A Taiwan Without Nurses

Imagine waking up in Taiwan to find the wards empty of nurses.

At 6:00 a.m. the corridors are silent. The familiar footsteps are gone, and no soft voice murmurs, “Ma’am, let me check your blood pressure.” Lights glow at the nurses’ station, yet no one is there. Call bells ring without answer. Injections are delayed, medication doses go unchecked. Families grow anxious, physicians scramble alone, and patients lie quietly in their beds—missing the hands that normally guide them through each day.

Nurses form the backbone of Taiwan’s medical teams. They are not side characters or placeholders; they blend expertise with empathy. Some stay awake all night to track a patient’s vital signs. Others wipe away tears, then stand calmly beside someone in their final hours. They memorize each patient’s habits and fears, caring as if for family.

Yet nurses are not made of steel. Behind every mask and glove lie exhaustion, hunger, and unseen stress. Sometimes they cannot spare a sip of water. One phone call from a relative can consume an entire afternoon of emotional labor. Nurses are the first to catch a patient’s fear and the force that keeps a ward running smoothly. During the height of the pandemic they suited up in stifling protective gear, dripping with sweat while guarding every infected patient.

Take nurses away and the system fractures. We lose the warmth that anchors a hospital room. We lose the hands that intervene precisely when minutes matter. Medicine is more than drugs and machines; it is the connection that whispers, “I’m here. Don’t be afraid.”

Nurses are not halos and white gowns. They are real people who stand at the bedside day and night, steady and unrelenting.

May we never wait until they are gone to understand that their presence is this island’s gentlest and most resilient force.

Written by Yu-Hsin Liu, Assistant Head Nurse, Intensive Care Unit, Department of Nursing