When my temperature hit triple digits and was still rising, I was admitted to Bon Secours St. Francis Hospital and was glad to be there.
Illness is no fun no matter who or where you are, but even the stubborn among us know when it’s time to put our lives in the hands of excellence.
Yes, of course, my doctors were vigilant about locating the source of infection and treating it properly. They are scientists by trade. They explore the inner workings of our bodies and calculate a plan of attack to restore you back to health.
I have long admired their intelligence and dedication to the advancement of medicine. But there’s more to this story, and it comes when you are placed in the arms of angels.
From the moment I entered the hospital late on a Thursday night until I was released on Monday, I was gently cared for by technicians and nurses who not only asked how I was doing, but genuinely cared. So by the time I was ensconced in Room 405 that evening, I drifted off into a place of peace.
Sure, the drugs helped. But behind the veil of pharmaceutical care came a feeling of being cared for and safe.
As each shift changed, I was attended by some of the smartest, gentlest and respectable nurses I could have asked for. With each, I was curious. Where were they from? Where did they go to nursing school? The kind of endless questions reporters ask, even when retired. It’s a hard habit to break.
Getting to know them gave me a special connection with each one. Before their 12-hour shift ended, I knew about their families, the hurdles they crossed to gain their education, and the reasons they work in such a demanding profession.
Because being a nurse is not an easy job. It involves shift work and long hours. Quite often they are dealing with unappreciative patients. Everything they do is scrutinized to the nth degree because mistakes can be deadly.
But for me, each time my door opened, even in the middle of night for a routine vitals check, I always knew I was in the arms of angels who cared. The touch of their hand. The sound of their voice.
That, I think, is as healing as any medicine on the market.
By: Ken Burger, former Post and Courier sports columnist and local author. Reach Ken at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Editor’s note: Ken Burger is writing a series of blog posts about his current treatment for prostate cancer. Missed the first post? Read Milestone Moments now.