In oncology nursing I came to love primary nursing. Some would argue I “primed” every patient I met, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself. The first time I cared for you, I signed up for you immediately.

I got to know you late in the game, but I am so glad to have had the chance to care for you. You were another sweetheart. You were quiet and your words came out in mumbles because you had no teeth.

For someone who’s life was filled with so much hardship, even before you had leukemia, you were the kindest soul. You were homeless, so naturally life challenged you in a way so many, including me, will never understand.

You were young, barely forty years old. You had a wonderful wife and two beautiful boys. You had a passion for the outdoors, specifically going for hikes with your family, where you could enjoy the fresh air.

You had advanced stage lymphoma. I remember when you were first admitted because you were so sick. You had a large mass in your neck, which forced us to feed you via a feeding tube. You had several large masses in your abdomen as well.

You were never short on words, always full of stories. I felt bad always saving you for last when it came to my rounds, but that way it gave me a little extra time to hear your stories. You battled leukemia for two years with a smile on your face.

This one still pains me to my core.

You weren’t even 50 years old. Your weight wasn’t even double that. You had two young kids at home, who needed you more than most people could understand.

I was three years into my nursing career. I thought that I had already witnessed the worst of the worst, but I was so wrong.

The pandemic added a whole another level of stress and fear to nurses. The hospital enforced strict visitor restrictions. During the time of your hospitalization, patients couldn’t have visitors unless they were CMO, or comfort measures only.

I was still a nurse in training. I was about a year out from graduating with my BS in Nursing. At the time, I was doing a nurse externship with a preceptor.

I was still within my first year working as a nurse. I was trying hard to gain confidence as a new nurse. I’d often replay my shifts in my head on my days off, wondering how I could improve when I returned.

I was two years into my nursing career. You were approaching 90-years-old and made it clear that you wanted to stop treatment. It was Christmas time and I was working a night shift.

Ninety-six hours after I witnessed the first of my own patient’s death as a nurse, I lost another one. This time you were CMO, or comfort measures only.

Three years down as a nurse. Your husband was so in love with you. He never stopped talking about you. You enjoyed sharing stories with me about your life together.