Nurse Amy Edwards, of medicine 5, brought to the fourth floor of Our Lady of the Lake Hospital the recipe for her no-nonsense "Reflective Stew". While administering to me the treatment which was "just what the doctor ordered", Nurse Amy threw together a metaphorical "stew" comprised of a "pound of listening", with two cups of "dried appraisal", and a cup of "fresh empathy".
I observed the ingredients with as much skepticism as incredulity, while Nurse Amy tossed a dash of "is that so?" and a smidgeon of "oh, really?" into the huge crockpot of reason and logic. This was quickly followed by a tablespoon of her favorite, spicy, "that's surely something to think about", and a hint of, "maybe you'll feel better, by the time I come back".
I answered only with my raised eyebrows. Nurse Amy was nonplussed. She is quite aware that it very painful for me to talk at all (I suffer from a jaw broken in three places). Perhaps this "stew" she confidently waves together one-handedly will be tender and tasty enough for me to swallow.
Nurse Amy lowers her eyes and advises, "Just let it simmer for awhile. It'll all cook down nicely as the different flavors combine. Remember, stir it only occasionally. The secret is to leave it alone. Don't think you should keep too close an eye on it, or taste test it every five minutes. You'll be able to tell when it's done to your liking. So see? You have something to look forward to after all. Be patient, patient."
Spinning on her heels, Nurse Amy dart's directly through the doorway. I imagine her checking on the progress of another "recipe" that she's left "slow cooking" elsewhere. Perhaps she's baking a "cake of compassion" or some equally delicious "dessert of discernment", doled out decidedly with a "dollop of decadent determination".
I am left with "decisions de jour" as Nurse Amy departs. My measure of gratitude gives me enormous ethereal thankfulness as I reflect that I do indeed, have enough "spice" in my life to "put together a mean stew". I shred the last of my "succulent self-pity" and throw it into the "crockpot" as well. My self-pity's caught its own touch of self-pity and its quality is declining rapidly. It will soon expire sadly without any interested audience to perform for.
I reflect that I am fortunate to have had such a nurse as Amy Edwards, who can stand the "heat in the kitchen". I have a few days left of "cooking lessons". I've begun experimenting with my own recipes, learning I can be content with minor variations and fewer ingredients. I also reflect confidently that I do still possess good taste.
Nurse Amy is an encourager. A small nod from her and a slight turn of her head to hear me more clearly seems to lend importance to the occasion. Her quirky smile, often almost hidden behind her thoughtful consideration, is loaded with meaningful understanding and tinged with a lightweight yet profound appreciation for this moment. We both knowingly anticipate correctly that in the next moment she will be gone, administering to the next patient in need.
Steadfastness and reliability join forces to protect her genuine concern for her patients, and are Nurse Amy's mascots, I think. I reflect that I am blessed to have a nurse like Amy who can keep me "grounded in gratitude". Her demeanor is sufficient to remind me, without saying so directly, thankfully, that even though I hurt, a lot, my pain will subside, and I will heal.
I reflect that while some names may be common, the people attached to those names are not. Amy Edwards is perhaps a fairly common name, yet I assure anyone that she is not. I nominate Nurse Amy Edwards emphatically, with her natural talent for excellence in everyday encouragement. I can only hope that innumerable other patients have similar stories of their nurse's uniquely individual resourcefulness. In this way, everybody wins.