When I received a call from my sister that our father had fallen, lost consciousness, and was rushed to the hospital, she said that it was imperative that I got there immediately. I wasn’t sure what, I would be walking into when I arrived. After what seemed to be the longest drive of my life from Sacramento to Modesto, I finally arrived. My sister greeted me at the doors of Sutter Memorial Medical Center Emergency Room, she took me directly to the trauma center. Which I knew wasn’t a good sign of his condition. As we walked those long halls, she began to tell me about our Nurse, Dan. How he had been amazing thus far and made my family feel at ease. He was the husband of a childhood schoolmate of mine, who was currently a friend of my sister's through their philanthropic work. We all felt a little more ease having someone who knew a bit about our family caring for one of our own.

When I arrived at my father’s bedside, I could see that he was still unconscious and intubated. As Dan discussed my father’s condition, our options, and the next step, I could tell by his tone, advice, and actions that this situation would have the outcome we were all dreading. So, I then asked the question, “that miracle, the one that everyone is hoping for, of him coming back, recovering, it is not going to happen, right?” Dan explained my father’s current condition, what was happening with his body, that the machines were helping him live, what intervention would be needed to keep him alive, not giving us a stern yes or no answer but guiding us to realize on our own, then confirming our sad realizations. Then I questioned “are his organs starting to fail?” again in that same kind and compassionate way he explained what was going on. We asked “if he was in pain?”, “was it a heart attack?”, question after question Dan explained the answer to us helping us to make our decisions given the best information available, bringing in Doctors, therapists, whomever we needed to speak with, to understand what was going on with our father. Letting us know each step along the way, what was happening now, and what was next.

It wasn’t just the exceptional medical care that Dan provided to our Dad. It was the little things, like how he rolled up Dad's socks and put them into his shoes just as he would have liked. Or ensuring that he was covered with blankets and kept warm. It was the care that Dan provided to our family. Following our ques on the roller coaster of emotions and reactions we were having dealing with this trauma. From the silent cries to the moments of laughter. Discussing Dad’s disdain with having his clothes cut off, as he was so formal in his dress or when we realized my Dad carried more in his pockets than my Mom did in her purse. Dan was with us listening to our stories, smiling when we laughed.

Visibly saddened when we made the decision to remove our Dad from life support. At one moment I saw him turn away to wipe a few tears that had formed as he felt the pain of our loss. Even taking what I believe was a shortened lunch break so that he could be there for us. At a time when we needed the support of someone who felt like family but wasn’t, Dan was that person to us all. He was able to connect with us emotionally, he was someone who provided us with a clear, compassionate understanding of what was going on, he was a leader in caring and advocating for our father and our family.

Dan embodies what Edmund Burke once wrote. “The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who belong to them.” For all of Dan's incredible work, our whole family believes that he is a true DAISY Nurse. Thank you for hearing our story.