On day one, I was aimlessly walking around in the hospital with the baby in arm. I didn't know where I was going; all I knew was that I wanted to give my wife some rest after recovering from her c-section. Our baby was being exceptionally fussy, which I've heard is not abnormal for a one-day-old. I saw this nurse and asked her a few questions about the best way to handle the issues I was facing. She responded to each question in kind, after which she politely informed me about a policy the hospital has about keeping children in the bassinet. She went on to explain "the law" and then the "spirit of the law," which would allow me the flexibility to take care of my baby outside the room on a seated bench and allow my wife to recover and rest. Win-win!

In retrospect, I didn't fully appreciate the gravity of this accommodation. I had to explain that I had my nurse's permission multiple times. It felt like she was taking a bullet for me every time. At the end of each talk-to, I was offered to choose between the nursery, a room I was not allowed to enter, or go back to my room, where my wife was trying to recover from her surgery. As the final nurse finished instructing me on the options before me in front of my crying baby, I was immediately reminded of this nurse’s willingness to understand and find a solution for my situation.

I almost broke. I can't express the weight of the conflicting emotions I felt at that moment. Angela knew the rules and fought for me, a complete stranger, anyway. I apologized to her because I felt bad that someone was doing something so selfless for me. She did not respond in a self-congratulatory or sanctimonious way. She just smiled and said that it was all going to be okay.

During her care of my wife, there was an especially touching moment between them that resonated with both of us. This was my wife's first trip to the bathroom after her surgery, and she made what could have been a passing moment into an event to commemorate. The words of empowerment she impressed upon my wife emboldened her with a sense of gusto that was very exhilarating to experience.

Each step A took, backed by this nurse's encouragement, made Armstrong's moon landing pale in comparison. It's a fine line. Mobility is key to recovery, but too much mobility can cause the body to relapse. For this reason, we were both very moved since we felt like these small steps did not amount to much of anything. She departed from that mentality wholesale and chose celebration.

Since then, we took a similar approach to the small steps we're making with ourselves, each other, and our daughter. Way too often, we bias our interpretation of “great” to be something that is "above and beyond". I would argue that it is more important to recognize and uplift those nurses who have mastered consistency. In the spirit of applauding the small steps, I want to highlight the detail she exercised in her care.

One of the ways trust is built is by following through and keeping commitments. Each hour, she would look at our marker board and initial her routine care, answer questions noted therein, and update medication. Every time she would go in for a touch to care for my wife, she would ask for consent. As the day of her care progressed, there was not a time we felt she cut a corner for the sake of saving time. She made the moments meaningful and was exceptionally thorough. She would come in with medication on time, be knowledgeable about the upcoming visits and labs that were going to take place, and answer each question we had about the care she was providing without a blink. She doesn't just do the job well; she lives the ideal of care.

Our questions never caught her off guard, as if she'd gone through our exact lived experience with patients in her previous care. You cannot teach that. For this reason, I believe her life and profession align so closely. After teaching me how to notate our child's feeding habits and stools, she had an instinctual trust and reliance on our note-taking for her own records. She was teaching me for my betterment, and I was empowered by the trust that she displayed. I don't want any of this to sound untoward, but nothing she did felt beneath her; it was part of a process she had built over years of care. We were blessed to witness such attention toward us.