Recently, I was unexpectedly hospitalized with a serious renal infection that had brought me to the lowest point in my life. In pain, emotionally spiraling, I called for Bev, who found me sobbing uncontrollably and not making a lot of sense. I didn’t know why I was feeling such despair or what I needed, but Bev did. She stopped everything, pulled up a chair, and gently held my hand. We just sat like that for a minute. She held space for all I was going through – and she helped me get it all out – my fear, my pain, my loneliness. She listened until I was able to calm down and self-regulate.
At one point, I noticed a tear slip down her cheek, and I realized she had been having a hell of a night herself. So, I asked her what’s going on with you? I can only imagine what it’s like to deal with patients all night long who are unexpectedly sicker than they’ve even been, scared beyond belief and acting so uncharacteristically and mortified and embarrassed to have caused such a scene – and then she said, “Oh my word, this is nothing compared to what’s happening in some of the other rooms and it’s been a particularly rough night – like one of my lowest nights too. Sometimes, I question my ability to keep doing this level of care.”
As a fine arts teacher in the toughest CPS elementary school in OTR, I was so connected to that. Hang on, Sister, let’s talk about compassion fatigue, something I know oh so well. We spent more minutes together and made some powerful connections. I felt truly seen, heard, and valued by her, and I will never forget her kindness and the depths of her care/concern. Even at her absolute lowest, she still found the strength and compassion needed to come help me dig out of my own hole. Bev is one next-level human, and I hope you will recognize her in a meaningful and sustaining way. Your patients are so blessed to have her.

**This is Beverly's 2nd DAISY Award!