It was about supper time when I arrived at the Henrico Doctors’ Hospital Emergency Room in Richmond. It didn’t take the triage nurse long to announce, “I have an A-fi b here.”

Before I even got to see the waiting room, I was headed toward the ER’s cardiac unit and my introduction to the world of atrial fi brillation, a world I have gotten to know quite well during the subsequent two years.

The nurse assigned to me went to work with dispatch, but with care, sensing my apprehension. All the requisite monitors were hooked up and she explained what each was for, offering reassurance and conveying the message that they would do all they could to make everything right, just like a mother with her fi rstborn’s skinned knee.

As the evening wore on, “my” nurse stayed close by. I learned she was just back from vacation and for her fi rst day, she was doing a double shift; she had been in the ER since 7 a.m., but there was never a “poor me” or an “I’m so tired” complaint.

Despite the best efforts by her and the rest of the ER team, the prescribed protocol of meds and all the rest, the heart monitor continued to look like an Etch-A-Sketch that had endured some random twists. At about 10:30 the decision was made to do a cardioversion, and the appropriate specialist was called.

The procedure was explained to me and my awareness of my father’s four heart attacks (an my mother’s one, fatal heart attack) was supplemented by TV images of the sullen-faced doctor calling, “Clear!” followed by the patient’s violent convulsion and the usual sighs or relief – or the occasional, “It didn’t work.” My anxiety soon bordered on panic.

Somehow, over the din of activity, I heard my nurse tell someone, “No. I can’t leave now. I’ve been with my patient all evening. He’s going to have a cardioversion, and he’s very frightened. I’ll stay with him until it’s over.” This was after almost 16 hours of work on her fi rst day back from vacation.

The procedure was uneventful for me. Aided by what was later described as “milk of amnesia,” I awoke to a regular heart rhythm, a relieved family and “my” smiling nurse, who said, “It went fi ne.” Then, and only then, she headed into the night.

You nurses do this kind of thing all the time. I just wanted you to know how much it can mean to a patient. Thanks.