I was admitted to Ascension St. Vincent in the heat of COVID. I was very sick and needed a round of dialysis. I was all alone, as visitors were not permitted. I met Connie right outside the procedure room for inserting my dialysis port. I was scared beyond words. I had never had anything even remotely similar happen before. She met me, looked me in the eyes, told me she was going to be with me and take care of me. She instantly became the friendly familiar face for the process. Her voice and mannerisms made it easy to trust her. While the doctor was putting in my port, he said it wouldn’t hurt, but it hurt a lot. Between crippling fear and searing pain, tears were streaming down my face nonstop. My arms were strapped down to maintain sterility so I couldn’t wipe them away. Connie held on to my hand so tightly from start to finish, and with her other hand she repeatedly wiped away my tears as they came. Afterwards, she went back to my room to find my phone for me as I went directly to a different room for dialysis. I was so scared, so alone, and felt clueless as to what was going on. Connie made me feel heard, cared for, and safe. That was three years ago and the impact she left on me has never lessened one bit. I not only have the mental memory, but I remember what it felt like to be that scared and to have her support. Since then, I graduated from nursing school and became a labor and delivery nurse. Sometimes I meet mamas with the same amount of fear and cluelessness that I experienced. In those situations, I do exactly what Connie did for me: I hold their hand, I wipe their tears away, and I get them through it, staying by their side the entire time. I know what it feels like to be in my patients’ situation and I know what it feels like to be comforted by your nurse. I am forever grateful to Connie Perry. I am a better nurse because of her influence on my life during a desperately difficult time.