The hospital hallway is quiet, but inside her, everything is loud.
The hospital hallway is quiet, but inside her, everything is loud.
It’s 3 a.m. The world outside is asleep, house lights are off, families are wrapped in warm blankets. In here, she pulls up her mask for the thousandth time, swallows her exhaustion, and walks into another room.
She has held hands shaking with fear, heard whispered promises in exchange for one more day of life, wiped away tears from families who didn’t make it in time. She has heard the first cry of a newborn and the last breath of someone who was somebody’s whole world.
While many people complain about Monday, she is on her fifth night shift in a row.
While you have dinner with the ones you love, she is reheating a forgotten coffee in the microwave between one call and the next.
While some say “it’s just a job”, she wears her badge like a suit of armor.
She goes home with red eyes, mask marks on her face, and a heart full of stories no one will ever hear. At the grocery store, someone says she always looks “so tired”. No one imagines that, just a few hours earlier, she was the hug for an entire family that couldn’t be there.
You may never see the face of the person who looks after your mother, your father, your child when you can’t stay. But she knows their name, the right medication, the position in which they sleep best. And many times, she is the one who says:
“It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”
If you have a “warrior” like this in your family, among your friends, or in your story, don’t wait for a special date. Send a message. Say their name. Tell them, “Thank you for taking care of the ones I love.”
And if you are that professional reading this right now, receive these words as a hug: the world is lighter because you exist, even when no one is watching.
