“I don’t recall seeing a deck of cards in the hand of the one who held my hand tight the day I was given an epidural.
I don’t recall hearing ‘Go Fish’ as I lay in the operating room while delivering my child.
I don’t remember seeing cards laying by my bedside when I had a reaction to the medication.
I don’t remember going to the desk the night my Mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer and seeing card games going on.
I don’t remember hearing ‘Your turn’ as my Mom was being given chemo and radiation.
I don’t recall someone saying, ‘Can you hold my cards so I can hold your mom’s hand while she’s sick?’
Do you know what I recall? All the nurses with both hands holding mine each time I gave birth to my sweet babies.
The nurse who stood in the bathroom with me and gave me a shower after my C-section.
The nurse that sat with me in the hallway at the hospital when I couldn’t hold back the tears because I wasn’t sure my mom was ever coming home again.
The nurse who helped carry my mom when she was too weak to walk from cancer.
The nurse that was on the helicopter with my Mom the day she died and said she made sure she held her hand because even after she passed, she didn’t want her to be alone.
I never once saw hands full of a deck of cards, I’ve only seen the hands of nurses holding the hand of someone else.”
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