Today I held the hand of my first patient (!) as she prepped for surgery.

As we got her lines started and waited for her to be wheeled in, she told me about her favorite doctor: her kids’ pediatrician from south minneapolis.

That pediatrician was my grandpa.

When she saw tears build up and fog up my face shield, she cried too.

She told me about how my grandpa made her laugh as a new, anxious mom. How he diagnosed her son’s asthma. How he answered her questions patiently, always.

How he held her hand.

Once the day wrapped up I found her recovering in her hospital room.

We shared memories over orange jello for 2 hours, watching the sun set over Lake Superior our her window.

Hold your patients’ hands — if she’s lucky enough, your granddaughter might get to hold them, too.