It wasn’t long ago that my new homeowners insurance company threatened me, stating I have to get a new roof. Of course they weren’t going to cover it. The last time I had a new roof installed was 2004.

My fellow ICU nurse friend said, “Get my daddy. He has his own roofing company.” And so I did. Patty was an awesome ICU nurse. Well respected with an affluent family. I trusted her. The construction began and within several days I had a new roof.

Several years later I clocked into the ICU and received my assignment. A sixty-nine-year-old man. Dying. Sepsis raged through his body. Organs were rapidly shutting down. He was on the ventilator.

His large obese body lay still on that bed as he gave out those “guppy” breaths asynchronous to his ventilator. A police officer stood outside of his room, guarding the patient. His ankles were shackled to the bed.

This was my roofer. The prominent family. Shackled to the bed. His ankles were severely edematous. Seeping fluids. Infected.

The shackles had to come off. As I took care of him day by day we all knew he was actively dying. I asked the ICU doctor for a removal of the shackles, and he approved the removal. But the police could not take them off until I received approval from the magistrate.

Not only were the shackles a detriment to Taylor and his edematous ankles. His skin was blistered and seeping and infected. He wasn’t going to “run away.” He wasn’t going to escape. He was dying.

I wanted not only to protect my roofer physically but also wanted to give his family some type of grace and respect. I wanted to save them from this humiliation.

What I didn’t know is this roofer who owned his own roofing company was also a renowned drug king, leading the way of selling and distributing drugs throughout this large town. He was a drug king. A drug lord. Apparently Patty was unaware that daddy led this secretive dangerous life.

I felt that I brought relief to his family. Saved them from extra distress and embarrassment and humiliation. I wanted to bring them dignity.

The shackles were removed. The police officer remained outside his ICU room. And he died on the ventilator. Lungs, pancreas, liver, kidneys shut down. But he died without the shackles. Without that extra embarrassment.

In honor of my nurse friend Patty, I went to his funeral. Patty stood up to thank us all for coming and honoring her daddy. And she said she wanted to thank one nurse. One ICU nurse that brought her family peace and dignity.

I smiled and thought how nice that she was going to mention me. But she mentioned a different nurse’s name. Mary, ICU RN. She mentioned Mary.

Because Mary took Patty into an empty ICU room and prayed for Patty’s daddy. She said a prayer for her daddy. I was never mentioned. I was never thanked.

I legally had his ankle shackles removed, saving the patient from further blistering to his ankles. Saving the family from humiliation.

I don’t do what I do to receive praise. I did it for the patient’s relief from added pain. I did it to save the family from the humiliation. I did it to provide the family dignity. I saved them from the secrets they stored.

But in the end, it was Mary who received praise for praying.

Go figure.

Infection. Safe nursing practice. Dignity. Priorities. And prayers.

Debbie Moore-Black is a nurse.