Every night, though, one thing stayed steady. A nurse came by late, just before the floor settled into its deepest quiet, and he never felt rushed or distracted. He checked the monitors, adjusted my blanket, asked how I was feeling in a way that sounded like he actually wanted the answer, and then he left me with the same kind of simple words that can hold a person together when nothing else does. Rest now. Do not give up. You are doing better than you think. They were small sentences, but in that sterile room they landed like warmth, and I began to measure my nights by his presence, because it meant I was still a person and not just a chart on a clipboard.
