CHA Healthcare Heroes Contest

Patricia Agostino, RN, CEN, CCRN
ICU Nurse
The Stamford Hospital

Why I am Proud to be a Healthcare Worker

When someone asks why I'm proud to be a Registered Nurse, it makes me think about nurses everywhere and how proud I am to be counted among you.

I think of oncology nurses. You must be proud, I think, of the work you do. You, who tread so closely to the chaos of cancer. I see you sometimes, smiling at a young mother, pushing an IV pole with one hand and a baby carriage with the other. It makes me wonder how you do that work. When I tell you that you are the hero of nursing, you tell me you are not. You say the real heroes are your patients, who teach you about strength and resolve and acceptance.

I think of you nurses who work in burn units and treat the horrors caused by fires that consume skin, muscle, and bone. Painful work. I don't know how you do it, yet when I tell you that you are the hero of nursing, you say you are not. You say the patients are your heroes because they teach you about courage, endurance, and hope.

When someone asks why I'm proud to be a Registered Nurse, I think of you military nurses who are part of the heritage of serving these United States of America. When I tell you that you are the hero of nursing, you say you are not. You say your patients are the heroes who teach you about loyalty, bravery, and self-sacrifice.

I think of you rehab nurses who face a newly paralyzed teenager and offer patience, understanding, and hope. I wonder how you do that work and tell you that surely you must be the hero of nursing. You tell me that your patients are the heroes who teach you determination, persistence, and spirit.

When someone asks why I'm proud to be a Registered Nurse, I think of you widely knowledgeable med-surg nurses; and of you ER nurses who see lives changed forever in one catastrophic moment. I think of you OR nurses, PACU nurses, OB nurses, office nurses, visiting nurses, and ICU nurses. I think of nurses who work in prisons, nursing homes, and schools, nurse educators, pediatric nurses, dialysis nurses, nurse writers, editors, and parish nurses. And when I say that you are the heroes of nursing, you all say the same thing: that the real heroes are the patients.

And when I say I don't know how you do the work you do, you say you can't imagine doing any other.

When someone asks why I am proud to be a Registered Nurse, it is not only because I know nurses continually strive for knowledge, competence, and expertise - but because I know you have learned that it is truly in giving that you receive.

You know that life's worth isn't counted in coins or accomplishments, but rather in lives touched... that a soul soothed by a word, a moistened lip, or a heart that hears, is worth more than a mountain of gold. I know that your passion for nursing surpasses its shortcomings, it trials, its adversities. I know that you dream and work to make it all better for future generations of nurses.

I know you know that the most honorable words you can say to another human being are: "I am your nurse." When someone asks why I am proud to be a Registered Nurse, I think of nurses everywhere, and I am proud to be counted among you.

Karla J. Beckert, RN
Staff Nurse
Windham Community Memorial Hospital

As I sit here in front of my computer I stare at a blank screen. "Why did I choose to go into Healthcare?" Oh, but of course…it was the great wages…flexibility with hours and shifts, respectable career, and the never-ending challenges and opportunities. I went through most of nursing school with all that in mind. I thought nursing would be a "cool" job. I wanted to see what the inside of the human body looked like. I wanted to learn - from a physiological viewpoint - what made the human body tick. How did we walk, talk, and feel? How do we fix broken bones and perforated bowels? I was excited to learn all of this "science stuff" and to become more intellectual and knowledgeable.

Well, I went from nursing student to GN to RN. I was ready for my first position, ambitious and excited to face the world. I soon learned that being a nurse also included emptying bedpans, wiping up vomit, brushing old dentures, and massaging arthritic feet. I felt all the glamour of my chosen profession quickly fading. And although I was somewhat disillusioned, I still felt there was a lot to be learned - and that someday I could work in a "more important area" of nursing. So I continued with my daily duties as a floor nurse on a med/surg unit. I wondered how some of the floor nurses have spent years here. "How boring!" was all I could think.

But time marched on, and I started to change. I don't know how or when it happened exactly … a transformation that I cannot take credit for. The "knee" in Room 7 was now "Rosie."* The hospice patient in Room 1 was the official staff "Grandmother." And the young boy in Room 14 was showered with toys and gifts from all three shifts. I learned that although assisting a patient with her colostomy care once seemed like a dirty job, I grew to understand the importance of time shared between patient and nurse. Never again would I have a missed opportunity to discuss a dying patient's thoughts and concerns. I have learned that sometimes a patient really doesn't need the bedpan for the one-millionth time. But they do need reassurance, a warm touch, tender words, or maybe just a hug. I have seen the fear and the bravery in their eyes that I may never have noticed if I worked in a "more exciting" area of nursing. I have developed a bond with these patients and their families like no other. I see them on the streets, in the stores or at the gas station, weeks or even months later, and their faces light up. "Remember me?" they tease with a big smile. But of course I do … maybe not a name … but I never forget a face. I have felt a family's pain when a love one dies. I have rejoiced in their successful recoveries. And then I realize what I went into nursing for … I don't really care exactly how the heart works, or how we fix a broken bone, nearly as much as how we touch the heart and soul of our patients and their families. So if you are ever considering a nursing career, don't do it for the money - it is not nearly enough for what we do. Don't do it for the flexibility with hours - you will be working long shifts with hardly enough time to eat. And please don't do it because you think it looks like a cool job like on television. A nurse soon finds out that you cannot put a dollar amount on what she does. And at the end of a day … she goes home, puts up her tired achy feet and thinks … maybe … just maybe … I made someone's life just a little bit easier today. And it is alright.

*Names have been changed.

Barbara Bessinger, RN
Staff Nurse
Yale-New Haven Hospital

On a warm spring night in April, M. and his parents were on their way to dinner when their car was hit head-on by a drunk driver. M. spent a week in the pediatric intensive care unit after sustaining a parietal contusion, pre-pontine hemorrhage, open left tibial fracture, and bilateral fractured pelvis. I took care of M. one week after he was transferred to my unit. My first impression was of how articulate M. was for an eight-year-old. He talked freely about what he remembered of the accident … the seat belt feeling like it was crushing his stomach, the ambulance ride, his bewilderment over why this had to happen to him and his family, and his relief that his sister and beloved guinea pig were not in the car at the time of the accident.

He also talked about his Mother. She still remained in the adult intensive care unit in serious condition with multiple injuries, including head trauma, left-sided weakness, and requiring the support of a ventilator. M. talked about missing her and his hope that she was getting better, so they could all go home and be together. M.'s maternal grandmother was visiting that morning, and at one point when she stepped out of the room, I approached her and asked about her daughter's condition. She said that M.'s Mom had a fever and was not as responsive as usual, but would at times respond appropriately with "thumbs-up" signals and hand squeezes. I told M.'s grandmother that M. really missed his Mom, and asked if the family had given any thought to the idea of having him visit her. His grandmother thought that because of her fever, it wasn't a good idea for a first visit to be made. I decided to bring up the subject with M.'s Dad when he came to visit, and left a note for the social worker to discuss the subject with the family. Later that morning, I noticed Dad in M.'s room. I went in to say hello, and Dad pleasantly surprised me by asking if we could transport M. in a chair to visit Mom … he had discussed it with his mother-in-law, and had apparently noted the longing in M.'s voice as he spoke of missing his mom. We talked of the importance of preparing M. for what he would see, and the fact that Mom would not be able to verbally respond to him. Dad and I reviewed all this with M., who was able to relate some of the machinery he would see to his own ICU stay. I then called the NICU, to clear M.'s visit with the nurse. After telling M. that his Mom had a fever and was very tired and might be too sleepy to squeeze his hand, we set off to visit her.

Upon our arrival, Dad approached Mom and told her he had a special surprise for her. I wheeled M.'s chair to the side of her bed, and tearfully witnessed a poignant reunion … they held hands, Mom appropriately squeezed M.'s hand and even gave him the "thumbs-up" sign. At one point M. said, "My heart was breaking last night because I couldn't see you Mommy." I knew then that the decision to make this visit was a good one for both this little boy and his Mom. Before we came back to our unit, I reassured M. that he would be able to visit Mom every day, and that soon, she would be able to visit him!

Since that first visit, Mom has progressed slowly but steadily, and has in fact been able to visit M. on our unit. Soon she will be evaluated by a rehab facility to further facilitate her recovery. M. will also be discharged home soon. Although the family has many obstacles to overcome, it seems evident that the love and family support they have will help them through this difficult time.

Being able to facilitate that first visit between M. and his Mom, witnessing the love between this child and his Mother, and then seeing a single tear running down this Mother's cheek as her child held her hand, made it so clear to me that this was one of the reasons why I chose to go into nursing.

Catherine Brennan
Environmental Technician
Johnson Memorial Hospital

Poster Child for Healthcare

My initial entry into healthcare was a result of my love of cleaning and knowing the importance of cleanliness in a healthcare facility. Little did I expect the tremendous rewards that have come from my decision to become an Environmental Technician in a hospital.

It began with my doing and saying little things to patients and family members to make them feel better and quickly blossomed into much more. I vividly recall an incident where a woman came to visit her husband every day of his hospital stay. When the day of his discharge finally came, I said to his wife, "Now it is time for you to rest." This simple statement resulted in her long-held emotions pouring out in the form of tears. She thanked me profusely for knowing that she had also been going through a difficult time as her husband was nursed back to health. She now needed to be cared for and was so very grateful that someone recognized that fact. Even now, when I see this lady in the community, she remembers me, greets me warmly, and makes me feel like a good friend. I couldn't possibly have known the rewards to me would be so wonderful.

When patients are admitted to the hospital they are often frightened. Just the tone of my voice or the look on my face can set the stage for their feeling more at ease. I believe there is an imaginary line in every patient's room. No matter how badly my day may be going, when I cross that line into the room, my own problems have to stay behind that line, and I need to be there for the patient. Their well-being is my primary concern, and in making them feel better, I, in turn, feel so much better.

I have stood back and watched the healthcare team respond to a Code and never cease to be amazed at the way in which the team makes everything mesh together for the good of the patient. I am honored and proud to be part of this team. I dearly love working in the hospital setting, to the degree that I feel like a poster child for my role in the healthcare arena. I am grateful for the opportunity to be part of a caring and capable hospital "family" and cannot imagine being in any other industry.

Sheryl Doulens, RN, BSN
Organ Donation Coordinator
Yale University

There But for the Grace of God Go I

I meet some of the most generous people on the worst day of their lives. My name is Sheryl Doulens and I am a nurse, just as my Mother and Grandmother were before me. I graduated from SCSU in 1989 with a BSN. I began working at The Hospital of St. Raphael in the summer of 1989. I liked my job within the Coronary Care Unit, but I had worked nights for many years and felt it was time for a change. In the fall of 1999, I saw an ad in the New Haven Register for an Organ Donation Coordinator. I was hired and began my new position in December. I remember during my initial interview, Dr. Lorber (my boss) said "This job is extremely stressful. You are always in the midst of someone's tragedy." How true this is. When I tell people about my job I explain, " I meet people on the worst day of their life."

I work for Yale University, Department of Surgery, Division of Transplantation; we are considered a regional office of the New England Organ Bank. I have many responsibilities as a Donation Coordinator (DC). I share a call schedule with two other coordinators. We provide coverage for 14 hospitals in Connecticut, 365 days a year, 24 hours a day. If a potential donor is referred, we respond onsite to evaluate the medical suitability of the potential donor.

Once onsite, I speak with the physicians, nurses, social worker, and pastoral care - anyone that is involved with the patient and his/her family. I review the chart to evaluate the patient's history, their labs, and the course of stay. If the patient is declared brain dead, it is my job as the DC to facilitate the process of requesting organ and tissue donation from the patient's family. When the time is appropriate, I am introduced by the physician or nurse as "someone who is here to help you make some decisions" (and - hopefully - not as "the lady from the organ bank").

It is through this encounter that I have the privilege of meeting some of the most generous people in the world: the people who - at what may be the lowest point in their life - say "yes" to the request for organ donation. The death of their loved one is most often sudden. Each member of the family will have a different reaction to the situation. Some experience feelings of anger, guilt, shock, sadness, or loss of control. With each family that I meet, one of my first thoughts is "There but for the grace of God go I." This could be happening to me. I treat them as I would hope to be treated.

I have worked with many families, all of whom remain in my thoughts and prayers. Each family is special and unique. I have laughed with some as they shared funny memories of their loved ones, and cried with many as the idea of life's fragility takes hold. During the midst of their tragedy, they are willing to think about helping others. I truly believe that through the gift of organ donation, these people will find some comfort. Perhaps it is that they honored their loved one's wish. Possibly that it is something good coming from something bad, or maybe that their loved one will live on. Whatever the reason, I believe they are the true heroes in healthcare. I am a better person for knowing them. They are why I love my job as a nurse.

Janice M. Hart
Surgical Technologist
Yale-New Haven Hospital

My First Trauma Experience

Beep! Beep! Beep!
The elevator door swung wide open,
orders shouting out everywhere!
The intercom was hot.
"Emergency! We need the trauma room!"
"Room 8," we all shouted.
"What is it?"
"Ruptured Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm and losing pressure!"
My adrenaline started to flow like the Niagara rapids.
I darted down to Room 8.
Within seconds the room was engulfed with medical staff -
surgeons, nurses, technicians, anesthesiologists, and residents.
Perspiration ran down my face like dewdrops on rose petals at the break of dawn.
Room 8 became an instant inferno!
Within nanoseconds, the patient was prepped from stem to stern.
Drapes, towel clips, back table, Mayo stand race across the floor to the operating table like squirrels scampering for their last nuts.
Suctions off, Bovie off. "Is the patient grounded?"
Scalpel, snap, Bovie, let's go.
We have a life to save!
"Do we have blood and platelets in the room?"
"Yes," replied my circulator, Sharon, who was frantically completing the ties in back of surgeons' gowns.
You would be amazed to observe Sharon prioritizing the chaos,
attending to each need with such grace under fire.
"Anesthesia, how are the vitals?"
We are about to make that grand entrance!
"Are the suctions ready to go, cell saver?"
This belly is full of blood!
Pshshsh, there was dead silence as three liters of blood came oozing out.
"Clamp, clamp!"
I handed two aorta clamps, large and medium.
"Good job!"
"Someone, please adjust the lights,
I have to stop this bleeding."
Everyone worked in synchrony,
like a well-rehearsed orchestra.
Angled Debakey, stitch 3.0 prolene suture, rubber shod, stitch -
and the process was repeated.
I think we are onto something here!
Slowly the tension in the room calmed down,
like the wind after a severe storm.
You can lower the temperature in the room at least 10 degrees,
my scrubs are drenched!
I whispered under my breath, "Thank you, God."
As the team worked relentlessly, we felt a warm sense of satisfaction that all our efforts and quick thinking paid off.
Once again, our purpose was validated -
we saved another life!
I will never walk away from my position in the Operating Room as a Surgical Technologist.
Caring is a fundamental part of our professional existence.

Carol Ann Koehler, BSN, RNC
Staff Nurse
Hartford Hospital

At the age of 14, I decided to become a nurse. It happened because a very special nurse, also named Carol Ann, touched my life. In the summer before my sophomore year in high school, I learned that I had a severe case of scoliosis. I entered UMass Medical Center in Worcester, Mass., in September of 1978 for a Harrington Rod Spinal Fusion. I was frightened and a teenager … need I say more? After enduring the lengthy procedure, I was to spend 11 days on a Stryker frame, being flipped every four hours. This was to be followed by over nine months in a body cast. For the first 24 hours after surgery, I was cared for in the ICU. My nurse had long brown hair, brown eyes, my first and middle name, and a heart of gold. After she completed her shift, she came to my room carrying the two staples of any teenage girl's life. She had a razor and a hairbrush. She said she knew that I would want to look OK when my friends came to visit. She spent her own time grooming me when I was unable to.

I have never forgotten how her little act of kindness changed my world. I felt human, despite the IVs, the strange frame that was to be my home for 11 days, the bedpans, and the pain. It was because Carol Ann took the time to go the extra mile that I chose to be a nurse. At the age of 14, I hoped that I too would be able to make a difference in someone's life. I began by going back to UMass in my body cast to talk to other teens undergoing the same procedure, then became a candy-striper after the cast was off.

I've now been a nurse for nearly 18 years. I've been on both sides of the bed and believe I can offer that same TLC that my nurse offered me. I now work in Women's Health. Some of the patients are living through high-risk pregnancies. I am the mother of two premature children. I spent the first weeks of my children's lives touching them through an incubator and counting the days until I could take them home. The rest of our patients are recovering from surgery. I can draw on my life experiences and offer my views as a nursing professional and a former patient. The Carol Ann at UMass over 20 years ago helped me to become the best nurse I could be. I will be forever grateful … and I hope my patients will be too.

Athena H. Mains, RN, BSN
Registered Nurse
Hospital for Special Care and Connecticut Children's Medical Center

Nursing - A Noble Profession

Eleven years ago, after two years of college, I decided to be a nurse. When I told my family about my decision, my grandmother jumped out of her seat. "It's about time!" she exclaimed as she held my face and planted a kiss on my cheek. Years before, she waited to marry my grandfather while he served as a Marine during World War II. To her and so many others in her generation, the nursing profession was a noble and prestigious vocation for young ladies to pursue.

Looking in the face of a nursing shortage today, I think that perhaps people consider nursing to be a noble and prestigious profession for other individuals. All I know is that it truly is very rewarding and I can't imagine doing anything else. I am part of a group of women and men who help to improve other's lives every day. It is truly amazing.

In eight short years, I have cared for and come to know people across their lifespan in hospitals, long-term care facilities, and in the community. I have had the privilege to care for infants before they were even born, been there the day some of them came into this world, and held the hand of an elderly woman when she took her last breath. I have helped both children and adults fight for their life. Some won and others did not.

Wonderful but stressful? Sometimes heart-wrenching? Yes. However, the rewards are amazing. I keep a little file that currently holds a letter, photo, valentine, and hand-made pin I received from some of my patients. (The chocolates are already gone!) I take them out from time to time to remind myself why I do what I do. Other memories are in my head. Imagine this: a child who was in a coma three days ago looks at you today with a toothy grin and asks you for some pizza. A mother - who gave birth to a 24-week preemie that you helped take care of for months - sends a card with recent photos of this now one-year-old toddler to your unit at the hospital. A man you cared for who had suffered a severe traumatic brain injury from a motor vehicle accident (and had a poor prognosis) walks onto your unit 14 months later with his long-time girlfriend and tells you of their plans to marry. A woman you got to know because you cared for her sister in her home until her death recognizes you 10 years later in the grocery store. She hugs you and thanks you for being there so many years ago. Amazing. (Sometimes I think, "…and I get paid for this?")

On the flip side, consider this: your sister has unexpected complications during her pregnancy, jeopardizing both her health and that of the baby. She is hospitalized and, months later, goes home with a healthy 8-pound baby boy. Your mother has end-stage Alzheimer's disease. You are unable to care for her at this point so she lives in a nice nursing home nearby and is well cared for by the nursing staff. Your husband is alive and well after suffering a cardiac arrest and being clinically dead for 10 minutes because nurses and other healthcare personnel were there to save his life and bring him back to good health.

I, for one, am grateful for other nurses. They were there when I was sick at school, sprained my ankle, and had my children. They were there for other members of my family in immeasurable ways. I don't know if a simple but heartfelt "thank you" could ever be enough. From my own patients, however, I think it is more than enough. A glance, a smile, a tear, a sigh … however it is said, I know what it means. It is a language that we nurses, as well as other healthcare professionals, are fluent in.

I work with some of the greatest individuals I have ever known. Their hearts are as big as the sun and they have a stamina greater than the ocean. They are a team of women and men whom I look forward to working with every day. They do amazing things for people and I am proud to say that I am a small piece of that.

I know that I am part of something big, but my grandmother knew it first. She celebrated the day my grandfather came home from WWII. Shortly thereafter, she saw the photo of a sailor kissing a nurse on the cover of Life magazine. Nurses were a part of something big then too. I hope we have not too soon forgotten.

Theresa Murphy
Student, Nuclear Medicine Program
Gateway Community College

He drove his own motorized wheelchair. His face was ruddy and his smile was warm. As his wife and two adult daughters waited, I directed the patient to the adjacent room that held the gamma camera. I was worried about how I would transport him from the chair to a table that was narrower than I've ever been. But by his demeanor, I could tell we would figure it out together. The insignia on my patient's well-worn VFW hat caught my attention, and I asked about his infantry division. As he removed his hat he began to tell me about his days in the military as if it were just yesterday. His dirty hat lay on the chair, as his old and disease-battered body lay on the table that was not designed for comfort. His intense vulnerability was evident to me. He told me about his colon cancer and its recently discovered metastases. The conversation wandered between WWII, his surgery, and the recent trip he took to the Cape with his daughters and grandchildren. When he talked about the grandkids, he began to melt. I was there as a tough, strong war vet looked at his life from a perspective that not everyone gets to see. I was touched and honored to be hearing his stories. Keeping a delicate balance between being open to talk about whatever the patient needed to say, I was careful not to go over the line to satisfy my curiosity about what he is going through. I'm not a therapist; I'm a nuclear med student. While I'm painfully aware that I am powerless to fix or cure anything, I can be completely available to all my patients by listening with an ear that hears all that is said and unsaid. I've succeeded if all my patients know that I care about them.

I remember the WWII vet so clearly because it was my first day of my clinical internship in the nuclear medicine program. As one of the oldest new nuclear medicine students, I am in awe of every patient I encounter. Going back to school at age 42 gives me a perspective on patient vulnerability that I would not have had if I'd entered this field in my 20s.

The second patient of the day was a women my age who was having a sentinel node study before a mastectomy. While waiting for the doctor, she and I ended up giggling about who was truly a better singer, David Cassidy or Bobby Sherman. We decided definitely David. She was waiting to go to surgery and she was scared. She is young. I'm scared and I'm young and we had a lot to talk about. There is a way to let my patients know that I'm available for them in whatever way may help them at that moment. If that means talking about the disease, their test, their family, or the merits of the Partridge Family, then I'm willing. My hope and prayer is that I'm able to convey that sentiment to each patient through my voice, my body language, and my attitude.

Since then, I've already encountered over a hundred patients. Each one has a story. Each one has a unique history. Each one of them teaches me something. I'm learning the technical tasks of the job. I'm taking notes on patient positioning, camera operation, doctor's preferences, radio pharmacy procedures, standard protocols, and proper radiation safety. As that seeps into my brain - and, I'm hopeful, is retained there - I realize that I learn more from the people than I do the books.

It's been six months since I started the program. I'm tired a lot. But not from patient care. I'm overwhelmed with the decay factors, half-lives, threshold energy, and the inner structure of the cyclotron. Learning how to give an injection was tough, as I've always been afraid of needles.

It's a paradox. The more I give, the more I receive. By being available to my patients with humor, compassion, and real empathy, it pours the energy out of me. And when I reach my car at the end of a day, I often shed a tear before I go home. Conversely, I'm also energized realizing that far more was given to me today than I gave. That's the art in the science of medicine. It's why I chose the medical profession. I am privileged to provide care to people who are hurting or scared. What better job can I think of? This is as good as it gets.

Cynthia O'Brien, BS, RN
RN Manager
Hartford Hospital

The official definition of a hero, according to Webster, is "a man admired for his courage, fortitude, prowess, nobility, etc." As I sat thinking about this topic, I realized that I work with so many "heroes" and "heroines." After really thinking about it, I also realized that it might as well be in the job description.

I work in an inner-city ambulatory care center. Our patients are often considered the highest utilizers of healthcare with the lowest financial reimbursement. We take care of patients with state and federal assistance, but many don't have any insurance benefits at all. We all know that America wants to provide healthcare to each and every person, but the fact is that that's a pretty tall order. The very real costs of providing healthcare - and the fact that the economy has resulted in reduced funding to take care of those that don't have insurance - has made for a challenging work environment. But each day, the staff shows up, ready to help and knowing that most patients don't realize the struggle behind the scenes to finagle the dollars we are allotted to cover the care for so many.

These are the heroes - the nurses, aides, secretaries, doctors, pharmacists, social workers, and specialists who are here with the cards stacked against them. Patients come to us and they are at the end of their rope. They are frustrated and angry that we can't do more to ease their pain, so they take it out on us. Courage.

These are the heroes - the same people that show up each and every day to a run-down office that will see more than 100 different patients walk through the door. This is in addition to the myriad of phone calls from patients that reflect the problems of their lives - sick, impoverished, uneducated, unemployed, and unsupported, whether by choice or circumstance. Smiling and servicing a population of patients that has an advanced rate of depression and other psychiatric issues that complicate their already complicated disease states… receiving comments and criticism that are only given by people when they feel it's safe to lash out. Fortitude.

These are the heroes; the nursing staff has an average of 23 years of experience each (11-37) with specialties in cardiology, neurology, gynecology, infectious disease, and general medicine. They come to us with ICU experience, VNA experience, inpatient, community, hospice, and skilled nursing. Half are pursuing advanced nursing degrees. The nurses also routinely find time to go to educational offerings in diabetes, asthma, depression, and hypertension to become the nursing experts for the most frequent diagnoses we treat. The APRN staff is equally impressive and has a dedication that is rare - a dedication that motivates you to provide care for a smaller salary than to continue in management or staff nursing. The physician staff promote growth and learning for every member of the team - not just the resident physicians that they are charged to educate. Prowess.

You know what else? If you were to say to any of them, "Hey, you're a hero," they would probably look straight at you and deny it, saying "This is my job and I do it because I love it." And that's what matters, not being called a hero, but making a difference in the lives of so many who will never know it. They demonstrate a quiet constancy of skill, caring, and creativity necessary to meet the needs of our community. Nobility.

I salute you - my friends, my colleagues, my inspiration, my heroes each and every day.