‘The most common stereotype of a male nurse questions your masculinity. . . . I know my masculinity is intact.’

Bob Lemay didn’t quit being a cop to take some cushy job behind a desk. Instead, the 33-year-old Chula Vista resident traded in his gun and badge for a stethoscope and a button that says, “I am a Patient Pleaser.” Lemay is an oncology nurse at Scripps Memorial Hospital in Chula Vista. He cares for cancer patients in all stages of the disease as well as patients who have just gone through surgery. He always knew he wanted to help people, and, after a year and a half on the La Mesa police force, he realized he wasn’t achieving that by handing out traffic tickets. Times staff writer Caroline Lemke interviewed Lemay at the hospital and Barbara Martin photographed him.

When I was a cop in La Mesa, we drove an ambulance three days a week. Our police car was an ambulance. The chief at that time thought it was a good PR ploy--you arrest people, and you can also save lives. So I drove this ambulance and that got me my exposure to medicine. That part of the job I loved. I loved going to the hospital, and I loved doing those kinds of things. I got exposed to nursing doing that. So that weighed in the back of my mind when I left the department.

I was a lousy cop. I didn’t have what I call a mean streak. There’s a mean streak that goes with being a cop. You’ve got to be willing to do some things that are less than pleasant. I had the ideal goals as a 20-year-old to be a cop and help people. But very little of the job of a police officer is helping people. Usually, it’s solving problems, doing things people don’t want to have done to them. And, in this job, I get to help people. I actually think it’s the best.

There’s a syndrome that goes with being a cop. It’s called the John Wayne Syndrome, and it strikes the average rookie cop at six months. And no one is to be trusted except for cops, and nobody understands you but other cops, and the whole world is out to get you, and you’re the only thing defending society. You are the only thing keeping society safe. And your badge is about this big and your gun is about that big, and you can solve any problem with one of the two. That’s the way you go around feeling.

There’s a more visible reward to what I do here at the hospital. I can usually see what I’ve done, whereas it’s not as direct a kind of thing in the police department. You’re definitely more appreciated doing this.

The most common stereotype of a male nurse questions your masculinity because this is a typical woman’s job. Three percent of the nursing population is male. I personally don’t feel threatened by it. I know my masculinity is intact. I’m not going to say I’m a Renaissance-type man, but I cook, I do the cleaning, I do the wash. I’ve been married to the same woman now for 10 years. I’m comfortable doing what I’m doing. I wouldn’t want to be a doctor. They get the lousy jobs. They get woke up in the middle of the night. I call the doctor if I need to; they don’t call me.

I’ve run the gamut. I’ve seen people die. I saw dead people when I was a cop, but I never saw people die. I’ve seen people experience good things and bad things, and just the thought of being able to do something to help them through whatever it is that’s gotten them here is fun. To see someone either come in for surgery and walk out healthier or work through the diagnosis of cancer . . . to be able to say, “We’re going to improve your quality of life to a certain degree so that things will be better for you.” Just to see those kinds of things and to live through them is a reward.

You can’t be afraid of dying. You can’t let the feeling of powerlessness come over you. You’ve got to realize that, even if you can’t change the outcome, you can change the method. To help a family accept a dying, loved one. To help the loved one to die.

It’s emotionally trying, and it can be physically trying. It can be hard. Sometimes a terminal-stage cancer patient is really difficult to take care of. They usually don’t have control of themselves. They can be nauseated, they can be vomiting. The pain sometimes is a constant source of control, and it’s a different kind of mind-set as to what you can do, and sometimes you can realize, no, I can’t change the outcome, but at least I can do something to help them work through it. And, to me, that’s what the rewarding part is, to make that positive transition.