I'll give you a minute, stop and think about it.
Was it a little harder than you expected? It was for me.
The World Health Organization's definition has been presented several times in our first few days. Written in 1946, it says that "good health is a state of complete physical, social and mental well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity." (http://www.who.int/trade/glossary/story046/en/). That was in my brain when the question was asked, but I tried to reach behind that and think about how I personally felt.
The first thing I think of when I think of health is physical health. The "absence of disease or infirmity," I guess. The ability to ask certain things of my body and to have it perform those to at least the level of my realistic (if not ideal) expectations. To say "hey, I'm going to bike to school every day, it's two miles away" and have my body that has not been regularly exercising at all be able to handle it. To be able to lift and move furniture when called upon to do so. To not wake me up in the middle of the night coughing or vomiting. Healthy. But that doesn't feel quite complete.
The catch for me is that social and mental part. I feel like physical health, to an extent, is something that you can look at and say "yes, I have that." I may not be a marathon runner or an Olympic weight lifter, but I get by. But with social and mental health? Isn't there always room for improvement? Aren't there always moments where I feel lonely, or tiptoeing on the edge of depression, or making choices that I practically regret while I'm making them (but continue to do) surrounding food and the negative self-image that brings me? Will I ever truly attain social and mental health? Maybe I already have social and mental health, by being able to function in society with a minimum of social awkwardness, by having a mostly sunny disposition, by at least seeing and naming my flaws. Or maybe I'll never quite get there, will always be just a little too unhappy, a little too self-critical and self-sabatoging, and that would mean that I'm not healthy. That doesn't quite feel right either.
So what is health?
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On another note, that same professor asked us about our images of nurses. What comes to mind when you think of a nurse? For me it was this:
Other people in class started offering their responses. Someone mentioned the hat, another Nurse Ratched, a third offered the sexy Halloween costume. Then a few people talked about experiences. A nurse who had comforted a terminal grandparent. The NP who had inspired them to go into nursing.
When I was in the Peace Corps, my father passed away. That grief and guilt is something I feel ever-increasing pressure to deal with, particularly getting into medical settings that remind me of that time. But that's another story for another day.
After his funeral, I drove to visit my best friend from college. She and I met through an ex of mine - I don't remember why I first took her to the ER (chronic health issues) but over the next three years we became quite close, often chatting for hours in one hospital or another. I went down to see her, she had been doing really well over the past year, but 24 hours after I'd arrived...we were driving to the ER. And then she was going into surgery.
I went with her mother into the recovery area as she woke up from anesthesia. The nurse took me at my word about us being sisters, only commenting that we didn't look much alike. Later, on the floor, there were two people on staff who stuck out in my mind. They might have both been RN's, maybe NP's, maybe clinical nurse leaders, maybe nurse assistants. My friend was on a self-administered pain drip - if it hurts enough to wake you up, you press the button and get a dose (if it's time for another "allowed" dose - it prevents you from overdosing). If you feel better and fall asleep, the button goes unpressed and you wake up in pain.
One of the staff members insisted that only my friend could push the button, and generally had a "follow the rules" attitude. I understand, the rules are there for a reason, often good ones. The more I dig into the classes I'm taking, the more I can see why that kind of stance by nurses is encouraged.
But the person who I'll always be grateful to was the nurse who walked in quietly in the evening and found me on top of the blankets, lying next to my "sister," holding her and pushing the pain medication button whenever it would allow another dose while she finally slept, and responded with a smile. That, to me as a family member of a patient, is what makes a nurse.
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