Chris Tyler, RN
It’s not unusual for a son to follow in his father’s footsteps. In some families it’s the tradition, if not the expectation. However, it is somewhat unusual for a son to follow in his mother’s footsteps.
I’m quite sure my mother never expected me to chase her dream. But I did. And I achieved the very goal she had to give up because of me.
Becoming an RN wasn’t my first career choice. Few, if any, boys of my generation grew up in the 1960s and 1970s wanting to be nurses. It just wasn’t within the narrow gender roles of the day.
My mother, Gerry Fox, was a popular high school student and salutatorian of her class of 1950. She attended the University of Tampa (Fla.) and was recruited by the CIA, moving to Alexandria, Va., in the early ’50s. However, she became disillusioned with the agency and left after a few years. All she would say was that they wanted her to do things she didn’t want to do.
She returned home to Tampa and applied to the Gordon Keller School of Nursing at Tampa General Hospital. She was accepted into the diploma program and was doing well. Then, in her last year, 1958, she became pregnant with me. The school did not allow pregnant nursing students in those days, and she was forced to drop out. She soon was busy raising a family and never finished nursing school. She worked for a local law firm until her untimely death from cancer at age 59 in 1991.
They say everything happens for a reason, but that reason can be obscure sometimes.
I was unhappy with my life at the time of my mother’s death. I was recently divorced and tired of the business management rat race. I knew I wanted to make a change. So I used the money I inherited from my mother to take two years off and attend nursing school at Hillsborough Community College. I now work at Tampa General, the very hospital where she trained. It was the best decision I ever made.
Sometimes in life, you just have to go with the flow to get where you need to be. Everything just falls into place. I have been at Tampa General since 1994. I am now the senior member of the STAT team, a group of mobile critical care nurses that responds to emergencies throughout the hospital. I always tell everyone I have the best job there.
One day, I was helping transport a frail but alert elderly woman to the MRI scanner. She was seriously ill and quite nervous about being alone in the scanner. I gave her two mg. of Versed IV. I tried to distract her from her fears as we waited in the holding area of the old Tower MRI. We started talking while the scan was set up. We talked about many things, including how we were both Tampa natives. Then she told me she had been a nursing instructor at Gordon Keller in the late 1950s. Taken aback, I asked whether she remembered my mother. She did — and what had happened to her. She told me how badly the instructors felt about Gerry having to drop out, and she asked whether my mother had finished nursing school. I told her that, sadly, my mother had died without realizing her dream.
With tears in her eyes, the woman held my arm. “It’s OK,” she said. “You finished for her.”
I had to step away for a minute, afraid I might join her in tears. Those who know me know that it takes a lot to shake me, but those words did. Until then, I don’t think I had realized that in a way, I had finished for her.
I stayed in the scanner with the woman until the Versed took effect and she fell asleep. We made plans to get together and look through my mother’s yearbooks. She said she could tell me some stories. I bet she could have. But she was 94, and at that age, as my grandfather always said, you shouldn’t buy green bananas. She died a few days later and we never had the chance to get together. Still, I was happy to have met her, and I hope I helped make her last days a bit less traumatic.
Both of my parents succumbed to cancer before age 61. The time I spent in the hospital with them helped prepare me for what I do today. Somehow, somewhere, I have to believe they both would be proud of me and my career choice. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.
Chris Tyler, RN, CNRN, is a critical care nurse on the STAT team (RRT) at Tampa (Fla.) General Hospital.
I’m quite sure my mother never expected me to chase her dream. But I did. And I achieved the very goal she had to give up because of me.
Becoming an RN wasn’t my first career choice. Few, if any, boys of my generation grew up in the 1960s and 1970s wanting to be nurses. It just wasn’t within the narrow gender roles of the day.
My mother, Gerry Fox, was a popular high school student and salutatorian of her class of 1950. She attended the University of Tampa (Fla.) and was recruited by the CIA, moving to Alexandria, Va., in the early ’50s. However, she became disillusioned with the agency and left after a few years. All she would say was that they wanted her to do things she didn’t want to do.
She returned home to Tampa and applied to the Gordon Keller School of Nursing at Tampa General Hospital. She was accepted into the diploma program and was doing well. Then, in her last year, 1958, she became pregnant with me. The school did not allow pregnant nursing students in those days, and she was forced to drop out. She soon was busy raising a family and never finished nursing school. She worked for a local law firm until her untimely death from cancer at age 59 in 1991.
They say everything happens for a reason, but that reason can be obscure sometimes.
I was unhappy with my life at the time of my mother’s death. I was recently divorced and tired of the business management rat race. I knew I wanted to make a change. So I used the money I inherited from my mother to take two years off and attend nursing school at Hillsborough Community College. I now work at Tampa General, the very hospital where she trained. It was the best decision I ever made.
Sometimes in life, you just have to go with the flow to get where you need to be. Everything just falls into place. I have been at Tampa General since 1994. I am now the senior member of the STAT team, a group of mobile critical care nurses that responds to emergencies throughout the hospital. I always tell everyone I have the best job there.
One day, I was helping transport a frail but alert elderly woman to the MRI scanner. She was seriously ill and quite nervous about being alone in the scanner. I gave her two mg. of Versed IV. I tried to distract her from her fears as we waited in the holding area of the old Tower MRI. We started talking while the scan was set up. We talked about many things, including how we were both Tampa natives. Then she told me she had been a nursing instructor at Gordon Keller in the late 1950s. Taken aback, I asked whether she remembered my mother. She did — and what had happened to her. She told me how badly the instructors felt about Gerry having to drop out, and she asked whether my mother had finished nursing school. I told her that, sadly, my mother had died without realizing her dream.
With tears in her eyes, the woman held my arm. “It’s OK,” she said. “You finished for her.”
I had to step away for a minute, afraid I might join her in tears. Those who know me know that it takes a lot to shake me, but those words did. Until then, I don’t think I had realized that in a way, I had finished for her.
I stayed in the scanner with the woman until the Versed took effect and she fell asleep. We made plans to get together and look through my mother’s yearbooks. She said she could tell me some stories. I bet she could have. But she was 94, and at that age, as my grandfather always said, you shouldn’t buy green bananas. She died a few days later and we never had the chance to get together. Still, I was happy to have met her, and I hope I helped make her last days a bit less traumatic.
Both of my parents succumbed to cancer before age 61. The time I spent in the hospital with them helped prepare me for what I do today. Somehow, somewhere, I have to believe they both would be proud of me and my career choice. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.
Chris Tyler, RN, CNRN, is a critical care nurse on the STAT team (RRT) at Tampa (Fla.) General Hospital.
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