My husband has been an inpatient at St. Luke’s The Woodlands three times in three months. Each stay has always been a pleasant experience in terms of patient comfort and care. However, during one of those stays, one nurse repeatedly enhanced the very definition of patient care, Katherine.

Our slightest mention or wish became her mission. She would scour the floors to bring us whatever would make us more comfortable, a special cushion, a reclining chair, or anything else she could find. Her spirit and attitude were always vibrant, and her compassion was healing to our souls. When she had time, she would visit with us, making us feel like family rather than patients. We enjoyed her easygoing nature and lovely British accent. We wished our time with her could have lasted longer, but soon my husband was discharged.

On that day, she became my heroine. While I was packing up and helping my husband get dressed for discharge, I was suddenly hit with dizziness, hot flashes, and chills. She stopped in to help and noticed my discomfort. Without hesitation, she became my nurse, checking my vitals and monitoring my condition. As my symptoms continued, her concern grew, and she called for a Rapid Response Team. They determined I was stable and feeling a bit better, so I continued to pack.

Then the nausea hit me like a wave. She had just left the room to fetch a wheelchair for our departure, but returned right as I ran for the restroom. Undaunted, she stayed with me, offering calm reassurance. Afterward, she gently coaxed my weak and trembling body into the wheelchair meant for my husband and asked if she could escort me to the Emergency Department. “It’s what I would do if you were my mother,” she said.

I nodded, and off we went. At that point, I was so dizzy and nauseated that I could barely function. She admitted me to the Emergency Department herself, ensuring I received the care I needed before heading back upstairs to check on my husband.