifically aimed at critical access hospitals in rural areas as the Washington Senate discussed an amendment that would exempt critical access hospitals that have 25 or fewer acute care inpatient beds, are located more than 35 miles from another hospital and provide 24/7 emergency care services.

A “Washington Post” article quoted Walsh, “I understand helping with employees and making sure that we have rest breaks and things like that, but I also understand that we need to care for patients first and foremost,” said Walsh, who noted that her district, which is located more than 200 miles southeast of Olympia, has a critical access hospital. “I’m in an underserved area and all we’re doing is making it more difficult to be served.”

She continued: “By putting these types of mandates on a critical access hospital that literally serves a handful of individuals, I would submit to you that those nurses probably do get breaks. They probably play cards for a considerable amount of the day.”

Walsh said that she was told that if already financially strapped critical access hospitals are required to comply with the bill, the may not be able to survive. Then, she appeared to double down when she supported an amendment to prohibit nurses from working shifts longer than eight hours in a 24-hour period.

“Well, if we have an issue with nurses getting tired, let’s quit letting them do 12-hour shifts,” she said. Both amendments were approved and the bill passed in the Senate. Walsh, who did not expect her amendment to make it in, voted against the bill.

Following a backlash from nurses and their supporters, Walsh said she would be happy to shadow a nurse during a shift. She added that her mother was a nurse.

“Again, I was simply trying to differentiate between the staffing needs of the small rural critical access hospitals with a handful of patients, versus the large urban hospitals with hundreds and hundreds of patients,” she said. “I have the greatest respect for nurses, for their hard work, tremendous compassion, and the excellent care they gave me when I ended up in the hospital last year.”

Walsh said she would support removing her amendment limiting nurses to eight-hour shifts from the bill, saying that “the thousands of nurses who have contacted my office have told me loud and clear that there are many who prefer to work 12-hour shifts so they can spend more time with their families.” A version of the bill passed in the House, which does not include the amendments.

Walsh continued to justify her stance on why small-town hospitals should be exempt from the bill altogether, saying that a number of critical access hospitals in the state “are already operating in the red.”

“It will impose inflexible staffing requirements on hospitals that will dramatically increase their costs,” Walsh said, later adding, “It isn’t proper for the Legislature to micromanage the way hospitals manage their staffing.”

Walsh has since apologized, saying she wishes she could reel those words back, but the viral response to her statement showed that she underestimated a true caregiver’s perspective. The caregiver who stands over the bed of a loved one, experiencing the fear and helplessness that is natural for a very ill patient and their family. It’s those nurses who are there in the middle of the night when the pain and fear set in.  So, when I read this response to Walsh, I knew I wanted to share it. This young wife, who is now a widow, was seven months pregnant when her husband was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. They lived in a rural area and she writes that she agrees with Senator Walsh--the nurses who worked with her husband at a small hospital, did play cards.

When those nurses pushed her husband’s hospital bed down the hallway to the room that would become his new “home” for a while, those nurses played the card of who they should take care of first. Should they take care of the man lying in the bed, wincing in pain or should they take care of the desperate, expectant mom at his bedside? Should they deal with the husband’s pain first or convince mom that she needs to eat for the baby growing inside her? Or that she needs to sleep for the first time since they checked in?

Then, later, when they returned to the hospital, those nurses played the cards of wondering if they should wrap their arms around the depleted wife when she was on her hands and knees begging God to relieve her husband’s pain. Or should the card they play, be to hold the nine-month old baby playing with his toys on the hospital floor, to give that devoted wife a moment to be her husband’s best friend?

Those nurses were constantly making decisions on which card to play, whether it was for the mom, the baby or for their patient’s needs. When the oncologist said there was nothing more that could be done for their frail, disoriented patient, those champion card players again had to choose which card to play. Did they cry with the family or should they escape to a backroom to relieve their own emotions and then come back to care for the family.

She closes her response to the senator by saying, “Senator Walsh, you are correct. Our rural, country, small-town nurses do play cards all day– in fact, a considerable amount of the day. Wait–no– all day and all night. They play cards when they go home, when they are supposed to be with their families, when they are supposed to take care of themselves. They are master card players, the real poker faces in this game of healthcare. They play the cards of taking care of patients, taking care of patient’s caregivers, families, dying wishes, egos, dignity and every single basic need in between. And while they are playing those cards, they are card sharks at playing their own cards of emotions, family, vulnerability and juggling their personal time that they devote to their patients and their families. They attend funerals. They hold the wife and that brand-new baby in their arms while they weep. They are standing at the coffin of a patient they loved.

They are card sharks. Poker faces. True Vegas-style card players. Yes, Senator Walsh, my husband’s country, rural-small town nurses play cards. The very best cards there are to play. And I couldn’t be more thankful.”

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