This story reminded me of a sort-of reversal that happened to me.

While in the gym, I sprained my ankle. In the beginning, I ignored it and medicated, but as the pain persisted, on day four of this injury I decided to go to the ER. As I lived alone, was young, and not exactly without means, I decided to call a cab rather than an ambulance or going by foot.

The cab could not get into the ER’s loading bay, obviously, so I had to hobble to the acceptation/patient input desk. The man behind the desk scolded me for waiting four days (which was fair)… and for:

Front Desk: “It was stupid of you to come all the way here by foot instead of calling an ambulance.”

Me: “I came by cab exactly because I knew going by foot was a terrible idea.”

Front Desk: “You still walked several more meters than needed! An ambulance is better.”

Me: “I didn’t want to pay the ‘GOMER Tax’—” *Or, in other words, pay the ambulance for its misuse in picking me up.* “—as I wasn’t otherwise immobilised, let alone at risk of dying! Dozens of other people out there need it more than me.”

He gave me the ID bracelet while still berating me for not wasting hospital resources on picking up my code-white butt from home.

I am not sure whether he was not listening to how I came in, or if he thought a sprained ankle was considered eligible for free ambulance rides like breaking a bone is.

I used to know a woman who moved slowly in her jobs. One job didn’t work out well; the other did.

[Woman]’s first job was mostly waitressing at the cafe she and her husband owned. They had great food. Her husband was fast. But after he died, she tried to keep the cafe open. It didn’t work out because she would complete one entire order before starting on the next. This meant that if you had four people at your table, the fourth would be just starting to eat when the first was finishing.

So, [Woman] ended up selling the cafe.

Her next job was as a phlebotomist at the same hospital where I worked. She was very careful and kind; people almost loved having her draw their blood!

Sometimes it takes a while to find your niche.

For a number of mundane reasons, I was very small at birth. My mom is still in a postpartum haze but awake enough for first-time-parent anxiety to be in full force. I’m napping in a bassinet at her bedside when a nurse comes in to do a regular check on us both.

After making sure my mom is okay and nothing looks worrying, the nurse turns towards my bassinet and stops dead.

Nurse: *Under her breath.* “Oh my gosh.”

Mom: *Panicking.* “What is it? What’s wrong? Is she okay?!”

The nurse’s voice becomes almost a squeal.

Nurse: “She’s so TINY!”

She apparently continued in this vein during the entire check-up, gushing about how small I was and how there were preemies in the NICU that were bigger than me. This repeated every time she saw my mom before we left the hospital.

If she’d seen me strapped into my infant car seat, arms sticking straight out, hands hidden by my too-long sleeves, with a rolled-up blanket on either side to keep me upright, I think she would’ve exploded.

When I was probably six years old, I was playing “kick the crackerbox” in the kitchen with my older sister. I had my socks on, and I slipped and fell chin-first into a stool. I was taken to the emergency room and had seven stitches put in.

As this was the late 1980s, there were still cigarette vending machines in the hospitals. A guy had bought himself a pack of smokes, and with his change, he had gotten a pack of Reese’s Pieces. He gave them to me and told me he hoped I would feel better soon. Thirty-five years later, I still remember that moment.

I also remember my grandmother pouring the candy into a bowl for me the next day and how painful it was to eat them with my wound — but they were all the more pleasant because of it.

I seriously doubt that man remembers that day, but I will never forget that random act of kindness that a stranger gave to a little kid in a lot of pain.

CONTENT WARNING: Death, Cancer
 

I’m not sure if this is because I work in a smaller rural hospital, but it was something I was glad to be part of; I’m not sure we could have gotten away with this in a larger hospital.

I’m an administrative assistant at a hospital. I have no formal medical training outside of CPR and recovery positions, but I assist the nurses and doctors enough to have seen my fair share of medical emergencies.

Mr. Smith (name changed, obviously) is one of our patients who has recently taken a turn for the worse. He has terminal cancer and isn’t expected to last the night. He is in his late nineties and his family has been preparing for this day, so they’re all in the area and coming by to spend some precious moments with him.

I’m standing at the reception doing some of my work when I see a woman who I recognize to be one of Mr. Smith’s relatives standing at the entrance. She seems hesitant to come in, so I approach and ask if everything is okay.

Relative: “Well, I am trying to see how I can go about bringing Copper into the hospital.”

Me: “Copper? Like the metal?”

Relative: “What? Oh, gosh, no! This is Copper!”

She stands aside, and I am shocked to find that I didn’t notice the tiny old dog standing behind her. He looks like a cross between a Jack Russel terrier and… something… but I can certainly tell how he got his name. His coat is a brilliant copper color!

Relative: “Copper is Mr. Smith’s absolute best friend. We wanted to see if we could bring him in to see him one last time, but we understand as hospitals aren’t designed to be pet-friendly.”

Me: “Stay here for just one moment.”

As luck would have it, one of the hospital administrators is at reception talking to a few managers. I politely interrupt and explain the situation, pointing over by the entrance as I do. They all look over, and I observe a solemn resolve come across all their faces.

Hospital Administrator: “We still do occasional visits from support dogs for Pediatrics, right?”

Manager: “We do.”

Hospital Administrator: “I don’t care what it takes, but get something filed for Copper.”

Manager: “On it.”

Hospital Administrator: *Pointing at me* “You, with me.”

We both head over to the entrance, and the hospital administrator says hello.

Hospital Administrator: “Hi, [Relative]. I’m so sorry for what you and your family are going through. Please follow me, and we’ll get you and Copper in to see your grandfather.”

We exit the hospital, walk around to the side, and enter a side entrance only accessible by hospital staff. We are mere feet away from Mr. Smith’s room.

Hospital Administrator: “[My Name], please take them to Mr. Smith’s room. I’ll go see the ward manager and explain the situation.”

I do as I’m told, and as soon as Copper enters the room, both he and Mr. Smith come to life. The dog jumps up on the bed, a licking frenzy ensues, and Mr. Smith starts crying. A moment ago, he was too weak to move, but now he’s mustered the energy to embrace his dog.

Mr. Smith: “My Copper! My little Copper!”

Since my shift ended at 6:00 pm, I was told what happened throughout the night by the nurses.

That little copper dog stayed embraced by Mr. Smith until the very end. Relatives came and went and paid their respects, but Copper sat by his master and didn’t let go. It was as if he knew what was coming and was preparing himself, too.

When the moment came, Copper licked Mr. Smith’s forehead one last time and got up for the first time in hours. There were tears and the usual protocols were followed, and the granddaughter I had spoken with the day before took Copper home. He had gone back to being quiet and still, like when I had first noticed him.

A month or so later, our hospital received a huge bouquet of flowers, sent from the family, thanking us for making their relative’s passing as peaceful as possible. The card was signed by the family members — including a little paw print from Copper.

The card explained that Copper was living with the granddaughter now and took weekend walks to Mr. Smith’s grave to say hello. Everyone who read the card teared up. Working at a hospital, you see death pretty regularly, but this one got to us.

May we all get a Copper in our lives!