Patient.

Tuesday was a rough hospital day. After a series of unfortunate events that led to one of my patient's leaving a crimson trail down the hallway as blood literally gushed from his arm, the other one being surprised with the news that he needed open-heart surgery on Thursday, and the grand culmination of being locked out of my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot after a 10-hour work day, I thought I was done.

However, as most of life goes, time moved on despite my rough day, and the sun rose. 

Wednesday was different. I got to devote pretty much all of my time to only one patient. This was my open-heart surgery patient, and I was pretty nervous about what 007Nurse was going to do that day. However, it was great.

I spent most of my time getting anything he needed, administering a couple of medications, and getting to know him and his family. We laughed, we talked about the life and faith of his seventy-five years. It was awesome. When I left I told him goodbye and good luck for his surgery the following day. I thanked him for letting me learn from him, and reassured him that everything was going to go well with his surgery. After that, he thanked me and gave me a hug. When he did he said simply, "I love you."

What? It was not the first time I had heard those three words, but somehow it was. I had spent no more than 15 hours with this man, and he told me he loved me. How could this be possible? Still, there was absolutely nothing insincere or disingenuous in his simple statement. It wasn't a guess; it wasn't a pleasantry; it wasn't a platitude. It wasn't an effort to manipulate me, and it certainly wasn't said to reciprocate any declarations that I had made. It was fact. 

Interesting.