Consent mattered that day
You told me what you were going to do, and that I could ask you to stop at any time.
For the first time in a medical setting, my body stopped bracing — not because the procedure changed, but because the care did.
When policy came before the patient
The rule was clear, but the situation wasn’t. In that moment, choosing compassion felt more human than enforcing policy — and that choice stayed with me.
When I went with my gut
Something in my gut told me something was very wrong.
Listening to that instinct meant standing apart — but it also meant protecting someone who couldn’t speak for themselves.
When speaking up for patients came at a cost
I spoke up for patient safety because it was the right thing to do. I didn’t expect how much it would cost me — or how alone it would feel afterward.
When the room went quiet
The silence felt louder than anything else in the room.
What stayed with me wasn’t the procedure, but how exposed I felt — and how much attuned presence mattered in that moment.
When I said “no”
They asked if I was okay, but didn’t know what to do when I said no.
My body was in shock — shaking, bracing — with nowhere for that distress to land.