I woke up at 7A.M, the ninth day of my hospital stay, to see the night nurse writing the day’s shift information on the chalk board across from my bed.

Tracy would be the nurse’s assistant for the day. I looked to see who would be my nurse and saw the name Lady Di. “Great, just what I need!”, I thought. “Some Queen Latifah wanna be with probably more ego than actual nursing experience.

I was definitely not in a good mood. Recovering from emergency abdominal surgery had been a nightmare in itself. The daily injections to keep my blood from clotting and the twice daily finger pricks to check on what suspiciously appeared to be an acute diabetic condition had me at the end of my rope.

I had not eaten since days before the surgery, nothing, not even as much as a sip of water. With tubes in every orifice of my body I looked like death warmed over.

My lips were dry and cracking from lack of moisture and my hair – well let’s just say the matted mess was in dire need of a Clairol makeover.

The only good thing I could deduce from this dilemma was that I had lost ten pounds, and even that didn’t seem to make much difference now -not with the six inch scar running up my middle.

Every day was a stifling repeat of the one before. At least this day I had something to look forward to. I was curious to meet the royal R.N dubbed Lady Di.

Tracy, my aide, came in to get me ready for my morning bath. She helped to sit me in the bedside chair, placed the tray table in front of me with all the necessary toiletries, then left to help the nurse with a patient next door.

I may as well have had both my hands tied together, what with the tube down my nose and IV’s in both hands. I sat there wondering how I was suppose to manage to soap up without getting tangled up in a mess of tubes and cords that were now an external part of me.

The water in the basin was nearly ice cold when an elderly woman poked her head in to see how I was doing. She took one look and correctly guessed that I was in desperate need of an extra pair of hands. She ran fresh, hot water and began the chore of helping me to clean up.

A friendly woman, I was having a hard time trying to place her. She didn’t wear the customary smock that the nurses’ aides wore. She certainly was not dressed like a nurse. Her scruffy shoes, baggy clothes and tousled hair had me thinking cleaning lady, but they too wore special uniforms identifying their position.

She took a bottle of shampoo out of her pants pocket and began to lather my messy mane with a scent that smelled like floral paradise.

Out of the other pocket she took out body lotion, smoothing it onto my skin until I felt like sweet smelling silk from head to toe.

I still looked a little more than under the weather but my inner spirit was slowly beginning to shine.

I felt more fresh and alive than I had felt in a long time.

She made my bed, cleared everything away, and set up my bedside table so all my essentials were within easy reach. She told me she’d be back in a little while to check on me. That was the first day, since my medical ordeal began, that I truly felt like smiling. I looked into the mirror almost feeling human again, and knowing I owed it all to this mystery woman who whipped me into a better frame of mind with a little TLC.

Tracy returned, apologizing for being gone so long. She immediately noticed I was coiffed and chipper. I tried to describe the wingless angel who hovered around me like a mother hen, giving me a much needed lift with her loving touch of human kindness.

Tracy knew right away who I was talking about.

“Oh that’s Diane, she’s always helping out whenever she has the chance,” Tracy said matter of factly.

That’s when I found out that this kind and gentle woman was actually Lady Di, the R.N on duty that day.

I also found out it was the nursing staff who gave her the nick name, Lady Di.

Though she didn’t resemble an R.N in appearance, she sure taught me that judging a book by its cover can, often times, be deceiving.

I often think of her, especially when I’m tempted to judge someone solely on looks. Thanks to her I now know better.

I never did find out why hospital staff named her Lady Di but, if you ask me, I think it may be because she treats her patients like royalty; going beyond the call of duty to make a difference in the lives of those who are fortunate enough to cross her path.

There are angels among us, they are blessings in disguise.

The sight of their earthly presence shines a light on blinded eyes.

© 2004 Kathy Whirity kathywhirity@yahoo.com