Her name is Margaret Abrasaldo. Had she stayed in her homeland in the Philippines, she would have remained an MD. She had the credentials. She chose, instead, to come to America to pursue her true calling. Nursing is where she wanted to be, where she could circulate and have direct contact with her patients who would need, not only her expert skills but her empathy, commitment to her patients, critical thinking skills, and problem-solving abilities. Anyone who came to work alongside her recognized her leadership. In the three short weeks that I had come to know Margaret, I observed all of that. However, that is not all that makes Margaret special. She has an acute sense of humor and an infectious laugh that never failed to brighten every one of the days she was there to care for me, and when she got a day off from that terrible 12-hour shift that she had the stamina to endure, I missed her terribly. I miss her as I write this.

One of Margaret's strongest characteristics is her patience. When she would ask if I was experiencing any pain, I would reply that the worst pain on any day was the changing of the dressings that covered my burns. Because Margaret always paid attention to detail, she remembered that and she would sometimes take up to an hour peeling back the dressings, centimeter by centimeter. That manner of caring came directly from that dear woman's heart. Who does that after being on her feet for more than 10 hours? After that procedure, she came in with a Swifter, swept the floor, and took out the trash containers, which she emptied. Does that tell all you need to know about Margaret's love of work … her passion for her profession of nursing?

On our last night together, before I would be released, Margaret came in to say good night and goodbye, even though it was twenty minutes after she should have been on her way home. I was hoping that she would come and we could have a few moments of quiet time together. I was trying to come up with words that might let Margaret know how much I would always appreciate how she had changed my life, just by watching her quiet dedication to her patients and her profession. I finally thought of a few lines by Emerson that I had read recently. I googled it and put it on my phone. It seemed to be written so many years ago expressly for my dear friend Margaret.

Margaret did come in and we chatted small talk as I fought back the tears. Then she turned and walked towards the door as I called her back. She walked back to me as I held up my phone for her to read the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson. He wrote:

"The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to
be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate,
to have it make some difference that you
have lived and lived well."

We did not speak again. We looked into each other's eyes and smiled. Nothing more needed to be said. As she turned and walked through the door, I really hoped that she did not notice the tears running down my cheeks