In Memory of a Nurse Practicioner (2023) 

Steve James received his nursing degree in 1987. In 1992, he began a Master’s program, and after five long years of juggling school and his full-time job as a nurse, he became a fully certified nurse practitioner (NP). In 2001, after four years of working as a nurse practitioner, Steve became diagnosed with Machado-joseph disease. In 2011, 10 years after his diagnosis, the disease had taken its toll on Steve’s muscles and body. He was deemed by the administration as being no longer fit to work, and his career as a nurse practitioner ended at what he quotes as “at the peak of his career”. In 2013, Steve’s nursing license was revoked due to his inability to practice. Steve has not practiced professionally since.

I remember the days of my childhood when my dad was this professional. When he missed church on Saturday mornings or big family events because of his job. I remember my dad leaving the house with a crisp collared shirt and a tie on those mornings in which he had to go to work. Always looking sharp. A true professional. My dad has been disabled now for 12 years, and while it is tough to say I must admit that the identity of my father as this worker and professional has been washed away by this new identity of a man with a disability. A man who is no longer a worker, but a fighter and a survivor, taking life as he always say “day by day”. It is tough to witness this deterioration, but it is especially tough to hear his regrets in life as a result of this disease.

A year and a half after moving to The Netherlands I finally returned to visit my home in California. I hadn’t seen my dad in all this time. One day while cleaning his room I went through his box where he keeps his passport, driver’s license and other similarly official things. In this box I found a strip of negatives three frames long. They were just lying there in a box, covered with dust, scratched and unprotected. I shone the negatives against the light and saw for the first time the three images that you see before you now. It is a surreal thing to see your father in a way that you have known him for the majority of your life and still his identity is overshadowed by the person who is presently there. Disease, disability and dependency have erased the memory of my father as a nurse practitioner, not just on paper, but in my mind as well. 

I make this shrine in memory of my father: Steve Anthony James, Nurse Practitioner (1987-2011)