I don't think I need to be tough to take really good care of people. Because I go home and I cry about my patients. I always said the day I quit crying is the day I need to quit. 

I've been a flight nurse for 40 years, and I've been with the University of Utah AirMed for 19 of those years. There's no cameras in the helicopter, there's no audience—it's me and my partner. It's a very, very sacred obligation. You're taking care of the most critically ill patients, and oftentimes you're with them when they take their last breath. I try to do what I can in the short amount of time I have them to leave them with a feeling. They're not going to remember anything I say. They're going to remember how I felt.

“So don't worry, it's just, it's gonna get tight and then it'll go away. Alrighty. Okay sweetheart. Do we have an IV hanging somewhere?” 

I was a clinical educator for 32 years, and when I would teach the new hires, I'd say, “You have got to treat these people like they are your relative because they are someone's mother, sister, loved one.” I have shed tears while I hug family members because I do feel their pain. I know some people disagree with that, but when I was sick or my mother was sick, that's the kind of caregiver I really wanted.

My therapist lives in a barn. When I'm hurting, he will literally put his head right here and he will just stay there. That's how I've gotten through this—crying, my horse, and a sense of humor.