I am writing this letter to thank Courtney "The Candy Lady" for her care. I am sorry to say that I don't know which area of the hospital she is from as I met her in the hallway, but I know she is an educator. She never took direct care of my son, but she took direct care of my family.
My son was brought in to the emergency room after an accident and was rushed to emergency surgery. The ER staff was very busy on this particular night and the staff graciously gave us directions to the surgical waiting area and vending machines in case anyone needed anything. From there we headed on our journey through the empty hallways to locate the seating area to begin our long agonizing wait. Your hospital is a very large, scary and lonely maze in the wee hours of the morning. A group of us walking through the hallway in tears, trying to find our way, trying to hold it together and hold one another up. Courtney came around the corner. I swear she was a lighthouse in our storm.
She had the warmest regard when she came directly over to us and asked us if we were okay, if we knew where we were going and what she could do to assist us. Suddenly we didn't feel so alone. We told her where we were trying to go and she led us. She slowed her pace to ensure everyone stayed together. When we arrived at the surgical waiting area, she tucked us into a little sectioned space. She gathered up tissue boxes and a garbage can. She even went and got coffee and water for us. She asked if there was anything else we needed and that's where your nurse shined the most.
My family asked if she had the time to answer a few questions. She simply said one moment "watch the candy for me because it's like a game of capture the flag. I'll be right back". Within moments, she returned with a chair and sat in front of us and told us she would answer anything she could and try to help facilitate answers for what she couldn't. My family unloaded on her a million questions about my son's condition, what the medical terms meant that we kept hearing, about what to expect from the surgery, whether she thought he would survive. She didn't squirm. She didn't interrupt. She simply listened. She defined the terms we didn't understand, discussed the purpose of the tests he had undergone and the emergent surgery. She said though she couldn't speak to his condition, he was in the place he needed to be to receive the best care possible and I have to say with that statement and her sitting there, I felt we were too.
A few owe her an apology as worry and grief grew, their emotions and tempers flared. Yet she turned to them directly. Asked them for the questions directly. Calmly answered them and told them that she understood how they must be feeling and simply added "but what I need you to remember right now is that you all have each other, you need to be strong for each other, you need to be strong for him, and right now being strong means being calm." I swear time stood still as we all exhaled. The mood changed.
When she finally left after who knows how long, we had everything we needed to wait it out. We had the answers we needed, we had each other and we had our calm.
This letter is long overdue as my son passed away that day and we had to heal as a family. But our family never forgot your nurse, her compassion, her words. She is a true DAISY Nurse.