Christina was working on the 5th floor the day I was admitted. She did something really nice. She went above and beyond what a nurse should do. She was my nurse on Christmas day, the day they decompressed my stomach because my bowel had twisted. I recovered, and the twist was somehow unkinked to make a long story short. I was on all sorts of medications around the clock. I couldn't get the TV to work right, and I wanted to watch Gun Smoke. She took the time to show and guide me to that show, and I just thought that was above and beyond. She didn't have to do that. I thought that was sweet of her.

When you come close to dying, and people do little things, you don't forget it. They were drawing blood around the clock; my veins were collapsing, and they had difficulty drawing blood. When they had to get someone else to draw my blood, I remember Christina saying to them that "Mr. C had been so gracious to let us stick him five times, and he did not complain." She thought enough about the pain of being stuck five times and treated me with such dignity and respect. Everything I remember on Christmas day goes back to how nice she was to me. The extra things she said and did for me meant a difference for me.

There's something else she did that stood out in my mind. A nurse discharged me with white compression socks and yellow socks over the top. They stayed on my feet until when I drove to the emergency room. When they admitted me, I can remember Christina saying something to the effect about my socks. I can remember her seeing my dirty socks and taking her time to change my socks and wipe my legs off. I will never forget that. Those things just came back into my head. I am thankful to be alive and was lying here thinking about my stay and the difference she made; she stuck out in my mind. She did and said things she didn't have to do or say.