I had come into Clara’s area (center Pavillion) at night from the ICU after a lung biopsy that had gone haywire, and my right lung was filling with blood. I was in extreme pain with every breath, and nothing would comfort me. When I tried to reposition myself to ease the pain, I could not, only able to fall back into the same position—exactly where two large tubes existed in my ribcage and were trailing to the floor to two large contraptions holding my draining blood. I didn’t have time to feel scared because as soon as she saw my eyes grow big when I saw them, Clara took my hand and reassured me, telling me they were just the test tube drainage system that measured the amount of blood I was getting rid of.

In her calm, young voice, she promised to take good care of me no matter how bad things looked to me. Then something wonderful started. I don’t know how it started, but it did! Somehow, she found out I had been a student at PENN (maybe I had said something earlier in some kind of delirium—I don’t know), but I was indeed a student at PENN 60 years ago. So then she said, “So, you must know Smokey Joe’s.” I laughed with surprise and asked, “Is that old bar still here?” In a nanosecond, she burst into laughter—which clearly said to me she had been there many times in her student days. And everything took off from there.

So, there we were, I an old man, she a young woman exchanging PENN memories and laughing together, as though it was the prescribed antidote to my pain—which indeed it had become because of her skill at engaging and distracting me. That laughter carried through the hall outside, and no one would have noticed the age difference between us simply by overhearing us from the hallway. I remained in the Pavilion for weeks, and she was most often my nighttime nurse. With all of the challenges I faced, she gently pushed me through them. Encouraging me to get out of bed and onto a walker, with her by my side checking my oxygen. Encouraging me to walk with a walker more frequently, with her by my side with my oxygen tank in tow, just in case. She encouraged me to walk semi-independently, with no oxygen tank in tow, but with her following a distance behind to monitor my stability and gait. My spirit of independence built under her so much so that when I asked to walk without her, she knew I was ready.

And then it began. I became the hall roamer, day and night—with nothing to do but feel more and more capable and stronger with every walk. Our talks continued every night she was on duty, and they got better and better. But my knowledge of her deepened over my last few nights there. I had occasion to notice that she behaved in pretty much the same sensitive, engaging way with other patients as I passed their rooms on many of my walks. I asked her if some nights were tougher for her with some patients than others. She answered yes, but that it was her job to give everyone the best part of her personality as possible, just like she had committed years ago to give them the benefit of all her nursing skills. What an insightful and humble answer!

Clara is as unforgettable a nurse as she is a person. As young as she is, she has much to offer patients in her career. PENN is as privileged to have her as I was lucky—maybe even blessed—to have had her. Most important to me was that the promise she made me that first night in her care, her commitment to take good care of me no matter how bad things looked to me, she delivered on threefold! I doubt I will ever forget her!