‘To me the bottom line is love’

Isolia Morin is a registered nurse with a bachelors degree from UCLA, an X-ray technician and a credentialed teacher. In addition to working as a nurse in a Burbank doctor’s office, she gives special care to her family. Morin and her husband, Don, live in Burbank.

My name is spelled Isolia but it is pronounced, I-sola. The last “i” is silent. It’s a Cherokee Indian name, and it’s beautiful, I love it. My father was adopted when he was six weeks old by a Cherokee family when his mother died. One of their daughters was Isolia, and one was Ulalia. When I was born, my parents named me Isolia. It means “one alone and of the sun.”

When I was about 17 my father made me go to work for the telephone company. He thought all nice young ladies went to work for the telephone company. So I did, to make him happy. I stayed for about a year, and I realized that it wasn’t for me. I was a bad girl. When new people would come in, I would tell them to answer “Los Mongoose” instead of Los Angeles and they would be reported to the chief operator. I just wanted to relieve the boredom. I made up my mind that nursing was what I was going to do.

I trained in a Catholic hospital where everybody was very serious. The nuns would say, “That young girl with the long blond hair is having too much fun.” I thought, “I’m not going to be Nancy Nurse, the strict, starched disciplinarian.” I feel you can do a good job, but you don’t have to be a severe or stern person, you just have to give.

Michelle, my younger daughter, was born a blue baby. They told me at the time that they did not expect her to go home from the hospital. I said, “I don’t buy that. I’ll let you keep her for a while, but she’s going home with me!” They told me that they would have to do an exchange transfusion or I would have a brain damaged child. I had to make the decision to transfuse even though there was a great risk. She came through that beautifully, and I did take her home.

At the age of two she fell into the swimming pool while I was in the house recuperating from major surgery. I wasn’t aware that she was out there. I got a pole and pulled her over to the side. She was totally blue. I gave her the old Schafer method, where you push the air out of them rather than mouth to mouth. I worked on her for about 45 minutes, and there was no sign of life. The Fire Department arrived and they said, “She’s gone.” I said, “You don’t tell me she’s gone. She’s going to make it.” She was critical for three days and she survived. She survived because I wanted her to survive, and that’s the way I feel about it.

My husband had a lung taken out in 1959. He was a 4 1/2-pack-a-day smoker, and no one could tell him differently. Two and a half years ago they said he had cancer and had 30 to 90 days to live. But I said to myself, “Doctors are not always right.” If I take him home and if I take care of him, he’s going to be here for a while. Now, here we are 2 1/2 years later. Four months ago, God bless him, he stopped smoking.

I work four hours a day at Dr. Lee’s office, which is my little time away. The rest of the time I’m here taking care of him, and on Wednesday and Sunday I’m at the convalescent hospital with my mother.

Yesterday, when I spent the day with my mother, I said to her, “I have permission to take you out for a while. Let’s go for a ride. How would you like some ice cream?” And I thought back, how many times when we were kids, did they say this to us? I took her out for ice cream, and it was a very joyous occasion.

I consider myself a healer. I just feel that I have an ability. My children say, “You have a strong spirit and you won’t let any of us go.” I just feel that as long as I’m here to care for them and do for them and put my hands on them, they’re going to live. I’ve proven that with Michelle. I’ve proven that with my husband. I don’t care what the doctors say. I won’t let them go. I let them know how much I care about them, and I let them know that they are so important in my life. To me, the bottom line is love.