Nurses Appreciation Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Nurses Appreciation. Here they are! All 33 of them:

Back up shall we? When my brother, the crazy chicken warrior, turned into a falcon and went up the pyramid’s chimney with his new friend, the fruit bat, he left me playing nurse to two very wounded people—which I didn’t appreciate, and which I wasn’t particularly good at.
Rick Riordan (The Red Pyramid (The Kane Chronicles, #1))
The unasked-for gift of being with people at the end of their lives...is a simple but profound appreciation of the here and now of life itself.
Sue Halpern (A Dog Walks Into a Nursing Home: Lessons in the Good Life from an Unlikely Teacher)
SHE holds the hand to help you in your First Step, She is your First Teacher, SHE holds your hand when You Fall Down, SHE is the one who guides you in Life, SHE hides you from all Trouble, SHE is sometime Mentor, SHE even nurses you when you Fall ill, SHE gives you the confidence, SHE never give False Appreciation, SHE is the one who will scold you the most on your mistake, She is the one who even Fight for you when you are right, SHE is the one who believes in you when others do not, SHE is the one who Loves you even if You don't love her, SHE is the one who gave you LIFE, Do You know Who is 'SHE'?? 'SHE' is Mother your own MOM...
Debolina Bhawal
At the hospital, I won’t be in fair condition. I’ll be in unfair condition, and I’d appreciate it if you brought me a bouncy ball like the one the nurses will have confiscated.
Jarod Kintz (This Book is Not for Sale)
It was getting late, but sleep was the furthest thing from my racing mind. Apparently that was not the case for Mr. Sugar Buns. He lay back, closed his eyes, and threw an arm over his forehead, his favorite sleeping position. I could hardly have that. So, I crawled on top of him and started chest compressions. It seemed like the right thing to do. "What are you doing?" he asked without removing his arm. "Giving you CPR." I pressed into his chest, trying not to lose count. Wearing a red-and-black football jersey and boxers that read, DRIVERS WANTED. SEE INSIDE FOR DETAILS, I'd straddled him and now worked furiously to save his life, my focus like that of a seasoned trauma nurse. Or a seasoned pot roast. It was hard to say. "I'm not sure I'm in the market," he said, his voice smooth and filled with a humor I found appalling. He clearly didn't appreciate my dedication. "Damn it, man! I'm trying to save your life! Don't interrupt." A sensuous grin slid across his face. He tucked his arms behind his head while I worked. I finished my count, leaned down, put my lips on his, and blew. He laughed softly, the sound rumbling from his chest, deep and sexy, as he took my breath into his lungs. That part down, I went back to counting chest compressions. "Don't you die on me!" And praying. After another round, he asked, "Am I going to make it?" "It's touch-and-go. I'm going to have to bring out the defibrillator." "We have a defibrillator?" he asked, quirking a brow, clearly impressed. I reached for my phone. "I have an app. Hold on." As I punched buttons, I realized a major flaw in my plan. I needed a second phone. I could hardly shock him with only one paddle. I reached over and grabbed his phone as well. Started punching buttons. Rolled my eyes. "You don't have the app," I said from between clenched teeth. "I had no idea smartphones were so versatile." "I'll just have to download it. It'll just take a sec." "Do I have that long?" Humor sparkled in his eyes as he waited for me to find the app. I'd forgotten the name of it, so I had to go back to my phone, then back to his, then do a search, then download, then install it, all while my patient lay dying. Did no one understand that seconds counted? "Got it!" I said at last. I pressed one phone to his chest and one to the side of his rib cage like they did in the movies, and yelled, "Clear!" Granted, I didn't get off him or anything as the electrical charge riddled his body, slammed his heart into action, and probably scorched his skin. Or that was my hope, anyway. He handled it well. One corner of his mouth twitched, but that was about it. He was such a trouper. After two more jolts of electricity--it had to be done--I leaned forward and pressed my fingertips to his throat. "Well?" he asked after a tense moment. I released a ragged sigh of relief,and my shoulders fell forward in exhaustion. "You're going to be okay, Mr. Farrow." Without warning, my patient pulled me into his arms and rolled me over, pinning me to the bed with his considerable weight and burying his face in my hair. It was a miracle!
Darynda Jones (The Curse of Tenth Grave (Charley Davidson, #10))
This is one of the big discoveries of twenty-first century genetics: our genomes, each three billion DNA ‘letters’ long, are very similar, across genders, ethnicities, religions and social classes. This is an important equalizing fact that societies across the world should appreciate.
Paul Nurse (What is Life?: Understand Biology In Five Steps)
There is an eight percent chance that the power source has gone critical and will cause an explosion that will level the surrounding area, killing all of us in the process." "It's not going to explode," Vic told Rambo. "She would never have let us get this far if she thought that was going to happen." "So I let you think," Nurse Ratched said, a skull appearing on her screen. "You have fallen into my trap. I wanted you to get this far. Prepare for death." The skull disappeared, replaced by DON'T FORGET TO RATE MY SERVICE! I APPRECIATE A 10! It took Vic longer than he cared to admit to realize she was kidding.
T.J. Klune (In the Lives of Puppets)
"If you prefer it, Your Excellency, a private room will be free directly: Prince Golitsin with a lady. Fresh oysters have come in." "Ah, oysters!" Stepan Arkadyevich became thoughtful. "How if we were to change our program, Levin?" he said, keeping his finger on the bill of fare. And his face expressed serious hesitation. "Are the oysters good? Mind, now!" "They're Flensburg, Your Excellency. We've no Ostend." "Flensburg will do -- but are they fresh?" "Only arrived yesterday." "Well, then, how if we were to begin with oysters, and so change the whole program? Eh?" "It's all the same to me. I should like cabbage soup and porridge better than anything; but of course there's nothing like that here." "Porridge a la Russe, Your Honor would like?" said the Tatar, bending down to Levin, like a nurse speaking to a child. "No, joking apart, whatever you choose is sure to be good. I've been skating, and I'm hungry. And don't imagine," he added, detecting a look of dissatisfaction on Oblonsky's face, "that I shan't appreciate your choice. I don't object to a good dinner." "I should hope so! After all, it's one of the pleasures of life," said Stepan Arkadyevich. "Well, then, my friend, you give us two -- or better say three-dozen oysters, clear soup with vegetables..." "Printaniere," prompted the Tatar. But Stepan Arkadyevich apparently did not care to allow him the satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes. "With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with thick sauce, then... roast beef; and mind it's good. Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then stewed fruit." The Tatar, recollecting that it was Stepan Arkadyevich's way not to call the dishes by the names in the French bill of fare, did not repeat them after him, but could not resist rehearsing the whole menu to himself according to the bill: "Soupe printaniere, turbot sauce Beaumarchais, poulard a l'estragon, Macedoine de fruits..." and then instantly, as though worked by springs, laying down one bound bill of fare, he took up another, the list of wines, and submitted it to Stepan Arkadyevich. "What shall we drink?" "What you like, only not too much. Champagne," said Levin. "What! to start with? You're right though, I dare say. Do you like the white seal?" "Cachet blanc," prompted the Tatar. "Very well, then, give us that brand with the oysters, and then we'll see." "Yes, sir. And what table wine?" "You can give us Nuits. Oh, no -- better the classic Chablis." "Yes, sir. And your cheese, Your Excellency?" "Oh, yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?" "No, it's all the same to me," said Levin, unable to suppress a smile.
Leo Tolstoy (Anna Karenina)
When we finally had a patient, he welcomed me with open arms. He invited me to sit down and it was obvious that he was eager to speak. I told him that I did not wish to hear him now but would return the next day with my students. I was not sensitive enough to appreciate his communications. It was so hard to get one patient, I had to share him with my students. Little did I realize then that when such a patient says “Please sit down now,” tomorrow may be too late. When we revisited him the next day, he was lying back in his pillow, too weak to speak. He made a meager attempt to lift his arm and whispered “Thank you for trying”—he died less than an hour later and kept to himself what he wanted to share with us and what we so desperately wanted to learn.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (On Death and Dying: What the Dying Have to Teach Doctors, Nurses, Clergy and Their Own Families)
Granny has had nine different nurses since she was admitted. Seven of these she refused to cooperate with, and two refused to cooperate with her, one of them because Granny said he had a “nice ass.” Granny insists it was a compliment to his ass, not to him, and he shouldn’t make such a fuss about it. Then Mum told Elsa to put on her headphones, but Elsa still heard their argument about the difference between “sexual harassment” and “basic appreciation of a perfectly splendid ass.
Fredrik Backman
Eva, after this, declined rapidly; there was no more any doubt of the event; the fondest hope could not be blinded. Her beautiful room was avowedly a sick room; and Miss Ophelia day and night performed the duties of a nurse,—and never did her friends appreciate her value more than in that capacity. With so well-trained a hand and eye, such perfect adroitness and practice in every art which could promote neatness and comfort, and keep out of sight every disagreeable incident of sickness,—with such a perfect sense of time, such a clear, untroubled head, such exact accuracy in remembering every prescription and direction of the doctors,—she was everything to him. They who had shrugged their shoulders at her little peculiarities and setnesses, so unlike the careless freedom of southern manners, acknowledged that now she was the exact person that was wanted.
Harriet Beecher Stowe (Uncle Tom's Cabin)
We live in a world where we have to sacrifice our comfort for the sake of others. Where we have to go an extra mile to meet others' needs. Where we have to dig deep in our resources to please others. I have gone out of my comfort zone for some people. Some people have gone out of their comfort zone for me. And I'm grateful. It's life. It's a common thing. There is no right or wrong to this behaviour. We do it because either we want to or that we must. By the way, our self-sacrificing service can be unhealthy to us. Some people burn themselves down trying to keep others warm. Some break their backs trying to carry the whole world. Some break their bones trying to bend backwards for their loved ones. All these sacrifices are, sometimes, not appreciated. Usually we don't thank the people who go out of their comfort zone to make us feel comfortable. Again, although it's not okay, it's a common thing. It's another side of life. To be fair, we must get in touch with our humanity and show gratitude for these sacrifices. We owe it to so many people. And sometimes we don't even realise it. Thanks be to God for forgiving our sins — which we repeat. Thanks to our world leaders and the activists for the work that they do to make our economic life better. Thanks to our teachers, lecturers, mentors, and role models for shaping our lives. Thanks to our parents for their continual sacrifices. Thanks to our friends for their solid support. Thanks to our children, nephews, and nieces. They allow us to practise discipline and leadership on them. Thanks to the doctors and nurses who save our lives daily. Thanks to safety professionals and legal representatives. They protect us and our possessions. Thanks to our church leaders, spiritual gurus and guides, and meditation partners. They shape our spiritual lives. Thanks to musicians, actors, writers, poets, and sportspeople for their entertainment. Thanks to everyone who contributes in a positive way to our society. Whether recognised or not. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
Mitta Xinindlu
Eight Bells: Robert J. Kane ‘55D died June 3, 2017, in Palm Harbor, Florida. He came to MMA by way of Boston College. Bob or “Killer,” as he was affectionately known, was an independent and eccentric soul, enjoying the freedom of life. After a career at sea as an Officer in the U.S. Navy and in the Merchant Marine he retired to an adventurous single life living with his two dogs in a mobile home, which had originally been a “Yellow School Bus.” He loved watching the races at Daytona, Florida, telling stories about his interesting deeds about flying groceries to exotic Caribbean Islands, and misdeeds with mysterious ladies he had known. For years he spent his summers touring Canada and his winters appreciating the more temperate weather at Fort De Soto in St. Petersburg, Florida…. Enjoying life in the shadow of the Sunshine Bridge, Bob had an artistic flare, a positive attitude and a quick sense of humor. Not having a family, few people were aware that he became crippled by a hip replacement operation gone bad at the Bay Pines VA Hospital. His condition became so bad that he could hardly get around, but he remained in good spirits until he suffered a totally debilitating stroke. For the past 6 years Bob spent his time at various Florida Assisted Living Facilities, Nursing Homes and Palliative Care Hospitals. His end came when he finally wound up as a terminal patient at the Hospice Facility in Palm Harbor, Florida. Bob was 86 years old when he passed. He will be missed….
Hank Bracker
All this is quite dangerous. ISIS is no more absurd a movement than was National Socialism in 1932. How many Germans, versed in their Goethe and Schiller, ever believed that a paint-by-numbers artist like Hitler, a former chicken farmer such as Himmler, or a failed academic like Goebbels would soon be turning Weimar Germany into a rogue state that would murder its own sick, disabled, and non-Aryan? Radical Islamists of all stripes support ISIS, if occasionally uneasy about its methodologies. Soon, if ISIS consolidates a caliphate of sorts, it will win over more adherents, who appreciate that it has flummoxed the West and restored pride to millions who either hated the West or were forced to move to the West in humiliation. ISIS is nursed by Western diffidence at best and at worst by the sort of contextualization and rationalization embraced by Obama. Every time he fails to note that Coptic Egyptians are beheaded precisely because they are Christians, or that Jews are killed by reason of being Jews, ISIS takes note. Each time he remonstrates with Christians for their moral high horses, or cites poverty as the root cause of “violent extremism,” or retreats into the distant past in desperate efforts to remind Westerners of their own comparable sins, ISIS takes note. Each time Obama hesitates, issues and then forgets about threats, or slashes defense, ISIS takes note. And if Obama continues, soon a 400-million-person Middle East will take note as well. Millions may not like ISIS, just as millions once were somewhat bothered by Hitler. They may prefer that its beheadings remain untelevised, or may frown on burning someone alive when the firing squad would do. But they most certainly will like the power, territory, and fear that ISIS commands — and the utter helplessness that follows in the once haughty West.
Anonymous
You must love your body, but you must also be flexible about what it looks like. Over the years, it is going to change a lot. Pregnancy, nursing, menopause, physical activities or injuries…all these experiences create powerful and unavoidable shifts in the shape of your body. So take it day by day. Appreciate your body as it is today. Love it for the hardships it has endured and the healing it is doing at this very moment. You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to adhere to a specific ideal that you or anyone else has set. You are you, and your body as it is today is just one part of that.
Stefani Ruper (Sexy by Nature: The Whole Foods Solution to Radiant Health, Life-Long Sex Appeal, and Soaring Confidence)
age of computers and programming, and he couldn’t understand either. Sure, he could send emails, had even mastered Word and Excel, but apart from that, the complexities of the machine left him baffled. There was unemployment, but he had never taken the dole, or he could go overseas, try his luck on an oil rig. Even if that were possible, he didn’t want to go, but these were desperate times, and now, to add confusion, there was a solution. Betty Galton, his former sister-in-law, had in her possession a million pounds in gold. He opened his laptop and switched it on. How does one melt gold? How does one dispose of it? he thought. He entered the search terms, fingering one key at a time, and pressed enter. If a criminal act was committed during the planning stage, then he was guilty as charged. And for once, he did not care. He hummed a tune to himself. It had been some time since he had been contented. For that night, he would forget what would be required and envisage what his life could be like with money in his pocket. Maybe a small place in the country, a dog, possibly a woman. How long had it been since he had enjoyed the closeness of another’s skin? He picked up his phone and made a call. It was a special treat for himself and for once the budget was going to be blown. He knew she’d look after him, the way she looked after so many others. Chapter 11 Clare woke early the next day; her phone was ringing. She leant over and picked it up. ‘Yarwood, I’m at the hospital,’ Tremayne said. She could tell by his voice that something was amiss. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’ ‘Thanks, and don’t tell anyone.’ A quick shower, some food for her cat, and Clare was out of her cottage. A murder enquiry was serious; her boss being ill, more so. Parking at the hospital, she soon found her way to outpatients, meeting someone she knew. ‘It’s Tremayne, he’s not well,’ Clare said. ‘And please, not a word to anyone.’ The woman, a friend, understood. Inside, behind some screens, Tremayne was lying flat on his back. His shoes had been removed, and his tie had been loosened. ‘How long have you been here?’ Clare said. She knew Tremayne would not appreciate lashings of sympathy, although he looked dreadful. ‘Since last night. I’d had a few drinks, a few cigarettes, and all of a sudden I’m in the back of an ambulance.’ ‘Does Jean know?’ ‘Not yet. Maybe you can phone her. She went to see her son for a few days, left me on my own.’ ‘Off the leash and into trouble, that’s you, guv.’ ‘Not today, Yarwood. Maybe Moulton’s right about me retiring.’ ‘Having you feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help, is it?’ The nurse, standing on the other side of the bed, looked over at Clare disapprovingly. ‘It’s how we work,’ Clare said. ‘That may be the case, but Mr Tremayne has had a bit of a scare. He needs to be here for a few days while we conduct a few checks.’ ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘It’s not for me to say. That’s for the doctor.’ ‘He told me to cut down on the beer, quit smoking, and take it easy.’ ‘Retire, is that it?’ Clare said. ‘They don’t get it, do they?’ Tremayne looked over at the nurse who was monitoring his condition. ‘Sorry. We’ve got a murder to deal with, nothing personal.’ ‘Don’t worry about me. We get our fair share of people, men mainly, who think they’re invincible. You’re not the first, not the last, who thinks they know more
Phillip Strang (Death by a Dead Man's Hand (DI Tremayne Thriller Series #5))
The Secret of Happiness is not getting what you want, but wanting what you get.
Amy Newmark (Chicken Soup for the Soul: Inspiration for Nurses: 101 Stories of Appreciation and Wisdom)
You just can’t imagine what’s happened to me!” she exclaimed. “I’m a full-time nurse to the most miserable, ungrateful man you can possibly imagine. Nothing I do is good enough for him. He never expresses appreciation; he hardly even acknowledges me. He constantly harps at me and finds fault with everything I do. This man has made my life miserable and I often take my frustration out on my family. The other nurses feel the same way. We
Stephen R. Covey (The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People)
Rubbing her forehead Cat forced back a yawn, suddenly struck by tiredness. She’d been here twenty-four seven for the past couple days. “Why don’t you go back to your hotel and chill for a while?” Cat looked at him in surprise. Even unsighted he had the sharpest senses she’d ever seen. “I think I may. I’ll be back in the morning.” Then came the awkward point when she didn’t know how to say goodbye. Did she kiss him? Squeeze his hand? Fuck it. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to a clear spot on his cheek. “If you need anything the nurses have my number.” He nodded and clutched her hand. For a moment it felt like he wasn’t going to let her go, then, abruptly, he did. “I’ll be fine.” And she knew he would be. It was just so natural for her to worry about him. “I’ll stick around for a few hours.” Cat gave Duncan an appreciative look. “Thank you. I thought you might.” Chad stepped forward to take her hand. “I have to go back to Denver for a while, but I’ll be back in a few days if he’s still here.” “You people are talking about me as if I’m not even here. I don’t need babysitters.” Cat shared a wince with the other men. “Quit it,” Harper snapped. Cat laughed and turned to leave the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow, big guy.” Harper mumbled a goodbye. She
J.M. Madden (Embattled SEAL (Lost and Found #4))
Harper opened the blade of the Kershaw knife. It wasn’t nearly as big as what he was used to carrying, but it was as big as she wanted to get him. He tested the weight of the blade and the sharpness of the edge before clipping it into the corner of his pocket. When he looked up there was appreciation in his expression. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed having something there. Thank you.” Cat actually did have some idea. His hand had gone to his hip several times over the past few days, whether he realized it or not. “You’re welcome. Just don’t flash it at the nurses.” He chuckled then winced, holding his chest with his un-slung arm. “What are they going to do, kick me out?” Cat laughed. “I think they’re already kicking us out early. They just don’t want to deal with your temper tantrums. God forbid you hit one of their scrawny asses. You’d break them.” He
J.M. Madden (Embattled SEAL (Lost and Found #4))
Come on, Melinda. You can’t avoid it forever. We both know you’re pregnant.” “Ugh,” she said, accepting the cool, wet cloth. She pressed it to her face, her brow, her neck. She didn’t have any more to say. But Jack knew. There had been tears, exhaustion, nausea. She turned watering eyes up to him. He shrugged and said, “You eased up on the breast-feeding, popped an egg and I nailed it.” Her eyes narrowed as if to say she did not appreciate the explanation. He held out a hand to bring her to her feet. “You have to wean David,” he said. “Your body can’t completely nourish two children. You’ll get weak. You’re already exhausted.” “I don’t want to be pregnant right now,” she said. “I’m barely over being pregnant.” “I understand.” “No, you don’t. Because you haven’t ever been pregnant.” He thought this would probably be a bad time to tell her that he did so understand, since he had lived with a pregnant person and listened very attentively to every complaint. “We should go see John right away, so you can find out how pregnant.” “How long have you suspected?” she asked him. “I don’t know. A few weeks. It was a little tougher this time….” “Oh, yeah?” “Well, yeah. Since you haven’t had a period since the first time I laid a hand on you. God, for a supposedly sterile woman, you certainly are fertile.” Then he grinned, fully aware it would have got him smacked if he hadn’t been holding the baby. She whirled away from him and went to sit on their bed. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. Well, he’d been expecting exactly this. There’d been a lot of crying lately and he knew she was going to be mighty pissed off. He sat down beside her, put an arm around her and pulled her close. David patted her head. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I’m not delivering this one. I want that understood.” “Try not to be cute,” she said through her tears. “I think my back already hurts.” “Can I get you something? Soda? Crackers? Arsenic?” “Very funny.” She turned her head to look at him. “Are you upset?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry it happened so soon. Sorry for you. I know there are times you get damned uncomfortable and I wanted you to get a break.” “I should never have gone away with you.” “Nah. You were already pregnant. Wanna bet?” “You knew before that?” “I wondered why you were so emotional, and that was a possible reason. I never bought your whole sterile thing. But I don’t have a problem with it. I wanted more kids. I like the idea of a larger family than the three of us. I come from a big family.” “There will not be five, I can guarantee you that,” she said. Then she bored a hole through him with her eyes. “Snip, snip.” “You’re not going to blame this on me, Mel. I suggested birth control. A couple of times, as a matter of fact. You were the one said it could never happen twice. And then explained that whole business about not ovulating while you’re nursing. How’s that working for you so far? Hmm?” “Screw you,” she said, not sweetly. “Well, obviously…” “I’d like you to understand I wasn’t relying on that breast-feeding thing. I’m a midwife—I know that’s not foolproof. I really didn’t think it possible that… Shit,” she said. She sighed deeply. “I just barely got back into my jeans….” “Yeah, those jeans. Whoa, damn. Those jeans really do it to me. No one wears a pair of jeans like you do.” “Aren’t you getting a little sick of having a fat wife?” “You’re not fat. You’re perfect. I love your body, pregnant and unpregnant. I know you’re trying to get me all worked up, but I’m not going there. You can try to pick a fight with me all day and I just won’t play. It wouldn’t be a fair fight—you’re out to get me and we both know it. Do you have appointments this morning?” “Why?” “Because I want to go to Grace Valley for an ultrasound. I want to know when I have to have the house done.” *
Robyn Carr (Whispering Rock (Virgin River, #3))
All those songs I used to pretend to understand, all the angsty, heartbroken songs I had heard all my life, they suddenly made so much more sense. "Well, then she probably needs a giant coffee, a huge box of your creations, and some time to nurse her feelings in private, don't you think?" Brantley Dane, local hero, saves girl from sure death brought on by sheer mortification. That'd be his headline. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, moving behind me, casually touching my hip in the process, and going behind counter. "What's your poison? Judging by the situation, I am thinking something cold, mocha or caramel filled and absolutely towering with full fat whipped cream." That was exactly what I wanted. But, broken heart aside, I knew I couldn't let myself drown in sweets. Gaining twenty pounds wasn't going to help anything. There was absolutely no enthusiasm in my voice when I said, "Ah, actually, can I have a large black coffee with one sugar please?" "Not that I'm not turned on as all fuck by a woman who appreciates black coffee," he started, making me jerk back suddenly at the bluntness of that comment and the dose of profanity I wasn't accustomed to hearing in my sleepy hometown. "But if you're only one day into a break-up, you're allowed to have some full fat chocolate concoction to indulge a bit. I promise from here on out I won't make you anything even half as food-gasm-ing as this." He leaned across the counter, getting close enough that I could see golden flecks in his warm brown eyes. "Honey, not even if you beg," he added and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was absolutely some kind of sexually-charged edge to his words. "Say yes," he added, lips tipping up at one corner. "Alright, yes," I agreed, knowing I would love every last drop of whatever he made me and likely punish myself with an extra long run for it too. "Good girl," he said as he turned away. And there was not, was absolutely not some weird fluttering feeling in my belly at that. Nope. That would be completely insane. "Okay, I got you one of everything!" my mother said, coming up beside me and pressing the box into my hands. She even tied it with her signature (and expensive, something I had tried to talk her out of many times over the years when she was struggling financially) satin bow. I smiled at her, knowing that sometimes, there was nothing liked baked goods from your mother after a hard day. I was just lucky enough to have a mother who was a pastry chef. "Thanks, Mom," I said, the words heavy. I wasn't just thanking her for the sweets, but for letting me come home, for not asking questions, for not making it seem like even the slightest inconvenience. She gave me a smile that said she knew exactly what I meant. "You have nothing to thank me for." She meant that too. Coming from a family that, when they found out she was knocked up as a teen, had kicked her out and disowned her, she made it clear all my life that she was always there, no matter what I did with my life, no matter how high I soared, or how low I crashed. Her arms, her heart, and her door were always open for me. "Alright. A large mocha frappe with full fat milk, full fat whipped cream, and both a mocha and caramel drizzle. It's practically dessert masked as coffee," Brantley said, making my attention snap to where he was pushing what was an obnoxiously large frappe with whipped cream that was towering out of the dome that the pink and sage straw stuck out of. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he said, shaking his head as I reached for my wallet. "Thank you," I smiled, and found that it was a genuine one as I reached for it and, in a move that was maybe not brilliant on my part, took a sip. And proceeded to let out an almost porn-star worthy groan of pure, delicious pleasure. Judging by the way Brant's smile went a little wicked, his thoughts ran along the same lines as well.
Jessica Gadziala (Peace, Love, & Macarons)
A nurse walked in with some pills and a cup of water. “I told you, I don’t need that stuff,” Mr. Jones told her. “What I want is a doctor so I can get out of here.” The nurse smiled and winked at Denny and Spence. “Your friend here is a terrible patient,” she said. “I’m a terrible patient because I don’t belong here. Hospitals are for sick people, and I’ve got work to do. Now, are you going to get me a doctor, or am I going to have to sign myself out AMA?” “AMA?” said Denny. “Against medical advice,” the nurse explained. Then she slapped a blood-pressure cuff on Mr. Jones and stuck a thermometer in his mouth. “Uffoldooommmnofffick!” Mr. Jones mumbled. “Behave yourself,” the nurse told him, “or I’ll order you an enema.” Mr. Jones sank back on the pillow and rolled his eyes. The nurse took the thermometer out and read it. “The doctor will be in later,” she said, winking at Denny and Spence again on her way out. Spence started to chuckle. “I guess she told you,” he said. “Confounded hospitals,” Mr. Jones mumbled. “Once they get their hands on you they never want to let you go.” “Well, you can relax,” said Denny. “The folks in town are taking care of the boat and—” “What!” said Mr. Jones, bolting up in bed. “Ow!” He grabbed his head and lay down again. “Hangover, huh?” said Spence. “What do you mean, taking care of the boat?” asked Mr. Jones, his eyes scrunched up in pain. “Hiram Turner and a bunch of the guys are going to clean her up and put her in the water for you,” said Denny. Mr. Jones groaned. “It’s not that I’m not appreciative,” he said, “but are you sure they know what they’re doing?” Spence smiled. “Those old boys know boats better than you know your backside,” he said. “They’ll have her bungs up and bilge free in no time.” “Is that good?” asked Denny. “I believe it means shipshape,” said Mr. Jones. Spence nodded.
Jackie French Koller (The Last Voyage of the Misty Day)
Contempt is toxic, indeed. What’s the alternative? The antidote for contempt is to express our appreciation and respect for each other, to each other, in small ways, every day. How often do we say, “Thanks for doing the dishes,” or “I love how you look when you’re nursing Annie”? It’s words like these that we need to say, often. They shouldn’t stay bottled up inside us. Admiration and fondness, when they are outwardly expressed, go a long way toward creating a culture of appreciation in our homes—that’s the antidote for contempt. •
John M. Gottman (And Baby Makes Three: The Six-Step Plan for Preserving Marital Intimacy and Rekindling Romance After Baby Arrives)
Yes, we are on the way back. Back to wives, sweethearts, children, parents, and friends. Back to the ways of peace. Yet we can never go back, only forward. We will not find conditions just as we left them. The buildings, the land, the trees will still be there, but we cannot exp ect to find people unchanged. Those with whom we worked and played, many will not be there, others will have developed new friends, new interests, different habits. Even we ourselves will not be quite the same. Men who have had to face the probability of death day after day, week after week, will always look at life through different eyes. The normal man will have a keener appreciation of the values that contribute to life. He will appreciate many kindly, true, and beautiful influences we had, before the war, taken for granted. The near-neurotics will try to make the world give them a living, will more and more tend to live in the past, nursing their grievances, pathetic creatures who won a war and lost their souls. Shipmates, we cannot go back, only forward. All of us having a lot of living yet to do. We can make the years ahead great in accomplishment, rich, satisfaction. We had what it takes to win a tough war, we cannot fail to win our personal victory when we return to the ways of peace. May you all be blessed with that inner strength and peace which the world can neither give nor take away.32
Barrett Tillman (When the Shooting Stopped: August 1945)
A cheerful and helpful nurse followed them into the cubicle, once Aggie became fully alert. “Well, hon, what happened to you?” Without the sincere expression on the nurse’s face, her syrupy tone would have sounded contrived. “I was walking past my brother, and he swung his bat and hit my head.” The nurse looked concerned, and Aggie realized that she didn’t know what happened. “So, your brother hit you with his baseball bat? Was he mad at you?” The woman shot a disapproving look at Aggie. “Oh, no! They were playing softball, and I was walking to the swing out back and didn’t see them. Laird’s probably pretty mad at himself.” Embarrassment in Tavish’s face and manner made him look dishonest. “Didn’t you see them playing? How could you just walk into the middle of a ball game?” Doubt and suspicion laced the nurse’s words, and she surreptitiously pressed a buzzer on the wall. Aggie sighed. She knew they were in trouble now. Tavish, unaware of the tension growing in the room, answered automatically. “Well, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I was reading and looked up just in time to see the bat coming at me. I ducked, but I think that just kept me from getting it in the neck.” Aggie laughed. She couldn’t help it. This was the boy’s third accident stemming from walking while reading. “Tavish, I have to make it a rule now. You may not open your book if you are standing on your feet. Do you understand?” Tavish sheepishly nodded. The nurse watched the exchange and then smiled. “Well, hon, I used to be real klutzy when I was your age, but it wasn’t because I was reading. I didn’t have a good excuse like that.” She gave Aggie a knowing look. “I have to go stop the nurse from calling someone about the accident. You understand.” Relief washed Aggie’s face, and she smiled. “I appreciate it. Sorry to be a bother.” “I’ll be right back. Happy to stop this one!” The nurse walked out of the room, and Aggie overheard her telling the receptionist to cancel the Social Services call. “I was premature— I remembered hearing about the house with all the kids and the 9-1-1 calls and jumped the gun. Tell Linda I am sorry for bothering her.
Chautona Havig (Ready or Not (Aggie's Inheritance, #1))
REAL FATHERS Fathers who protect their children deserve appreciation. These are gatherers of food who fend off starvation. Fees are paid in full; there's never depreciation. Daughters and toddlers are safe under their nation. They prove that their children come first. Payroll to payload, they're there to play their verse. Main role, second role, they're there to nurse. Male role, great role, they stop the abandonment curse. Their kids' needs are satisfied, they're never hollow. Their kids feel prioritised, the rest follow.  
Mitta Xinindlu
Back in the South Indian village, when I turned away from the lady with her arm around my waist, I chose the familiarity of nursing my guilt and shame. I didn’t know how to solve any of the mammoth issues that complicated her life and the lives of the women in her community, so I simmered in the shame of my impotence. I later realized I was actually turning away from not only her but myself as well. True presence with others is predicated upon true presence with ourselves. I wasn’t in the village to fix anything or make any big promises. All I had to do was be present and appreciate the moments of sharing.
Anu Taranath (Beyond Guilt Trips: Mindful Travel in an Unequal World)
In my work as a doula, my focus is on the mother. I want to help her to feel comfortable, nourished, relaxed and appreciated; to facilitate a harmonious transition for both mother and child in those most profound first days and weeks after birth. A mother needs someone who cares about how many times the baby woke to nurse in the night, how many diapers were changed, how her breasts are feeling.
Salle Webber (The Gentle Art of Newborn Family Care: A Guide for Postpartum Doulas and Caregivers)
Anyway, I like to appreciate my time with women, take it slow.” “Yeah, appreciate them right into a nursing home. You haven't had a woman in three years. How much appreciating do you need?
Lindsay Cross (Redemption River (Men of Mercy #1))
In the end, this nice teacher is not giving you what you need in order to be successful when you take the boards. As a rule, the easier the class is, the harder you must study on your own. Learn to appreciate your difficult or challenging nursing professors. The ones who have the hardest exams followed directly by huge reading assignments are truly looking out for your best interests. The professors who make you absolutely nuts and stressed out of your mind are the individuals you will owe thanks. I
Caroline Porter Thomas (How to Succeed in Nursing School (Nursing School, Nursing school supplies, Nursing school gifts, Nursing school books, Become a nurse, Become a registered nurse,))
I was sure of the Man in the Moon before I was certain of the moon. This was at one with all popular tradition. Modern minor poets are naturalists, and talk about the bush or the brook; but the singers of the old epics and fables were supernaturalists, and talked about the gods of brook and bush. That is what the moderns mean when they say that the ancients did not "appreciate Nature," because they said that Nature was divine. Old nurses do not tell children about the grass, but about the fairies that dance on the grass; and the old Greeks could not see the trees for the dryads.
G.K. Chesterton (Orthodoxy)
I seek to embrace the wings of madness and allow its fresh breath to tear myself apart and begin all over. I aspire to live with inspiration, work every day towards self-improvement, dare to be honest with myself, not fear hard work, cease evading challenging experiences, and not bemoan personal setbacks. I need to accept that hardship and adversity is part of the path to discovering personal truth, and appreciate the growth message that stalks suffering and loss. I must channel all personal sources of pain into a constructive format that enables me to thrive, not wither, and die. Every person has the ability to do some good in their brief stay on this planet. I need to discover the essential purpose of my life and then go live it instead of lamenting my imperfections, nursing animosity, and registering wrongs.
Kilroy J. Oldster (Dead Toad Scrolls)