It’s been several years since my own near-fatal health scare. In the time between now and then, I’ve often reflected on how, no matter how I felt about the physicians in charge, I always implicitly trusted the nurses. I had doctors who must have hidden their halo somewhere, and I had doctors whose degree I swear was written on the back of a greasy diner’s paper placemat. I can’t say, though, that I ever thought that the nurse taking care of me had anything other than the best for me in mind.
It was sobering, then, when Ellen D. Baer opened her speech-turned-article “‘Do Trained Nurses … Work for Love, or Do They Work for Money?’ Nursing and Altruism in the Twenty-First Century” like this:
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