Parish Nurse Is There to Pick Up Pieces : Nancy Robles Accepts Challenge of Ministering to ‘Physical, Emotional and Physical Needs’ in East L.A.

It’s a fact of life in urban America: Gangs kill. And when they do, who picks up the pieces? In East Los Angeles, long a battleground for rival gangs, Nancy Robles has accepted that challenge. A registered nurse with broad experience from hospital emergency rooms to psychiatric centers, Robles was appointed parish nurse at White Memorial Medical Center in Boyle Heights last July. Working through area churches, schools and community centers, Robles says her job is to provide health education while “ministering to the spiritual, emotional and physical needs of a person.” But recently, that task has grown to include counseling those suffering from a condition known as “gang loss.”

Gang loss most commonly afflicts a woman whose son, brother, boyfriend or husband has been killed in a gang-related incident. And in her attempts to ease the pain of these women, Robles can call on more than just an extensive nursing background and an intimate understanding of East Los Angeles. Not long ago, Robles lost a close member of her own family under tragic circumstances she still won’t discuss. But, she says, that experience has taught her “what loss is like,” a knowledge that has drawn her closer to the people she serves. Robles, who declined to give her age, shared these views on her new job and its daunting responsibilities with writer Kevin Baxter: *

I was born and raised in East Los Angeles. I went to Resurrection (elementary school) and then Sacred Heart of Jesus (high school) in Lincoln Heights. My whole life seems to be here in East L.A. I didn’t travel outside of East L.A. I feel a part of this community. But it’s different now. There’s weapons, and girls are in gangs.

When I was young, I just remember the guys from Estrada Courts always following me home, following me to the bus, picking on me. But they didn’t do anything to me. No one ever threatened me. The funny part was that, in my neighborhood, you could only walk up to a certain area and then we weren’t allowed to cross the bridge (because of gang hostilities). My husband’s family lived across the bridge, so it was weird. If we would have seen each other as children, we probably would have played together had I been allowed to cross the bridge. But because that was White Fence and I was Barrio Nuevo, we never connected until we got to high school.

I know I look different than the girls from Aliso Pico or Maravilla or even at Resurrection. I don’t dress the same. I drive a different kind of car than their parents drive. But we still speak the same language. And I think it makes a big difference that we speak the same language, that we have the same familia , that we understand what East L.A. is about, that I respect them and they respect me.

In another community, I don’t think I would be happy or successful. But when you look at the national model for parish nurses, I looked at the dynamics that were there and the dynamics in East L.A. and I really had to work with my supervisor and tell her that we can’t apply that model because East L.A. is so culturally different.

In the projects, there are 10 different gangs. That’s a big problem. When I come to the hospital and I find out it was shot up from the gangs, that’s a very real problem. It’s real. It’s here. These kids belong to gangs. There’s a lot of violence. There’s a lot of death. It’s at the corner.

And these are kids, 14-year-old kids! One person can’t change it, but they can open doors. By having this position, I am empowered to serve this community, and I feel very privileged. I see a great impact. I touch people’s lives directly. They know who I am. I know who they are. I feel a direct connection. It’s an uplifting feeling being able to service this community. But I don’t want you to think I am a gang intervention specialist. That is not my role. I am a parish nurse, and I was called by the women of the projects to provide support to women who had lost significant others through violence.

The last funeral I went to was to support a woman that had been part of my group. It was a way of providing respect and love and to show that I truly care about her as a person. To be included is a privilege. I know what loss is like and I know what pain is like. But I also know what comfort is like, and if I’m able to provide a little bit of comfort on that immediate, intense pain, it makes me feel like I’m being a good person, a total person.

But the job is really about meeting the community’s needs, not about meeting my needs. It’s a giving experience, but it’s also a receiving experience. Sometimes the day can be very exhausting, the situations very painful. The goal is to remain non-threatening and to offer a helping hand. Allowing people to vent, validating their feelings, helping them see alternatives--that’s what can make a person feel healthier and get through a grief-loss situation.

I’ll tell you of this one case of a 14-year-old who was extremely depressed, with suicidal feelings. She needed to see a counselor, and she had a big book of referrals. But she called up and there was a four-week waiting period before they could see her. I called and she had an appointment the next week. In that way, I feel gratification that I was able to help this kid because of a connection. Not that I’m anybody big or important, but just because I had a connection.

There are certain cases that really weigh on you. One of my sweethearts over in Aliso Pico was (also) very suicidal and I had to admit her to a psych hospital. And I know she was really angry with me. She didn’t want to talk to me. Emotionally, that’s kind of tough because you want to be the good guy. But you’re not always the good guy.

The important part is safety and wellness. My feelings are secondary.