I kissed and hugged my husband as they loaded him into the ambulance for transfer from a smaller facility to Mayo. He had been at the first hospital all week, but he wasn’t getting better. The antibiotics weren’t working, the tests weren’t giving us answers, and it was clear his care needed to be escalated. Despite how sick he was, he left with no acute distress. I even snapped a photo of him, something to remember this surreal moment by, his ambulance ride becoming just another strange chapter in a week full of uncertainty. I went home to prepare for his now long-distance hospitalization and to make arrangements before I could join him. But as time passed, and I hadn’t heard from him, no calls, no replies to my messages, I felt the weight of something being wrong. Then the doctor called. He told me that my young, 32-year-old husband had arrived at Mayo in acute respiratory distress. They were preparing to place him on a ventilator. Words will never fully capture how hard that news hit me. I’ve always known that my husband is very sick, but there’s always been a layer of denial wrapped around that truth. His diagnoses have always come with scary language, warnings of what could happen “one day.” But until this moment, I had never truly faced the immediate, tangible threat of losing him. The danger had always felt theoretical. Now, it was real. So, reality hit like a slap. No time to process. One second to figure out work, the next to sort out the kids, the cats, the house, while my mind raced with 500 questions about what this now meant for us. Enter: Our nurse, Maya. I will never be able to fully articulate what Maya did for us in those first two horrible days and nights in the ICU. She hugged me. A REAL hug. She made sure I was eating daily. She checked in on me when she could tell I was crying quietly in the corner of the room. I didn’t know if my husband was going to live or die, and in the middle of that terrifying unknown, Maya gave me comfort when no one else was there to. She brought me water. Gave me restaurant suggestions. Talked with me about regular, human things for distraction. She answered every one of my 550 questions with sincerity and patience. I wasn’t the patient, but she cared for me anyway. And that care allowed me to breathe. To trust. To step away from the room without guilt or fear, because I knew someone was truly watching over him. That is everything. Maya will forever be imprinted in my memory as a blessing, someone who showed up with compassion and grace in one of the worst moments of our lives. We were lucky to have her. After a few days with us, Maya was scheduled for some days off, and I knew a new nurse would be coming in to take care of my husband. What I didn’t expect was the wave of stress and fear that hit me when I realized someone else would be stepping into her role. I cannot express how deeply I trusted Maya, not just with his medical care, but with his dignity, his comfort, his humanity. She cared for S so gently, so thoroughly. What if the next nurse wasn’t like her? What if they were rough with him or lacked the same compassion? What if they didn’t understand how fragile everything felt, not just physically, but emotionally, for both of us? The fear of the unknown was overwhelming. I had found an anchor in Maya, and now I was bracing myself to let go of it.   
Maya and Amanda reminded us what exceptional care truly looks like. They didn’t just care for my husband; they cared for us. With compassion, competence, and humanity. In a time when we were at our most vulnerable, they brought light, trust, and a sense of peace into our chaos. Today, I write to nominate Maya and Amanda for the DAISY Award in recognition of their extraordinary care. They made a lasting impact on our family that we will never forget. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.