Her face was the first one I saw when I woke up from my mastectomy surgery.

When I tried to look at my bandages, she assured me that all had gone well. 

Next, the gentleman who had checked me in at the front desk paid me a short visit in recovery. He patted my arm and said he was praying for me.

When they rolled me into my hospital room, I caught a glimpse of my family, but the nurses were also there.

When I took my first walk around their station, unable to hold myself up straight, they cheered me on. 

My nurse taught my husband how to empty the bulbs and strip the drain tubes. She had gone to college at Jefferson State. I wish I could remember more of her story, but since she was so good to bring me my pain medicine, some of those memories are a little fuzzy.

What I do remember is a genuine smile, her concerned kindness, and her caring efforts to help me heal. 

A few weeks before:

It was a nurse who was completing my yearly insurance-required health check, and my blood pressure was about to blow the cuff off. She asked if I had anything stressful going on, and I told her about my breast cancer diagnosis. It was also the day I was going to the surgeon for a consultation.

My surgeon just happened to be her surgeon too.

She encouraged me by telling me about her own breast cancer journey, which she didn’t have to share, but at the time it was exactly what I needed.

God works in ways we don’t always understand, but you can bet on this: He works through nurses.

Before that: 

When I was shivering after coming out of another procedure, my nurse made me cozy by turning on the Bair Hugger warming system. Imagine being inside one of those bonnet-style hair dryers; it is bliss, especially if you’ve got the anesthesia shakes.

I would have been content to have stayed cuddled in recovery, but my nurse made me eat and drink. Otherwise I might still be there.

Before that: 

All I had for pain relief during the birth of my second child were cold, wet washcloths placed on my forehead and my neck. The searing, white-hot agony of unmedicated childbirth was eased by a nurse with a cool and calm demeanor, just like those plain old compresses. Nothing high-tech needed, thankfully.

The doctor was a good one, but it was that confident, experienced nurse who got me through.

And before that:

It was the nurses who gave me my shots when I was a kid. I never liked nurses much then. But they gave me stickers and funny Band-Aids and sometimes candy, so they must not have been too bad. I just know the doctors never hung around for the shots.

It seemed like the nurses did all the work.

Nurse Appreciation Week starts May 6th with National Nurses’ Day and ends on May 12th, the birthday of Florence Nightingale, the founder of modern nursing.

Nightingale experienced several “calls from God” during her life, one of them when she was sixteen years old. Her mission: to reduce human suffering and to serve God.

Turns out, nursing was the way to do it.

Countless individuals saw her face when they were brought to the troop hospitals during the Crimean War. She wandered the wards at night, the “Lady with the Lamp,” caring for her soldier-patients.

Her face was the one they saw. 

I wonder how many of them remembered her for the rest of their lives.

I know one thing: I will never forget mine.