The night Di came on, J was recovering from brain surgery and was very impulsive with an EVD in place. At the time, J was oriented much of the time but had little to no short-term memory. J's loved ones were taking turns being at bedside and by the second week, one of them who had stayed overnight, had to leave for work. We did everything we could to avoid restraints while J was awake and not sedated, and we were reaching the limits of what we could physically do. We knew J would have known the restraints were there but wouldn't have known why. Di knew a sitter could avoid the use of restraints and keep her physically safe and began advocating for a sitter that night. Without one of us or a sitter, restraints may keep J physically safe, but would be emotionally harmful and honestly heart-breaking to participate in.

I was J's close friend, and I am a registered nurse. I had been there all day and learned a sitter would not be possible. Di supported me staying overnight, bringing pillows to make the bedrails more comfortable for me to hold J's hands while I attempted to rest. Her collaboration with me, a loved one at the bedside, promoted the best care for J that night. Di acted with urgency to secure a sitter for early morning allowing me the ability to speak to the team when they made rounds and made efforts on every shift to request a sitter for J so we could avoid restraints. Throughout the night, Di asked about J. She spoke to her and told her what she was doing. It was the first night J did not cry when getting her enoxaparin injection, as Di told her what to expect and apologized that the injection would sting, J relayed, "No need to apologize, you are doing your job." It was the first night J got an ICU bath and didn't shiver thanks to the warm blankets. These are the everyday actions of integrity and excellence. As a nurse, I cannot tell you how much it filled my heart to know Di was caring for J. Bearing witness to Di treating J with compassion and respect was overwhelming.

Then, the morning came when Dr. C did rounds early that Monday, and I heard the news I feared - J's spinal fluid was positive for leptomeningeal carcinomatosis. My heart sank and the tears I'd been repressing squeaked out shortly after Dr. C walked away. When I looked up, Di was standing across the hall. I believe she knew from the look on my face what happened because she immediately walked over and asked if she could give me a hug. While I hope no one knows that sinking moment when you know a person you love will not survive and having Di there in that moment made the weight of this knowledge slightly easier to carry.

Less than two weeks later, J came back to the ICU with an aspiration. The treatment they started was not going to work quickly enough. J's aphasia rapidly progressed, and she was no longer able to speak reliably, and head nods were only intermittent. Di came to say hi to J and me - sad to see J's return to the ICU. She knew what I knew - time was short. I hoped we would find a window to get J home, and she hoped the best for us wishing it was all different. Di cared for J in a way that made me proud of the profession of nursing. She interacted with J like we always should, her actions promoted J's dignity and kept her from experiencing restraints in the final days of her life. J came home and passed three days later, surrounded by family and friends. Despite the deep loss I feel, I am forever grateful for Di.