nurse Archives - The Race Card Project

Black nurse fired for resisting injustice.

November 3, 2024November 6, 2024 Baltimore, black nurse, Elona, healthcare, inequality, MD, nurse, treatment

Elona,
Baltimore, MD

Black registered nurses face bullying and discrimination daily, primarily from non-Black colleagues. We are constantly made to feel inferior, despite our skills and dedication. The pressure to work harder and prove ourselves more capable than our counterparts is relentless. This inequity not only undermines our confidence but also creates a toxic work environment, where our professionalism and competence are continually questioned. It’s time for this mistreatment to be addressed, so we can be recognized and respected for the valuable contributions we bring to healthcare.

I Forget I Am Not White

January 9, 2023January 9, 2023 adopted, CA, Catholics, Dougherty, jews, Mormons, nurse, Outside USA, Protestants, TX, what am I, what are you

Dougherty,
Outside USA.

I was adopted. My Dad is Irish, raised in Texas and then California. Mom is a retired nurse. I was raised around Protestants, Catholics, Mormons, and Jews. My friends in elementary school were white. Race was never an issue. Or if it was, I have long since forgot about it. I even speak with a slight southern draw if you listen carefully. You can thank dad for that. Even in the mirror, all I saw was me. Wide curious eyes, and awkward smile, and a few scars from some cystic acne. It’s gone now. All I saw was a person, and that is how I saw everyone else; as people. Do you see people like I do? Or are you still wondering what race I am?

All have same needs, desires, fears.

July 15, 2022July 15, 2022 Big Pine Key, Black, Chris Todd, coworkers, desires, fear, FL, needs, nurse, socioeconomic

Chris Todd,
Big Pine Key, FL.

As a nurse, working with black nurses, I realized there was a bigger gulf with regards to socioeconomic class than with race. My coworkers, regardless of race, wanted their kids to go to college, not get pregnant out of wedlock, not get in trouble with the law. But my black coworkers would talk of certain poor blacks in a way I would not dare, in the same way, in fact, my folks would talk of “poor white trash.”

At the hospice, everyone is blue

April 4, 2022April 4, 2022 anesthesia, Ann Arbor, blue, cancer, Debbie Taylor, Hospice, MI, nurse, one race the human race, professional, sad, scar

Debbie Taylor,
Ann Arbor, MI.

My mother passed away on December 14, 2012 of liver cancer at the age of 80 and she spent her last afternoon and night in Ann Arbor Hospice.

The staff was loving, kind and professional. One nurse in particular examined my mother with such tenderness and care that I was moved beyond measure.

It was such a contrast to the experience she’d had at the hands of another medical professional as a middle school child. While playing with her brothers in a small town near Columbus, Ohio, she fell on a piece of glass and was carried by my uncles to a white doctor’s house. He stitched up her wound WITHOUT any anesthesia, leaving a scar to carry the rest of her life. She never shared that information herself — my uncle was the first to relate the story. Progress in some areas of health disparities has surely been made, but I am concerned about others who have no access to the kind ministrations of a St. Joseph’s Hospital or a fine hospice.

Sharing the words came easily and quickly because my mother raised us to have respect for EVERYONE, including ourselves. All of her children and grandchildren were taught that race was a strange, artificial construct and that “people are people.” So my six words were not the result of a personal revelation, but rather a sigh—one that I wished to share with others. I appreciated the opportunity to do so.

Thank you for your interest.

Debbie Taylor

You’re Filipino… are you a nurse?

June 3, 2021 Canada, filipino, Maggie Alcantara, nurse

Maggie Alcantara,
Canada.

I am buying what you’re selling.

February 16, 2021February 16, 2021 1960, 1970, 1980, 1990, behavior, buying, Charleston, Drew Middleton, financial strength, nurse, rule, SC, selling, survival, Vicki DiPaolo

Vicki DiPaolo,
Charleston, SC.

It is the basic instinct of survival that causes us to evaluate our environment and decide if what we see is helpful, benign, or dangerous. We don’t always get it right because ingrained thoughts are always right in today’s world. We began in communities where we all looked the same. If we came into contact with someone who looked different it usually meant one group would be taking what the other had and our very survival depended on keeping “ours”. Today’s world, including the last few hundred years, is totally different. World exploration has mixed cultures and in the beginning human rights were unheard of, it just wasn’t part of the picture. It was okay for one group to take others as slaves. It was okay to treat someone that wasn’t your class, race, or sex as subhuman. And the farther away from your mirror image the less human that individual was to you.
Leap into the second half of the 20th century. I wish that the love-in of the 60’s and 70’s where to bear fruit, and it has to some degree. We had varying success with race and sex issues. We cannot forget what others suffered to give us in law what we have now. It may not be in the real living world that we experience those rights but in written law the truth is spoken to declare what is morally right.
But the 1980’s gave birth to a badseed to counteract the fruits of the morally just. It began with a movie quote, “Greed is good.” It grew when people saw their homes not as a home but as something that could be bought and sold within months to get a bigger and bigger castle whether their family needed it or not. Soon the greed bug infiltrated our way of life. You didn’t work hard to get ahead, you worked “smart” in the free market of economy. Truth and the handshake deal were out, getting “yours” at any cost was smart. If you didn’t take advantage regardless of morals or law you were a chump. The rise of the Superstar who had no talent had arrived. Talent was out, fame was in.
White collar crime, street crime, crime against elderly and children. All at first shocked, then became commonplace. And who do we blame? Why going back to our most basic instinct of survival, we blame those most unlike ourselves. The rich blame the poor and middleclass who are lazy and steal everything they can get their hands on. The poor blame the middleclass who they can see firsthand, enjoying their homes, cars, and all the fun things a credit card can buy. And the middleclass blame the poor who they can see and will attack and kill the middleclass group to take their belongings. Middleclass blacks, whites, Mexican, and Asians will band together as a group to protect their community. The same is true for the rich and the poor. When the economic group becomes unstable the ethnic difference will become more important. And what of the elderly? Unless the noble virtues return and life’s knowledge becomes an access I feel that the greed on which our society is based on will make the elderly seen as taking up more than they give. Since no one sees their own time will come, social security and any safety net for the aged will be reduced and the nursing home will be a true nightmare.

What does this all have to do with Race? And what does “I’m buying what you’re selling.” mean? It’s that when we allow greed to rule our behavior, that we use intimidation to get what we want we have to be prepared for the doublesword of our behavior. I am a nurse. I care for people who for the most part have little financial strength. I see many spectrums of how people deal with their economic status. My favorite patients, of course, are pleasant, say please and thank you, and don’t blame me for being sick. In turn I respond to their needs as quickly as I can, say please and thank you, and don’t blame them for having to work to support myself and family. The worst patient is intimidating, sometimes physically, but mostly verbally or in by implying a financial threat of job loss or suing. Most people fall in the middle of these too groups, unfortunately, closer to the intimidating.

They say that all the world is a stage and we are all actors. Then your costume is what you choose to presentyourself. Yes, this is your clothing. But your presence, your mannerisms say much more. Unfortunately, greed has inspired the popularity of the person who takes whether they deserve or not. The ability to lash out physically gains respect. Images are shown on Facebook, Twitter, etc. boasting fights or outright assaults. A gaudy amount of riches is displayed by every level of society. And all of this is seen as normal. It makes me sad. And hopeless. Because all of this behavior is happening in the day to day lives of people who don’t watch PBS. And how many people will take the time to read what I’ve written in the age of Twitter? Still, I’ve written down what I believe is the beginning of an idea. And isn’t it better than not at all.

Don’t worry honey, he’ll brown up.

December 22, 2020December 22, 2020 black dad, Bowie, brown up, check the box, dotor, interracial marriage, Jen, MD, nurse, son, white mom, worry

Jen,
Bowie, MD.

My husband (African American) and I (Caucasian) took our son to his one month doctor appointment. The nurse asked us if he was Caucasian or non-white and wanted me to make a decision so she could check a box. When I asked for other options like a biracial or two or more races, she said there were none. I said well at the moment, he looks white and she said don’t worry honey, he’ll brown up. She checked non-white.

Cultural Competence: code word for racism

November 23, 2020November 23, 2020 code, competence, culture, Darcel Reyes, healthcare, language, nurse, NY, racism, Yonkers

Darcel Reyes
Yonkers, NY

I am a nurse and the concept of cultural competence is taught in nursing school and addressed in mandatory inservices in healthcare organizations. I am now a doctoral student and find that the topic is being researched to death. But white cultures get a pass on cultural competence. We only have to be culturally competent about groups of people who are not white. Basically, that means, “let’s find out how these poor dumb people are taking care of their health so that we can teach them the right way–the WHITE way.” And while we are being culturally competent about our patients (or using cultural competence to stereotype them) we are ostracizing Orthodox Jewish nurses, Muslim nurses, Buddhist nurses, Hindu Nurses, Hispanic nurses, African American nurses, Filipino nurses, and other nurses who do not fall into our stereotype of nurses. And let’s not talk about the way you are treated in nursing school when you a a person of color. Expect to work harder, be smarter, and get treated as less than the white students. Nursing leaders bemoan the lack of nurses with PhDs and the limited number of people of color enrolling in nursing school. Maybe they should look at the culture of nursing and its treatment of nurses who are not white and Christian.

We all hurt in different ways.

November 10, 2020January 24, 2022 aerospace mechanic, beaten down, boonies, break the chain, Bronx, Christine Farrell, College, dad, discarded, FAFSA, financial aid, gangs, Harlem, hurt different, irish, italian, jail, lied to, mean, military, Naches, Navy, nurse, NYC, only white person, overlooked, poor, Seattle, tough, WA, white privilege, white society

Christine Farrell,
Naches, WA.

My dad was an Italian/Irishman who grew up in the Bronx and Harlem areas of New York City. He grew up tough and he grew up mean. He was the only white kid in many of the schools he attended. He was involved in gangs, had been in and out of jail and had made some horrible decisions, until his mother made him choose between the military or prison. He chose the military where he later met my mother.

My mother was half Irish, half Scottish and was abandoned on my now grandparents door steps when she was two years old. She struggled growing up, trying to fit into the perfect molded “white” society my adopted grandparents had been raised in. When she could no longer mold into their image of what she should be, she left and later met my father.

My parents gave life to me and my younger sister. My father retired from the Navy and started a career in aerospace mechanics. My mother became a nurse. A short time after they sailed off into the sun set, however, their demons came back to remind them of where they came from. After the mortgage was gambled away and the rest of savings found at the bottom of a bottle, it didn’t take long for them to lose their jobs and become homeless. We lived in a motor home for the first two years of my life and they traveled the country looking for whatever jobs they could get. They ended up in a very small, very white town 3 1/2 hours outside of Seattle Washington.

We lived in the boonies in a town where everyone knew everyone and no one liked us. By the time I was 5 my parents marriage had dissolved completely and soon after, my dad packed his bags and left us. I never heard from him again. My mother often times worked 3 jobs. There were many Christmas’s where all we had was each other, not even enough money for a tree or food. My mom would be away from the home for days at a time, trying to work as many hours as she could to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I remember sleeping in a garage and in the back of my mom’s car when she had been evicted from her home. There were days where there was no food, no electricity and no hope. I heard my mother cry more times growing up than I ever heard her laugh. The town we lived in was so small, everyone knew everyone and they all knew we were poor.

I remember being told by other kid’s parents that their kids couldn’t play with me because of who my mother was and how they didn’t want their kids to be around my mother. There were times where I hated her for being poor. Times where I didn’t understand why I was treated differently for something I couldn’t control. If I wasn’t being teased for being poor I was being called “white trash” by other white kids just because I wasn’t in the same tax bracket as them.
As I grew up, the town I lived in also grew and in came a new group of people. The Hispanics. They traveled up the California coast and when picking season was over they went back home. Every year more and more Hispanics showed up and stayed. I never viewed them as any other race. They were the only race of humans that actually took me in. I worked in the orchards with them, picked cherries with them. I saw the hard work it took and understood their way of life and I loved it.

I’m older now, at this point and it’s my senior year of high school. Halfway through the school year, my mom had lost her job and decided she had, had enough of this life and committed suicide. I was a 18 year old kid who now had to support a 15 year old sibling. I dropped out of school, got my G.E.D and enrolled in college. I lived in the back of my truck after sending my younger sibling off with distant relatives to give her the best shot she could get in life. I found myself right in the same place my mother had been so many times and I wasn’t angry with her. For once, I understood her pain and I was determined to break the chain.

The first year of college went great until the Financial aid rules changed and minorities were given the financial aid first and this meant that I no longer got free college. I couldn’t qualify for FAFSA and my dreams of beating the stigma that was placed on me slowly faded.

I tried to get a higher paying job to pull me out of hole I was in but surprise, surprise, only bilingual people where given the best paying jobs due to the high population growth of Hispanics that couldn’t speak English. This is still a problem in the town I grew up in so not only was I up against highly educated white people, I was also up against bilingual individuals in a fight for a better paying job.

For the past ten years I have been working 2-3 jobs. 15 hour days just to put a roof over my head. I have self studied multiple subjects so that I would not fall even farther than I already have from my peers. I have had to claw my way out of the darkest of places, on my own to get where I am and I am sick of being made to feel guilty and blamed for being white. White privilege is a lie told by those who hate white people. I have been discarded, overlooked, beaten down, lied to. I have been told that because I’m not bilingual I don’t get the job, because my last name is not Escelara I do not get help to pay for school. I have gone without help from DSHS because I’m white.

I’m tired of being blamed. My ancestors didn’t come to America until the 1930’s. The truth is, we have all been enslaved at one point, we have all been hurt, we have all been victims. We have all been tossed to the side because of our skin color or because of our income. We have all been judged. I’m not going to feel guilty anymore for being who I am but I will treat everyone with kindness, the type of kindness I longed for from others. I will chose to make a positive impact and to help people realize that with hard work, dedication, humbleness and kindness that anyone is capable of becoming better then they are now. Anything that comes easy in life is not worth having and being angry all the time will just make you sick.

I don’t know Inez’s last name.

June 20, 2020June 20, 2020 Duplin County, Family, friend, grandchildren, Grandma, grandmother, Kalama, last name, matriarch, name, nurse, Rosemary Brinson Siipola, sister, The Help, WA

Rosemary Brinson Siipola,
Kalama, WA.

Reflecting on growing up in Duplin County, North Carolina, my Grandma Cora was the matriarch of a large family. Inez was her helper, confidant, friend and nurse for decades. My sister and I loved her and we played with her grandchildren. Over 50 years later, I think about Inez and I realize I don’t know her last name. Why is that? I hope her beautiful family is carrying on sharing her caring spirit with their lives. Inez meant the world to Grandma and to me, too.

Alert! Very Dark woman traveling alone.

June 5, 2020March 4, 2022 alert, alone, dark woman, FL, Melbourne, nurse, stereotype, travelling, upscale

Tess,
Melbourne, FL.

Recently I have had to face the fact that my very dark skin is indeed the first thing most people notice about me. The fact that I’m short/tall, healthy/not healthy, sad/happy, age and what not seem to follow way after my dark skin has introduced me to the world. I love to travel but my husband doesn’t, so I have had to do so alone sometimes. This particular incident happened on my last trip to Spain, Portugal, & Morocco.. in no particular order. A woman who knew absolutely nothing about me came up to me and asked what I did for a living, and I candidly stated that I’m a nurse by trade. She proceeded to make more small talk about everything and anything, all the while visibly sizing me up and down. She talked about my shoes which she thought I got on sale, and about my clothes looking like the ‘upscale type’ that I couldn’t afford while in Spain. About my purse which she wanted to touch just to see if it was actually an ‘original’ designer purse…Then came the ‘what does your husband do for a living?’ part. I politely answered her question, then she said, “Wow! He must be American. You are a lucky woman.” Puzzled, I decided to ignore her, but she was determined to figure out which box she could fit me in. Minutes later, she came as close as she could and boldly said, “I bet you have to do a lot of overtime shifts , huh?’ Frankly at this point, I was running low on smiley faces so I just looked her straight in the eye and told her that I actually don’t need to do any overtime shifts at the hospital. This left me wondering what really was going on inside this woman’s head. This and many other closely related incidences have left me wondering what is it about me that makes it so unfathomable that I could actually be married to a very intelligent engineer (who most people assume is Caucasian), be able to afford to go on trips regularly that I actually pay for by myself and not stay in hostels, not be dependent on the government for social services, be able to give back to the community, have a certain taste in clothing, and speak English so well? Most people’s conclusion is always that I must come from money/some interesting Kingdom in Africa, which is very far from the truth. I wonder if this would still happen if my outside were a different color/shade.

Breaking the stereotype black male nurse

April 23, 2018April 23, 2018 Black, Chris Porter, male, nurse, Seattle, stereotype, WA

Chris Porter
Seattle, WA

History and TV have provided many roles, mostly negative, for black males. Our society rarely sees black men in the role of care taker or nurse, providing nursing care and in the role of leader particularly in a female dominated profession. It has been my life’s mission to tear down that stereotype despite a system that clings tightly to those stereotypes. I am the nurse who cares.

You’re the doctor?! Not a nurse?!!

July 6, 2015August 31, 2021 black patients, doctor, dreadlocks, fertility, Madison, N word, Nima Scott, nurse, professional, professionalism, rage, staff, stereotype, WI

Nima Scott,
Madison, WI.

I’m a Black, dreadlocked woman who works in a psychiatric facility. My first week on my unit a Black patient incredulously yelled that he had NEVER seen a Black doctor in the hospital in all of the years that he lived there. Apparently, neither had my peers whose sole framework for a Black professional woman is that of a nurse. I’ve had to interrupt staff from sanctioning black patients with time-outs, losses of privilege, and at worst, seclusion for erupting in anger when white patients call them “n*****”! It appears that the expectation is that the recipient maintains his equanimity. Staff seems impervious to my reasoning that psychotic or not, calling someone “n*****” is not going to elicit understanding for the perpetrator’s struggles, but rage. It enrages me! But then again, that could just be my lack of professionalism. I am Black, after all.

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