Jill Engstrom
December 2025
Jill
Engstrom
,
RN
5 SMC
HealthAlliance Hospital
Kingston
,
NY
United States
From the first words she spoke to me, I felt myself calming.
As I nominate Jill Engstrom for the DAISY Award, I would like to share that, as a nurse for over forty years, I've been against most nursing awards for the sake of the unsung heroes. With that said, I know that there are many "Jills" among us who are the very essence of this particular award, and I want to tell you that you make a difference.
My father, an 89-year-old Navy veteran, has had numerous hospitalizations in the past three years since my mother passed. He had end-stage COPD with exacerbation, anemia, and weight loss, later found to be colon cancer with successful resection, and up until early April, he was up and about in his beloved home of 47 years. My sister and brother lived with him, which was an ideal situation.
He was admitted to Health Alliance Hospital with acute respiratory symptoms. I was working when I got a call from the hospitalist about my father's condition. It was my daughter's birthday, and I was struggling with whether to cancel our plans or not. I'm usually very decisive, but I was unraveling. I called the hospital and spoke to his nurse, Jill.
From the first words she spoke to me, I felt myself calming. She spoke of my father as if she had known him her whole life. She picked up on his underlying anxiety and assured me that she was caring and advocating for him. She was also a liaison between my siblings and me.
We had our "nurse-speak" conversation along with our "human being" conversation. She was fluent in both. A few hours later, she called me to report that he was improving and that his anxiety and work of breathing were both under good control. I met Jill in person when I came up to visit my dad and found her sitting and talking to him like an old friend. We put him on hospice care that day, with a total focus on his comfort.
He was very happy about the prospect of becoming a great-grandfather and told me he thought it was going to be a boy. As I was getting ready to leave, my dad started to get anxious again, and Jill came in with a few other team members and, with quiet confidence, told them what she needed them to do. I reflected for a moment on whether or not I was ever that nurse, and left with watery eyes.
I stayed with my siblings in my dad's house that night, and as I was getting in the car to go to Mass at 8 am, I saw a message from Jill and called her. She said we should come. When my sister, brother, and I entered the room, she was holding his hand and talking to him. She explained to us that the end was near, but that we should talk to him, and that she would be nearby if we needed anything. We asked for the priest. She said she would get him and quietly closed the door for our privacy.
My father lived a few more days, and we had the gift of goodbye. We put him in his favorite pajamas, prayed, listened to music- his favorite songs, and had his brother speak to him over the phone as Jill suggested. Before he left us, we got the news and told him that he was going to have a great-grandson due on his birthday. We will never forget Jill. Compassion. Courage. Communication. Comfort. We weren't her only patient and family, but it felt that way.
My father, an 89-year-old Navy veteran, has had numerous hospitalizations in the past three years since my mother passed. He had end-stage COPD with exacerbation, anemia, and weight loss, later found to be colon cancer with successful resection, and up until early April, he was up and about in his beloved home of 47 years. My sister and brother lived with him, which was an ideal situation.
He was admitted to Health Alliance Hospital with acute respiratory symptoms. I was working when I got a call from the hospitalist about my father's condition. It was my daughter's birthday, and I was struggling with whether to cancel our plans or not. I'm usually very decisive, but I was unraveling. I called the hospital and spoke to his nurse, Jill.
From the first words she spoke to me, I felt myself calming. She spoke of my father as if she had known him her whole life. She picked up on his underlying anxiety and assured me that she was caring and advocating for him. She was also a liaison between my siblings and me.
We had our "nurse-speak" conversation along with our "human being" conversation. She was fluent in both. A few hours later, she called me to report that he was improving and that his anxiety and work of breathing were both under good control. I met Jill in person when I came up to visit my dad and found her sitting and talking to him like an old friend. We put him on hospice care that day, with a total focus on his comfort.
He was very happy about the prospect of becoming a great-grandfather and told me he thought it was going to be a boy. As I was getting ready to leave, my dad started to get anxious again, and Jill came in with a few other team members and, with quiet confidence, told them what she needed them to do. I reflected for a moment on whether or not I was ever that nurse, and left with watery eyes.
I stayed with my siblings in my dad's house that night, and as I was getting in the car to go to Mass at 8 am, I saw a message from Jill and called her. She said we should come. When my sister, brother, and I entered the room, she was holding his hand and talking to him. She explained to us that the end was near, but that we should talk to him, and that she would be nearby if we needed anything. We asked for the priest. She said she would get him and quietly closed the door for our privacy.
My father lived a few more days, and we had the gift of goodbye. We put him in his favorite pajamas, prayed, listened to music- his favorite songs, and had his brother speak to him over the phone as Jill suggested. Before he left us, we got the news and told him that he was going to have a great-grandson due on his birthday. We will never forget Jill. Compassion. Courage. Communication. Comfort. We weren't her only patient and family, but it felt that way.