My son, Z, has spent nearly his entire life in and out of hospitals-beginning with a long stay in Tucson due to complications at birth, then moving to St. Louis, and now to Lurie Children's Hospital in Chicago. Over the course of his first year and a half, he has endured more medical procedures than most people face in a lifetime, and we've encountered countless nurses along the way. But none have stood out the way Carly has. 

One particular night in the PICU, after a series of difficult procedures, Z had to be intubated again. He's been intubated many times before, and typically, it has gone without much issue. But this night was different. He was clearly uncomfortable, though unable to speak, and I could see he was distressed. As a parent, there are few things harder than watching your child suffer, especially when they can't tell you what's wrong. 

Carly saw it too, and she didn't walk away or brush it off. She stayed with us for hours. She stayed not just as a nurse, but as a compassionate presence, constantly comforting Z and making sure I felt seen and supported as well. She advocated for adjustments in his care to ensure he could rest more comfortably. She communicated openly with me, acknowledged how painful it was to witness my son struggling, and stood by both of us through one of our hardest nights. 

Carly's care that night was the purest example of what nursing is meant to be: compassionate, empathetic, attentive, and fiercely patient-centered. In all the time we've spent in hospitals, nearly a year and a half, I have met hundreds of nurses. Carly stood above them all. She didn't just provide excellent clinical care; she gave us the emotional strength to endure one more night. And that kind of care makes all the difference. 

For her empathy, her advocacy, and her unwavering support in one of our darkest moments, Carly exemplifies the heart of nursing.