In 2004, I told my 18-year-old daughter nursing was “for people who can’t do better.” She left for Ohio and never came home. Twenty-five years later, I woke up in hospice—and the nurse caring for me had the same scar I remembered from her childhood. Then she looked at me and said, “You don’t recognize your own daughter?”
My daughter wanted to be a nurse. I told her, “Nursing’s for people who can’t do better. Get a real job.” She was eighteen. She had gotten a scholarship in …
In 2004, I told my 18-year-old daughter nursing was “for people who can’t do better.” She left for Ohio and never came home. Twenty-five years later, I woke up in hospice—and the nurse caring for me had the same scar I remembered from her childhood. Then she looked at me and said, “You don’t recognize your own daughter?” Read More
