On the Receiving End: A Memoir of a Nurse Who Met, Tackled, and Overcame Insurmountable Obstacles

By Sheila J. Brooks RN BSN

On the Receiving End is a memoir, narrating the life of a nurse who encountered, intercepted, and surpassed overwhelming stumbling blocks. Being an only child, she was forced to tackle obstacles no one should bear alone at such a young age. There were a wide variety of obstacles awaiting her in her teenage years, and they yet carried over, once she began working as a nurse, ‘On The Giving End’ of health care. Born on a Friday, she was truly a loving and giving person, who wished her days of receiving would cease.

“This experience solidified my passionate desire to become a registered nurse, on the giving end of healthcare.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798385003464

Sheila J. Brooks RN BSN

Sheila was born and raised in New York City, has resided in Mount Vernon, N.Y. for 41 years, and is the proud mother of an adult son and daughter. She was a voice major at an illustrious high school, however, her goal in life was to give of herself by caring for those in need. She attained her Bachelor of Science degree in nursing, then began her career as a registered nurse in 1979. Her professional background in health care, was instrumental in clarifying medically related jargon within her memoir. Sheila is a published poet, as well as a voice-over artist. She enjoys cooking and baking, and simply adores her 13 year old cat, Little Boy!

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Copyright © 2023 Sheila J. Brooks RN, BSN.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

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this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0344-0 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0345-7 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0346-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023913794

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/25/2023

In memory of my father, who demonstrated all things

are possible if you believe in God, have faith, remain

persistent and determined, and always say, I can.

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

1.     Born to Survive

2.     Onward and Upward

3.     On My Own

4.     Suburban Living

5.     I’m In / I’m Out

6.     Making That Switch

7.     My Revolving Door

8.     An Unforgettable Easter

9.     My Obstacle Course Complicates

10.   Home Care Homies: Give and Receive

11.   Lord, Help Me Hold On

12.   Stressful Rest at Home

13.   Parting Is Sweet Sorrow

14.   Please Release Me

15.   Homebound with Heavy Loads

16.   Strength and Patience Are Vital

17.   New Kid on the Hospital Block

18.   In Then Out, Out Then In

19.   How Much Longer and How Much More?

20.   Happy Birthday to Me

Preface

For many years, I entertained the idea of writing a book. Friends who were aware of my continual stumbling blocks would often encourage me to write a book.

Late one night, I turned on the television, and my attention was captured by a woman speaking about a strange dream she had. She said the title of a children’s book was revealed to her, and she was told her assignment was to write this book. Having no previous writing experience, she was not sure if she could accomplish such a task. As a Christian woman of faith, she sought divine inspiration, and she was soon guided through writing this book from the beginning through completion. She was even directed to a publisher that enjoyed her manuscript and proceeded to publish her book.

Watching this program provided me with the inspiration to believe that—with God’s help—I could also write a book. Strangely enough, this book title had popped into my head several weeks earlier, when I hadn’t even been consciously thinking about writing a book.

Writing this memoir has been rewarding, beneficial, therapeutic, and liberating. Most importantly, this memoir exemplifies and validates many miracles and blessings throughout my life.

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt gratitude to my family, friends, church family, and the hospital personnel who were faithful cheerleaders. Thank you all for your prayers, love, support, encouragement, and expertise. May God bless you and keep you in his care.

1

Born to Survive

I departed the confines of my mother’s womb in June 1958, entered this world, and inhaled my first breath of life. It was the infamous Friday the thirteenth, and I cried like a baby. These newborn cries were, of course, reflexive and in response to the traumatic birth process, but they were incomparable to the immeasurable emotional tears I’d shed while on the receiving end. There would be tears of sadness, despair, hurt, fear, pain, and anger. They began too soon, while I was still young and innocent.

My parents were introduced to one another by members of their respective churches, and after dating for two years, they were united in holy matrimony. She was thirty-four years old, and he was forty-eight. When I adorned their lives, my mother was thirty-six, and my father was close to fifty.

During the early phases of growth and development, life was good from a childlike perspective. I didn’t mind not having a sibling or pet to play with and keep me company. I was granted everything I needed, desired, or requested, and I never had to be concerned about sharing. Socialization was fulfilled by a circle of friends from school and church and kids living on the block. I was living the best life, or so I thought, until maturing and acquiring comprehension and perception.

Being raised by two older parents resulted in advanced maturation. As I became older, it was upsetting to be prohibited from engaging in extracurricular activities like my peers. I was, however, allowed to babysit for neighborhood children and socialize outside with neighborhood friends.

When indoors, I sensed something amiss between my parents, but I couldn’t decipher anything specific. For the most part, they refrained from bickering in my presence, waiting until they believed I was asleep. We lived in a railroad-style apartment, and my bedroom was the second car. The walls were very thin. Despite their bedroom being three rooms down, a keen auditory sense easily captured these tirades. Hearing my father’s almost nightly verbal assertions was both frightening and troubling.

Rather than mealtime being enjoyable family time, it was dismal and filled with tension. We didn’t engage in casual or purposeful conversation during or after dinner. If looks could destroy, my mother would have been demolished right there in the kitchen. I would eat rapidly and exit the kitchen because his nonverbal communication was unbearable. Being on the receiving end of their less-than-perfect marriage seemed so unfair.

It was then I began yearning for a sibling, an aunt, or an uncle to vent the despair I felt. Their marital conduct was genuinely uncharacteristic; my mother was an evangelist, and my father was an ordained deacon. I couldn’t affirm this with complete certainty, but I doubted this hypocritical behavior would be viewed as Christian.

Despite my less-than-ideal homelife, I did my best to cope with the circumstances. I was never the brightest student in class, but I was also not the class dunce. From about the fourth grade, this stressful homelife negatively impacted me in school. I was always preoccupied with thoughts of what awaited me at home. I felt sorry for my mother and upset because she was continually subjected to harassment by my father. In this instance, I felt as though she was on the receiving end of a fate far worse than mine.

2

Onward and Upward

Toward the end of my final year in junior high school, I auditioned for entry into a high school for students with interests in music and the arts. Despite having a good singing voice, I wasn’t at all interested in pursuing a vocal career. However, I did want to avoid attending the local high school with its ghastly reputation. Daily stressors at home were already more than enough, and I was ecstatic upon receiving notification of acceptance into this school.

Against all distractions, I knew I had to work hard and excel academically to qualify for acceptance into a reputable college. I entered high school feeling more mature and confident. It was a huge transition, but the organizational skills already acquired definitely assisted in my adjusting. One of the first semester classes assisted me in the expansion of wisdom and knowledge. Not only was the word dysfunctional defined; it was explained.

I immediately grasped this word as one precisely describing my parents’ marriage, our family unit, and my homelife. Sadly, simply learning this new word couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t change anything. Fortunately, my entire high school experience was superb. I met young people from many nationalities and backgrounds. Everyone felt honored to be a student in this high school, and they remained focused on academics and their specific talents.

My mother was hired by the hospital around the corner from where we lived, just two weeks after arriving from Jamaica. Aware of my aspiration to work in the field of health care, she encouraged me to volunteer as a candy striper. I did so during the summer for the first two years in high school. I enjoyed the continuous activity within the hospital setting, and I loved interacting with patients. This experience solidified a passionate desire to become a registered nurse, on the giving end of health care. I desired to give of myself to patients in need, providing them with nursing care to recuperate and improve their overall well-being.

I hadn’t planned on volunteering a third summer. I wanted time to relax and focus on the upcoming senior year, anticipating it would be grueling. I needed to maintain good grades for acceptance into a degreed nursing program. The library would be the peace-and-quiet go-to place. I always had reading to do, things to learn, and numerous facts to commit to memory.

My sixteenth birthday was approaching the following week, and I decided to wait until after this sweet birthday to begin private summer school. Days after this birthday, I suddenly developed a high fever, which wouldn’t decrease despite taking analgesics every six hours. Next, I developed a severe sore throat. I had no desire to eat. Shortly after, I became incapable of swallowing saliva. My mother took me to the emergency room for three consecutive nights. Each night, I was diagnosed with tonsillitis and discharged.

I awakened on day four with a dry, blackened tongue and feeling very weak and lethargic. My mother contacted a private ear, nose, and throat doctor, and she practically had to drag me to his office. I shamelessly lay down on the couch in his waiting room and fell asleep.

Once awakened, I entered the doctor’s office, and my mother proceeded to recount my days of sickness. After a brief examination, he realized I was boiling hot and called the hospital’s admitting office.

Upon being wheeled into the hospital room, my clothing was quickly removed and replaced by a hospital gown. I was assisted into bed atop an ice blanket. Blood was drawn, and an intravenous line started delivering much-needed hydration and medication. The majority of my two-week hospital stay was spent in a state of total delirium, experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations. This antibiotic-resistant infection created persistently high fevers, sustaining a delusional mindset.

Extensive testing revealed a diagnosis of infectious mononucleosis. The doctor assured us I would make a full recovery, which thankfully I gradually did. To this day, it remains an unsolved mystery as to precisely how I contracted this so-called kissing disease after my sixteenth birthday. The one nice and sweet outcome, was shedding forty unwanted pounds!

While a senior in high school, I developed yet another health problem. Once again, I required hospitalization and had surgery. The pain I experienced preoperatively was nil in comparison to what awaited me upon awakening from the anesthesia. I earnestly prayed nature would never call me into the bathroom. Unfortunately, after being served a concentrated black-and-white cocktail laxative, there was no alternative but to answer the call, which I sorely regretted. However, I was happy to be well enough to attend and be seated during high school graduation.

I met many remarkable schoolmates. Extending and receiving best wishes for the future was heartwarming. Despite the obstacles and challenges, I set high self-standards. I was on a mission to contribute to life and society by giving of myself, and I was determined not to allow anything to stop me from pursuing those aspirations. Between the two hospital stays, I submitted several college applications. Going away to college wasn’t an option since I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my mother alone.

Upon receiving notification, I was excited and pleased to be accepted into the nursing program at a university that was two subway rides from home. Equally exciting, was that a bestie from high school would be joining me for the four-year journey through college. During college orientation, I realized organizational skills were going to be advantageous. So much more was now required, and orderliness was mandatory.

One of the prerequisite courses educated me on the comprehensive definition of dysfunctional. This was most definitely a descriptive word choice for my parents’ marriage, our family unit, and homelife. Sadly, I remained powerless to change this unhealthy living environment. Nonetheless, I promptly adjusted to the workload required by each designated class. It wasn’t always easy, but I remained as focused as humanly possible on the timely completion of assignments.

My father had a medical history of hypertension, cardiovascular disease, and prostate disease. We were still taken aback when he suffered a massive stroke, resulting in permanent right-side paralysis. I genuinely felt badly for him but more so for my mother, since she would undoubtedly face additional challenges now. After being hospitalized for one month, he was discharged home via ambulance. His pre-delivered hospital bed and accessories were arranged in the smaller bedroom adjoining their master bedroom.

I noted his speech was no longer slurred, and he appeared somewhat docile. I prayed his surviving a stroke so massive would be influential in changing his offensive behavior. Before long, the calm atmosphere dissipated, replaced by a volatile climate. I was disappointed, shocked, sad, and angry. During his hospital stay, I had become accustomed to completing my schoolwork in peace and quiet.

It was stellar while it lasted, and now it was history.

Late at night, my father would shuffle from his room to the master bedroom for a verbal storm session, and then he would shuffle back to his hospital bed. This woeful game of musical beds occurred as often as he pleased, and my mother couldn’t prevent it. I acquired an unexpected break from his gibberish, except this time-out wasn’t exactly fun. Approaching the end of my freshman year, my tonsils became enlarged and infected. Unable to swallow anything, the ENT doctor said I needed to undergo a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy.

He wanted to operate promptly before I became dehydrated, and I was again admitted to the hospital on the corner. The operation itself was uneventful, but when I awakened and reflexively swallowed, future swallowing was a no-no. Once at home, I survived on soft food and cold liquids for a bit. The pain magically disappeared one day, and I was more than ready and able to resume normal eating.

As an eighteen-year-old legal adult, I rapidly became intolerant of the continual hogwash at home. In the midst of focusing on reading or studying, I’d often inadvertently raise my voice and demand silence. I’d feel badly after such outbursts, knowing my mother would pay the price for those verbal eruptions. I witnessed two incidents involving my parents, which confirmed an urgency to vacate this unhealthy environment prior to an occurrence I would live to regret. During the first incident, verbal intervention alone was effective: my father heard what I said and governed himself accordingly. Incident number two was the straw that shattered the camel’s back. I unknowingly entered our apartment during one of his rambunctious productions, tiptoed down the hallway toward the master bedroom, and witnessed a perturbing altercation. Observing how upset I was, my mother began quoting scriptures to me. I stormed out of the apartment and drove directly to the police station. After sharing my plight with an officer, he informed me there wasn’t anything I could do. He said my mother would need to go to court to obtain an order of protection against my father, and I knew for certain she would never contemplate taking such measures. I also knew I could no longer trust myself to continue living there much longer. I refused to allow him to destroy my life or the opportunity to experience peace, tranquility, happiness, security, and stability. These pleasures were largely absent during childhood and my developmental years.

In the fall of that year, my best friend introduced me to her cousin over the telephone. After exchanging introductory chat, we planned a Labor Day meet-and-greet date. Due to my father’s incessant tirades, I never had a real boyfriend. For me, it wasn’t worth contributing additional fuel to the existing four-alarm blaze of dysfunctional daily living.

There was no objection to this blind date, chiefly because he was kin to familiar church members. Our date was enjoyable and went exceptionally well. We acquainted ourselves with one another, and he empathized with all I’d endured as an only child raised amid parental turmoil. By the end of our date, we already knew we’d officially become a couple in the near future. From the start, I made it clear the top priority was my college schooling, which was understood and agreed upon.

All of my classes were going well, and I was soon introduced to clinicals in a hospital near campus. For many students, it was a first hospital setting exposure, but not for this ex-candy striper/patient. My boyfriend and I spoke daily, and we went out on weekends, holidays, and whenever else I was free. After seventeen months of dating, I was completely stunned when he asked me to marry him. I was also a bit shocked when I actually said yes, mainly because we were seated in his car, parked in front of a funeral home, awaiting my mother’s return from a wake. After announcing our engagement and plans to marry six months later, not everyone approved, but I didn’t care. No, I was not pregnant, and, yes, I would be completing college and becoming a registered nurse. Despite our too-many-to-count differences, I believed we could live happily ever after, just like Cinderella, my favorite fairy tale.

3

On My Own

The day following two arduous summer school sessions, we became husband and wife. I was elated to be married to a man who displayed genuine love for me, contrary to my dear old dad’s hurtful actions and words toward my dear mother. I was vacating the premises out of necessity and leaving her in God’s hands. I prayed he would protect her from all hurt, harm, and danger, and keep her mind in perfect peace.

My husband and I began our honeymoon in Acapulco, Mexico, and then we traveled to Mexico City, where I received an unexpected, bona fide bombshell! My newlywed husband of less than one week had the audacity to abruptly take an action reminiscent of my father. Well aware of my past, I couldn’t fathom a mindset for this action. Whatever it was, it was absolutely unacceptable. I was beyond upset. I told him if there was ever a repeat performance of such, he should be on the lookout for a counter-performance, and I meant it. He apologized profusely, and I forgave him, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, and never did forget this absurd honeymoon bummer.

Prior to our nuptials, my husband had secured our apartment. After returning from Mexico, it was time to begin beating the clock, which was ticking down before the first day of my senior year of college. I was successful in moving my belongings from my parents’ apartment, unpacking boxes galore, and creating an attractive and comfortable apartment. My husband was unable to take additional time off from work, and I did everything I was capable of independently handling. Afterward, I relished those days of rest, in complete peace and quiet.

Before returning to school, I went for an annual ladies’ examination. The doctor called a few days later and informed me of abnormal test results. I returned as instructed to repeat the cervical cancer test. Within a few days, he called to report that the second test results were consistent with the initial test. At the next office visit, he would perform a cervical cryosurgery.

This painless procedure involved applying liquid nitrogen to the abnormal cells via a probe. Subsequently, those cells gradually exit the body naturally. A test repeated two weeks later was completely normal, and I was one very happy and extremely grateful soul. Beginning senior year on a healthy note felt wonderful, and I prayed to remain healthy.

A huge additional undertaking prior to beginning school, was moving from our small one-bedroom apartment into a larger one in Westchester County. This well-maintained neighborhood was much quieter, but I wasn’t too fond of the steep hills. There also weren’t any stores in the immediate area, so driving here and there was mandatory. We quickly discovered our new neighborhood wasn’t as safe and secure as we had hoped. This was proven when I walked out of the apartment building—and the car I’d parked in an assigned space was gone.

The police successfully recovered the stolen vehicle up a steep hill, tireless and on wooden blocks. I asked my father to allow me to use his car until the technicalities of vehicle theft and recovery were completed. Yes, he still owned a car and had a valid license following his massive stroke. He resumed driving with an assistive device attached to the steering wheel. The gas and brake pedals were both managed with his left foot, and he’d go off driving!

As I was on the way home from picking up the loaner car, I observed a vehicle in the opposite lane swerving over the double yellow line. As this car proceeded to get closer, I began blaring the horn. A moment later, this car was in my lane—and coming at me head-on. I quickly veered to the right, resulting in the rear driver’s side door being forcefully struck. Upon impact, my head slammed against the driver’s door window, causing an immediate headache. The culprit sped away from the scene, but he was caught by the police who happened to drive by right on time. After providing the officers with the necessary documents and information, they asked if I needed medical assistance. I mindlessly declined, explaining that my head was throbbing and I simply wanted to drive home and go to sleep.

I made it home safely, parked and locked my father’s newly damaged car, took the elevator upstairs—and woke up in the hospital. It was determined that, despite the hardness of my head, I had sustained a brain concussion. My father wasn’t upset about his vehicle, and my parents were very grateful that I was alive. After a few days, I was discharged, and I made a full and speedy recovery. I then completed the credits required to graduate from the university with a bachelor of science degree in nursing.

The next humongous task was studying for the state board examination, to obtain a nursing license. I was elated upon receiving notification of successfully passing this state board examination. I hoped to be gainfully employed by a hospital in the very near future, working full-time as a registered nurse on the giving end of care. I’d already experienced being on the receiving end of care as a patient, and I looked forward to beginning this career. Feeling a sense of obligation to seek employment at the hospital on the corner, I was hired, and I began working full-time exactly one month after passing the boards. As a new graduate, working on a medical-surgical unit was mandatory to gain experience in a wide gamut of illnesses. From day one, I loved my job as a nurse!

Daily highway commutes weren’t exactly enjoyable, but the bitter always comes with the sweet. Extremely pungent was mandatory shift rotation. Working the evening shift wasn’t an issue, but that night shift was especially taxing. Following the required year of medical-surgical nursing, I requested a transfer to labor and delivery, where there was minimal shift rotation. It quickly became evident that this specialty unit was precisely the field of nursing for me.

The birth process itself was miraculous, and