I needed – and wanted – to respect the privacy of other patients, so I took very few photographs in the Intensive Care Unit of the Albany Medical Center. This is the only one, actually. Elizabeth Borne was one of the ICU nurses, a very special and elite breed of health care professional. She took care of me the last day or so that I was in the ICU, from which I was sent home.  Each nurse had only two patients to care for after surgery, the care was quite extraordinary. From the moment I woke up from surgery to the moment I left, these men and women shaped my healing, recovery, understanding of my heart and attitude about what had been done to me.

This was my farewell “lap” or walk around the ICU. I broke a number of records for laps right after surgery, it is my first athletic honor and one of my proudest achievements. It is never too late to be a better human being.

They were unfailingly attentive, good-humored, encouraged.  They came from different countries and different places, they shared a visibly passionate commitment to their work. They made me believe I was an athletic superstar when I had never done an athletic thing in my entire life, one of the many reasons I was there in the first place. From the first moment, they walked with me, they called each walk a “lap,” and as I pushed my walker around and around the ICU I saw a chorus of smiling faces cheering me on, praising me, telling me how amazing and brave and committed I was. I heard this so often I believed it, and walked all the more. They were always ready to walk with me, I was always ready to walk with them.

Sometimes they cared for people like me sometimes for prisoners in leg irons with guards and guns, sometimes they took care of angry people with bi-polar disorders and delusions, I never saw anyone lose their temper, be impatient, stop trying to heal every minute. They loaded me up with packs of gauze and lotions, talked me sternly about resting and being cautious, praised me constantly for my attitude, walked with me at any hour of the day or night. Their paperwork load was staggering, they helped me manage my pain and sleep and understand the sometimes horrific things that were happening to me.

Maria and I loved talking to these extraordinarily bright and interesting young men and women – it is intensely physical work, not too many older people can do it. Theirs is a life of intensity and purpose, they see human beings at their absolutely worst and most vulnerable and help bring them back to life, again and again, and again. I couldn’t count how many times nurses like Elizabeth and so many others were on me in a flash when I was choking, bleeding, struggling, sweating. They gave me water, propped up my pillows, gave me pain medication. Every time I looked up, one of the nurses was walking along with yet another battered human being, exhausted, confused and fresh out of surgery.

As they passed my room day by day, they looked better, more alive, healthier, almost every time they passed. That is the work, I guess.

But mostly I will remember them for the laps. They were all fun to talk to, open and bright and interesting, they made the walks – very painful things at first – fun.  We yakked with patients, doctors, other nurses, traded jokes and stories, kept count of my walks, which quickly became legend. As I took my final lap, the nurses waved to me, patted me on the back, hugged me. I doubt I will ever see them again, a loss to me.

Maria connected with a number of these nurses,  especially Elizabeth, I would be surprised if they didn’t stay in touch. Two peas in a pod, artists with heart. Elizabeth gave up a snazzy job with an art museum in Manhattan to be a nurse and do this very intense and extraordinary work, I doubt I could do it, but I know I would find it full of purpose and meaning. I am happy to have captured my last lap in the Albany Medical Center ICU, the only photo I took there.