by Sherrie Smith

Created on: June 26, 2009

My nose was stuffed, the day was long, and I was so tired from my pounding head when my head nurse came to me with one more job to do.

You see, Roger Lee needed transporting to a local hospital for more treatment.

The year was 1975, and I was a fairly new registered nurse who had taken a job in southeastern Kentucky working for Frontier Nursing Service.

Frontier Nursing Service was a public health type organization that covered 3 remote Appalachian county areas in southeastern Kentucky, extending over some 700 square miles, and encompassing some 15,000 residents. We nurses used jeeps or VW Things to cover the mountainous countryside, which were modern conveniences, as just 2 years prior to my employment, many nurses still rode horseback to deliver babies in these hillbilly homes.

I worked in a small hospital, if it could even be so named, as the building itself was an old two story house that was condemned a few years prior. So rotten were the floors that the flat plate x-ray machine had gone through the flooring more than once due to the weight of the apparatus.

Working on the med-surg second floor of this hospital for a 10 hour day shift caught me in a rough position. My shift was over and I had fought with a couple doctors during the day to please check over Roger Lee, who apparently had viral pneumonia, as his breathing became more & more labored. This hospital had no equipment capable of dealing with this baby's respiratory condition, so he was placed in a crib with an old fashioned oxygen tent. I had no pediatric oxygen equipment available to use.

Just before my shift ended at 5 P.M., Dr. Lynch, the pediatrician, showed up asking why Roger Lee was still here, meaning why hadn't anyone transferred him to another facility with better equipment. My answer was I couldn't convince anyone to do anything. Flying into action, Dr. Lynch initiated the phone calls to Harlan Appalachian Hospital for his admission there.

Immediately thereafter, the head nurse looked at me with the question on her face of who is going to make the run? Harlan was 30 miles to the east across the mountains, meaning a twisty turning drive of an hour each way. Reluctantly, amid my sniffing, I agreed to do it, as no one else was available. A few quick phone calls were made to Wendover, the organization's headquarters, to find a courier, a young adult volunteer who did odd jobs and errands to relieve nursing & administrative personnel for other

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>