On the morning of Saturday, November 22nd, my wife and I welcomed our baby boy into life. My wife’s labor turned into a C-Section, which quickly, before my eyes, turned into a delivery with substantial complications for her. I can’t quite describe the range of extremely intense emotions I felt when, sitting in recovery holding my son, having been awake for 24 hours, expecting to see my wife, his mother, any moment, I was told that she had begun severely bleeding, life-saving care was in progress, and further procedures needed my approval. I consider myself to be a strong person, and I’ve gotten through plenty in life to attest to that statement, but this situation I was not ready for, and I doubt anyone honestly could be.

Here’s the thing, though, someone was ready for this situation. Your recovery nurse, Hannah. She, quite simply, is the sole reason I was able to persevere through this moment. I was terrified, I was in shock. I was struggling to process what was going on, and I was having flashing thoughts of the idea of my son growing up without his mother. Hannah grounded me. She listened. She spoke words of comfort, of love, of explanation, and of hope to a stranger she had known for 30 minutes, like she was an old friend comforting another. She held my newborn son and showered him with love and affection as if he were the child of a close friend.

We laughed together, we talked about both the situation and completely random things to get my mind off the gravity of the situation I was in. She asked for my phone so she could take photos of my son and me both for my posterity, and so mom could see every moment possible. When I was whisked out of the procedure room, my wife started out as an epidural C-Section, and it quickly turned into a situation where she needed to be put under anesthesia. I sat down in the dad chair in the corner hallway. I cried, and I prayed for the first time in 20 years. I’m not a religious person, and I don’t even know to whom or to what I was praying, but what I do know is that Hannah was, without a shadow of a doubt, the answer to those prayers.

I ran into Hannah in the hallway that night, and I tried to muster the words to thank her properly, but I’m sure it didn’t sound like much of anything from an exhausted, emotional new dad holding back tears. She told me that I handled the situation so well and that she was so impressed by my strength. Her humility not allowing her to see, and me not having the words to explain. I may have been strong, but it was because of her grace. I don’t think there’s anything I could ever do to possibly repay her, but I hope this humble letter of recognition helps. She is an incredible part of your amazing team, and you are beyond lucky to have her working in your unit.

I hope that any person who, God forbid, finds themself in any similar situation is lucky enough to have Hannah working that shift. I apologize for the lengthy rambling letter. As I write this, I am still a sleep-deprived new father, but I hope somewhere in this note are the words that even partially explain just how amazing a human and nurse Hannah is. The world needs more Hannah's. I will remember Hannah’s kindness for the rest of my life, and when my son asks about his birth one day, I will tell him about how strong his mother was for him, and how an angel named Hannah held his dad together.