When Elaine Blessing arrived it was about 2:30 in the afternoon. It was a desperate day, and Elaine looked exhausted. She was running an hour late because she was covering for two other nurses who had family emergencies.

Her face was flushed and her clothes were wrinkled from the humidity. Nevertheless, she was cheerful and ready to do her work.

Elaine is a Gentiva nurse. Correct that, she is the longest serving, most experience Gentiva employee in our region.

Kitch and I met Elaine in 2004 when we were the full-time caretakers for our beloved Nancy Beck-Loftus. Well that’s when I thought we met Elaine.

Yesterday I learned that many years earlier I met Elaine and her friend, Caprice, in the 1970’s at a local television station when she was 12 years old. She and Caprice were volunteers, I was an independent contractor who produced and presented nightly editorials in addition to hosting a quarterly public affairs program, Town Meeting of the Air.

It was a chance meeting, but one that left a lasting impression.

On this day, Elaine was here to walk us through the last stages of her cardiac care services. For three weeks she has been visiting with us, measuring our vital signs like the oxygen levels in blood, blood pressure and pulse rate among others.

It is standard procedure for people who have had open-heart surgery. Every day vitals are measured and sent digitally to a location in Florida and then they are transmitted to my primary care physician, Dr. Michael Fath, and my surgeon, Dr. Michael Harostock.

Kitch and I looked forward to Elaine’s visits. Yes, it was a contact with a person who could answer questions and help us with a variety of issues. Yet, in so many ways it was more than that.

Elaine is our friend. She is very good at what she does. She is very knowledgeable, and she cares about her work and her patients.

Elaine is a compassionate person who gave us comfort. We felt connected to someone who was available and willing to help us. At the same time, Elaine is a no-nonsense nurse whose values are similar to those of my mother and my sister who were nurses steeped in the old tradition of service and patient care.

The monitoring devices Elaine set up during her first visit became central to our daily routine. The first thing every morning was an encounter with a digital scale that spoke to us. The words were always the same. “Please stand still. Please step off the scale. 155.6.”

At 11 a.m. Kitch would open the Gentiva file and record my weight before she helped me with the other monitoring devices. Then we would talk about the numbers and a variety of other issues concerning the operation, the hospital stay, the instructions Elaine gave us for a healthy recovery and so much more.

On this last day, Elaine used her stethoscope to listen to my heart, and then my lungs. She checked my incisions to make sure they are healing properly. She checked my ankles and legs for signs of water retention, and then she began to collect the monitoring devices.

In the days ahead these devices would be sterilized and given to other patients.

Then she sat in the chair I use when working at my computer and she ran through a checklist of items:

Salt restriction…no more than 2,000 mg a day for life;

Avoid foods with high fat content that includes meats that are cured, and smoked;

Use cocoa butter lotion on the incisions. It will expedite the healing process;

Check your weight every day and your blood pressure and pulse rate three times a week;

Remember you are still in a recuperation period, and you must listen to your body. It will tell you when enough is enough.

Then she paused and shared what she described as the most important lesson:

" You have the body of a 45 year-old man and a heart with arteries that are unblocked. Your progress to date is amazing. For a man your age, your progress has been remarkable. You obviously have a sense of purpose and a will to live."

Then she paused, leaned back in her chair, took a breath and spoke these words:

“The most important lesson is this. Don’t be afraid to live.”

“You should live the life you want to live.”

With these words, an exemplary nurse, a wise person and a good friend released her patient to the next step in the rehabilitation process.

It was a beautiful moment, a touching moment, a significant moment on the road to recovery.

As Kitch and I accompanied Elaine to her car, there was another special moment that I will never forget.

We were walking through the garage. Surrounded by my security blanket, clutter from three-plus decades of teaching and years of production work, Elaine stopped, turned to me extending her arms. When we embraced she whispered private words that touched my soul.

In that moment I could feel the presence of my mother and my sister.

In that moment I knew I would not be afraid to live.

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