such a one would say, "that I never need stay with a patient after
the temperature has been normal for ten days," or, "I do not mind
the first two weeks of an obstetric case, then there is something
to do, but after that I am ready to leave," or again, "When my
patient is ready to go out driving, I always wish she would drive
me home; half-sick people are not to my taste." I have often
wondered if this feeling is not caused by the atmosphere of the
hospital which has, during training, been the nurse's home,--the
hospital, where the patient leaves at the earliest possible moment
of recovery, to make room for someone else. The pupil nurse gets
used to the excitement of critical illness, used to the hard work
of constant watching and fighting for the patients' lives, and
that, and only that, it seems to her, is nursing. So when she goes
to her private cases, and her patient has a long period of
convalescence, she feels out of place, she does not seem to be
doing what she was trained to do, and she frets over it, until
some happy day when the doctor releases her, and she is at liberty
to go once more to some one who is at death's door.

Nurses seem to feel that caring for a convalescent is not
"nursing," but there they are mistaken. After a serious illness it
takes a long time to restore the patient to perfect health, some
function may need the close watching which only trained eyes can
give, and it is not beneath the dignity of the nurse to remain,
and keep watch until every part is once more in perfect working
order. Many nurses feel that it is not nursing to amuse a patient,
but it is nursing to help him on to the healthy plane from which
he has fallen, to play games with an invalid and to watch him, to
read with him, and to watch, to walk or ride or travel with him,
and to watch, always to watch, that the dreaded symptom does not