Chris was one of those nurses you don’t forget. From the moment I met him, he treated me with a level of care, attention, and kindness that felt deeply personal. He was meticulous in caring for my scar and changing my dressings. He was always gentle, always thorough, and never once rushed. Even when I wasn’t on his patient list that day, he still made time to check on me, say hi when I passed by on my walks, or stop in to talk. That meant so much.

What really stood out was his consistency and heart. No matter how busy he was, he never sent someone else to do something he could do himself. He made sure he was the one changing my dressing, talking to me, and even, one of my favorite memories, tucking me in before bed with a little “story time.” He’d share something sweet or calming, like a story about how he had once been sick too, and how he got better and stronger. He shared that with me not just as a nurse, but as someone who truly cared, and it gave me hope that I would be okay too.

Chris made me feel safe, seen, and supported. It didn’t matter how small the moment was, whether it was checking in before his shift ended or simply stopping to say hello, he showed up with presence and genuine care every single time. He wasn’t just doing a job; he was making a difference.

Chris is a nurse with both skill and soul. He helped me heal in more ways than one, and I will always be grateful for his compassion, patience, and those unexpected story time moments that reminded me I wasn’t alone.

Thank you, Chris, for reminding me that healing isn’t just physical, it’s emotional, too.