I’ve been a nurse for six years. Long shifts, aching feet—but I love it.
It’s where I feel I truly matter.But today brought back memories I’d rather forget.
I walked into the ER, chart in hand. Then I looked up,His eyes widened when he saw me.
A quick glance at my nose—he remembered. In school, he made my life miserable: “Big Becca,” “Toucan Sam.” But now,
he was the one needing help.“Becca? Wow… it’s been a while.”What happened to your wrist?”
I asked, keeping my voice neutral.“Basketball injury. Just a sprain, I think.”I stayed professional,
though memories lingered. As I wrapped his wrist, he laughed softly.“Karma’s funny, huh? You taking
care of me after all that.”Then, quietly: “I’m sorry. For everything.”An apology—from him? Part of
me wanted to revisit the pain, but the nurse in me kept focused.“Well,” I said, “I appreciate that.
”X-rays confirmed a fracture. As I fitted his cast, he said, “I hope one day you’ll believe I’m really
sorry.”I met his gaze. “Take care of that wrist.”And with that, I walked away, knowing I’d already won—on my own terms.
