Living the Significant Life (7 page)

What else is significant or noticeable about the life you imagine for yourself?

Maria Hinostroza sighed heavily as she helped Mr. Goldman back into his hospital bed, adjusted the height, raised the side railing, and locked it into place. It was nearly 8 P.M. and she was tired, although her shift didn’t end for another three hours. Maybe some coffee would help.

Entering the small break room, Maria made an effort to look away from the leftover sheet cake on the counter. Today was the tenth anniversary of the day her friend Karla began working at Pinewood Heights, an assisted living facility in a Chicago suburb. The staff of the rehabilitation wing had a cake for every occasion: birthdays, employment anniversaries, and holidays. Maria had gained twelve pounds since she started working here. She didn’t need any more cake.

Maria had been thrilled when she’d gotten the job as a nurse’s aide. In the years since her family had emigrated from Peru, she’d finished high school, then worked in fast-food chains and grocery stores before her cousin Yolanda had recommended her for this job. Yolanda had said she’d be lucky to get the job, and she was right. The pay wasn’t great, but it was better than what Maria had been making, and she received medical benefits.

At first, she had loved the job. She was a quick learner, she was popular with the patients and staff alike, and the second shift seemed to suit her. She enjoyed having free time during the day, although she didn’t do much with it.

After three years, however, she was feeling restless. Dressing and bathing patients, helping them to and from the bathroom, and making beds had become mindless tasks she could do by rote. Maybe she wasn’t physically tired as much as she was just plain bored, she thought as she returned to the floor.

Maria sighed again as she entered the room of Mrs. Bonner, preparing to take her vital signs.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Maria said quickly as she noticed Janet Henry, the facility’s nurse practitioner, who was talking with Mrs. Bonner.

“No problem, Maria,” Janet said with a smile. “I’m just finishing up and about to be on my way.” She turned back to Mrs. Bonner and continued, “Okay, then, I’m going to start reducing those medications that we talked about. If everything keeps improving, I think you’ll be on your way home in a few days.”

Maria stepped aside to let Janet leave the room. She was in awe of Janet. They were about the same age and they worked in the same place, but their jobs couldn’t be more different. Although Maria enjoyed the patient contact and was proud of her role in helping them, she was keenly aware that the tasks she performed each day paled in comparison to what Janet did. As a nurse practitioner, she outranked even the registered nurses. She ordered tests and interpreted them. She decided who needed physical therapy, and who needed an EKG, and who was ready to be released. With some limitations, she was even licensed to prescribe medications. To Maria, she seemed almost like a doctor.

Maria had been watching Janet for a few months now, and she harbored a secret desire to be just like her. But since she had only a high school education, that seemed impossible. She’d done some research and knew that she’d need years of school, years full of science and math—impossible.

Over lunch the next day, Maria’s mother, Isabel, said, “You’ve been quiet lately. Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m okay. Just a little—I don’t know, bored, I guess? I like my job, but it’s gotten to be the same thing every day, and it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“You’re lucky to have such a good job,” her mother chided. “A lot of people would be very happy with what you have. Imagine if we were back in Peru. What would you have then? Not a good job like this, I can tell you that.”

“I know, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Maria replied. “It’s just that all those years you talked about leaving Peru and coming to the United States, you used to tell us that if we lived here, we could do anything we wanted,
be
anything we wanted. And I guess sometimes I just wish that were really true.”

“What is it that you want to be?”

“I’d like to be a nurse.”

“But you
are
a nurse.”

“No, Mama, I’m a nurse’s
aide
.
That’s an entirely different thing. Nurses—the real ones—have so much more responsibility, and they really get to help the patients. I do little things to help, and what I do is important, but I wish I could do more. There’s a woman at work who’s a nurse practitioner, which is kind of like a supernurse. She can even prescribe medicine for patients, almost like a doctor.”

“So why don’t you do that? You’re a smart girl.”

Maria laughed. “It’s not quite that simple. I only went to high school. To be a nurse practitioner, you have to go to college for four years to get a nursing degree, then go even more to get a master’s degree. It’s a lot of years and a lot of work.”

“You’re a hard worker.”

“Yeah, but it’s also a lot of money and—I don’t know, it’s just a lot. I’m fine doing what I’m doing.”

Isabel looked at her daughter and frowned. “You know what your problem is, Maria? You’ve got no imagination.”

“What?” Maria laughed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ever since I was a teenager, I dreamed about coming to the United States. I read books about it, and every time I met someone who had been here, I asked them a hundred questions about what it was like. After I married your father, I put it into the back of my mind because I was busy with you and your sister, but after your father died, I started thinking about it again. I thought about it all the time, imagining what it would be like to live here and have you girls grow up in this country.”

“That’s just daydreaming, Mama. Daydreaming doesn’t make anything true.”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Well, yes, we’re here, but not because you daydreamed about coming here.”

“Maybe not directly, but it’s part of the reason. Everybody thought I was crazy to think that I could move to another country with two young children and no husband, but I knew it was possible. I’d lie in bed at night, after you girls were asleep, and picture exactly what our life would be like. I saw a small apartment with a bedroom for me and one for you girls. I saw myself going to work every day and shopping at the grocery and speaking English to everyone I saw. I saw it in such detail, it was like a movie playing in my head.”

“I still don’t see the connection.”

“I spent so much time picturing us here, in our American home, that I started to believe it could really happen, and all of a sudden I found myself thinking of ways to do it. I talked about it to everyone I could find, hoping someone would have contacts here who could help. I even got a job at the American embassy to meet more people and learn more, and I tried to speak English at home as much as I could. After a while, the doors started opening up, and now here we are. Do you remember the first apartment we lived in? It looked almost exactly like the one I kept picturing before I went to sleep at night. It was like I’d imagined it into reality.”

“So you’re saying that’s what I need to do? Imagine myself being a nurse like Janet, and then I’ll be one?”

“I’m saying that it wouldn’t hurt. If you give up before you’ve even started, you’ll never be anything more than you are, but if you use your imagination, I’m sure you can find a way to make it happen.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Maria said. “I’ll think about it.”

She did think about it, and thought some more. Maria bought a book on visualization and started practicing for a few minutes each day. At first her mind wandered and she got frustrated, but in time the process became easier and she found herself conjuring up an increasingly clear picture of herself, still working at Pinewood but now as a full-fledged nurse practitioner. She saw herself in the kind of scrubs that Janet wore, and she even imagined that the two of them were friends, chatting over lunch in the tiny break room.

Her mother was right. The more Maria visualized herself in that role, the more she felt comfortable that it fit her, and the more it emboldened her to think about how she might begin to pursue it.

Late one afternoon, Maria was in the break room at Pinewood, sipping her coffee, when Janet walked in.

“Maria! I’m glad I ran into you,” she said.

“Oh, do you need some help with a patient?” Maria responded, starting to get up from her chair.

“No, nothing like that. I’m on the board at Fisk Career Academy, and we’ve just gotten clearance to expand the nursing program there. I don’t know if you’re interested, but I’ve seen how good you are with the patients here, and I think you’d make a great nurse. If you’d like, I could help you put your application together and set you up with the financial aid office. It’s a part-time program, so you could continue to work here, but you’ll need to move quickly because the new spots will fill up fast.”

Maria stared in dumbstruck silence.

“Maria? Are you okay?”

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine, just a little—surprised. I’ve actually been trying to work up the nerve to ask you for advice about going to nursing school. I’d love to do what you do.”

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence, then,” Janet replied. “Are you working tomorrow? Maybe we can start on your application then.”

“That would be great,” Maria said. “Thank you so much.” She turned and made herself busy pouring another cup of coffee so Janet wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes as she pictured her mother, all those years ago, sitting in a cramped house in Peru and picturing herself and her daughters living in the United States. Her mother’s imagination had transported the three of them nearly four thousand miles. Now Maria was starting her own journey. She wondered how far it would take her.