My husband was transferred from Penn Medicine Lancaster to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania after being diagnosed with a large, aggressive, and complex brain tumor the day before. We waited for three and a half days for his surgery. During that time, he was alert and interacted in positive ways with the staff. One caregiver expressed that she enjoyed coming to his room because his positive attitude made her happy. On the morning of his (ultimately unsuccessful) surgery, Georgian was his nurse. We immediately sensed a bond with her that went beyond her nursing abilities. When our pastor called to pray with us before surgery, she ceased her work and stood respectfully by our side. This was important to us as we were leaning heavily on our faith to see us through this unexpected and sudden illness. I had helped my husband the prior three days to take showers and wash his hair, but on the morning of surgery, when he was to wash his hair for the procedure, I felt paralyzed. Georgian said to me, "I will take care of this; your job is to sit in a chair and relax." I was able to stand behind him to steady him while she washed his hair. This last act of service I was able to help with for my husband while he was still conscious has become precious to me, as was Georgian's ministrations to him in the gentle way she took care of him. His surgery lasted much longer than anticipated, was followed within hours by a second surgery, and ultimately led to his death a few days later. He never regained consciousness. The day following his surgery, I returned to the 10th floor neurosurgical unit to inform the loving staff of the outcome (he was in the ICU at this point). Georgian and her husband, a security guard at the hospital, came to visit us during their breaks. How does one adequately describe in words this extraordinary patient care? She was truly God's ministering angel to us during our hour of greatest need and deserves not only to be nominated for this award, but to receive it! I will remember her love for us the rest of my life, even as I carry my grief with me.