Work Family

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There’s no one I would rather clean up puke with. Or sani-wipe toys with. Or laugh with. Or sigh with. You’ve always got my back. I’ve got yours too. I just so happen to love working with you. You do your job so incredibly well. Your mom would be proud. Like cry her eyes out kind of proud. I hope you know that you’re one of the best.

We speak a hospital-working language of sorts. A language sometimes without words. A language laced with patience, perseverance, humor and strength. And human weakness too. We laugh because we have to. And we cry because we need to. We support each other because we understand each other and we love each other. Like family. Work family.

I feel like you put a lot of pressure on yourself. Pressure to be the best, to get all your IV starts on the first try, and to anticipate. You always wear your critical thinking skills hat. It’s invisible but we all know it’s there. I guess that’s why you’re so damn good at your job. You better not ever quit because you truly, deeply care and it shows. People need you. I think I saw you save someone’s life today. You bend over backwards and upside down for your patients. And for your work family too. You usually carry a heavy load of emotional work-related baggage, rolling it down the long hallways on your way out. It follows you home. It causes you to over-think, over-feel and fear and love harder. It nudges you to look at life differently. Better and also worse.

You’re constantly growing, changing and sacrificing. And sacrificing again. You adapt like no other. You always want to be better. You’re probably too hard on yourself. I feel honored to work with you. Like I got picked to play on the best team.

I know all of this as truth because we’ve worked a long side each other. Right next to each other. Across a hospital bed from each other. In the halls with each other. In the break room sharing stories. When I was blowing bubbles, I also saw the compassionate and fierce look of determination on your face. I heard the click of the needle retracting. The sound of success. You do really hard things all shift long like they’re no big deal. With ease, confidence and grace. You’re phenomenal, one of a kind, not many can do what you do. The way that you do. You’re extraordinary. Every damn time. I appreciate you. And so do all of the others who just couldn’t say the words.

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