Jamie was the only traveler on our unit. Some of the newer nurses were afraid of her. They said she was too brief, almost curt, during shift report. They said she rarely smiled. That wasn't my experience, but then again, I wasn't a newbie. Sure, I was new to the unit, but I had quite enough experience to know that report goes better when you give the essentials first, and fill in the blanks later. I also knew - all too well, that smiles can be hard to find after a particularly arduous shift, even for your relief.

From the moment I saw Jamie, I knew there was something about her I liked. She always appeared to be the no-nonsense kind of nurse I like to work with and she was really sharp. Sharp enough to know I wasn't one of the frightened little bunnies. As a traveler, you have to be highly skilled, work well with others, and be flexible. The fact that she had extended her assignment on our unit twice before I came along was my good fortune.

Jamie took me under her wing almost immediately. Teaching me about some medications I'd never used, analyzing lab results, showing me how to work with multiple chest tubes and central lines while moving a patient, complicated dressing changes made easy. Essentially, she reinforced or taught me all of the skills I'd need to survive on a unit where we were part of the arsenal against death. She did this voluntarily and she did it with humor, encouragement, kindness, and a bottomless well of patience.

Several months ago, just before I injured my back, we threw her a going away party. Several current and former patients came in for the send-off. Management came in after-hours for the party as well. Jamie was very much respected by everyone.

It was difficult to say good-bye to someone who had gone out of her way to give me the tools I needed to be an effective nurse in an environment that was so foreign to me. Not only that, but we had become friends. I admired and respected Jamie for her knowledge, competence, compassion, patience, and strength. She was afraid of nothing and no one.

In the morning, after our shift had ended, we stood in the staff lounge. I helped pack up her belongings from her locker and carried the bags (overflowing with gifts) to her car. We loaded everything into the car and talked for a few minutes.

It was at this point that I remembered to ask her for her email address. We both began patting pockets and prodding purses for pen and paper. Neither of us had any. Then a stunned look washed across her face. Eyes scrunching up, cheeks flushing, she went through the whole gamut.

"Damn! I left my stethoscope and survival kit on the table in the lounge. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Jamie could spew obscenities in a way that was truly comical. Accompanied by wildly waving arms and rolling eyes, nobody could ever be offended when a string of foul words flew from her mouth. As for her survival kit, well, she didn't even go to the bathroom without that thing. It was a pouch that held all her pens, hemostats, tape, scissors, paper, hair clips, Chapstick, eye liner, whatever. It was a wonder that she didn't occasionally pull a rabbit out of it just for fun.