In my job, I not only care for sick people, I also learn a lot that actually has nothing to do with care. In another job I probably would never have noticed one thing: many older people have tattoos. It is often just a single one, small and unobtrusive on a part of the body that is not immediately visible when a tank top is worn in the summer.
For example, the man, well over 60, on whose upper arm I discovered a picture of a mermaid when I was putting the cuff on his blood pressure. The tattoo looked like it had been done a long time ago—the color was washed out, the edges already fuzzy. I don’t always do that, but if I have the feeling that it fits, then I also ask about the story behind the tattoo – that’s how I’ve already heard one or the other nice anecdote from the life of my patients: The mermaid has become mine Stabbed patient as a young man, along with some comrades from his Marine squad. A “sinful youth”, as he himself said. Still, he smiled mischievously when he told me about it. He doesn’t seem to find this youthful sin that bad after all.
Another patient wore a red rose below her breast, very small and subtle. The woman was over 80 years old and every time I saw this beautiful flower I wondered what it meant. Unfortunately, I couldn’t ask about it because the patient was on a ventilator when I took care of her.
Rarely does a patient have a tattoo that makes me uncomfortable – but I have never seen a banned symbol such as a swastika or other Nazi symbols on anyone. But once an older patient had tattooed writings that were, according to the words, glorifying violence. This has caused me some anxiety. Is this man someone who likes to punch? Does he belong to an extremist group? Has he even killed another human being? Or why did he have words tattooed on him, the meaning of which pointed in this direction?
Intensive care specialist Pola Gülberg from the Ebersberger district clinic.
(Photo: Peter Hinz-Rosin)
None of us found out what the tattoos were all about, what kind of person this man was: when he came to us, he was unconscious, there were no relatives. And when he woke up again, his severe illness had left such severe brain damage that he hardly responded to a speech.
But one thing was clear: although the tattoos suggested that my patient was violent, my colleagues and I treated him with the same professional care as all our other patients. We are nurses, our work revolves around patients getting better. Judges are responsible for the rest.
Pola Gülberg is an intensive care nurse. In this column, the 38-year-old talks about her work at the district clinic in Ebersberg every week. The collected texts are below sueddeutsche.de/thema/Auf Station to find.