By: Telly Gonzaga-Ocampo
Mementos From Tomorrow’s Florence Nightingales
Last year, sunshine came to our barangay in Taguihon, Baclayon in the form of young women in white.
They were junior nursing students from the University of Bohol, out on public health duty, with their senior guides watching over them. I had just come home from the hospital, still soft around the edges from recovery, when they knocked on doors with clipboards, thermometers, and smiles that did not giggle but glowed.
They reminded me of another time.
I thought of the old dormitories in Cebu, back when there were only three nursing schools: Southern Islands, Southwestern, and Velez. I remembered sitting in a capping ceremony at the old Velez School of Nursing, watching girls pin on their caps like a quiet vow to enter the world of Florence Nightingale. Their uniforms were starched to a crisp white. Even their shoes and bed linens were white. It felt sacred, like stepping into a story. It even took me back to high school, to the late Edmila Borja reading us “The Tale of Acadie” in English class, that same hushed sense of purpose and service.
These students in Taguihon carried that same spirit, just in a different decade.
They were young, energetic, amiable, and steady. They did not make a fuss. They listened. They checked blood pressure. They taught handwashing and healthy meals. They left behind small things, not as assignments, but as gifts.
Vanda
From Maria Judee Sumatra:
“You are not alone – managing caregiving burden and promoting self care. “
Myrna Juliet Torres wrote:
“Healthy eating is a family affair where everyone gets to savour the delicious benefits of nourishing their overall well-being together.”
Another note, unsigned on a paper fan, read:
“Do no harm. Put safety first.”
Simple words. But for an aging patient home from the hospital, they warmed more than any blanket. I wish I could name all three senior guides who led them. I remember one was from Corella. His middle name was Lim. When I asked, he laughed gently and said, “Dili ko datu nga Lim, Ma’am.” That gesture of humility stayed with me.
At Ramiro Hospital, where I spent 11 days in the ICU, the same University of Bohol faces kept appearing at my bedside: Agot. Two Mary Janes. Brylle. Milflores. Anne. Addie. Mary Jane Apor and Mary Jane Gumapac. And the nursing assistants who moved like quiet light through the ward. They were the ones who stayed a minute longer to adjust a pillow, to explain a drip, and to give comfort with extra care and devotion.
I could not thank them enough then. I am still trying now.
Today, I gave them something back the only way I could. I cut the first bloom from the vanda orchid I have been sheltering for a long time. Two months ago I moved it into the sun, and it answered. That first flower is for them.
It is hard to write this without also writing the ache that comes with it. Our nurses are dreaming of a better life abroad. And who can blame them? The salary here is never enough to raise a family, yet the work asks for everything: nights, holidays, strength, heart.
So we send them out into barangays with fans and notes and vanda blooms, and we pray they remember they are seen.
To the student nurses who came to Taguihon last year: you brought back the best of nursing’s past, and you carried it into our homes with gentle hands. You did not just do public nursing. You restored it.
And to the ones at Ramiro who kept me company: Thank you for every extra cup of water, for every soft “kumusta,” for making a hospital room feel a little less lonely.
You are tomorrow’s Florence Nightingales. And we are already better because of you.