By Linda Yezak

I have to admit, even though Jennifer gave me plenty of time to write this post, I totally forgot about it until recently. Then I spent days trying to sort through all the wonderful acts of kindness I’ve appreciated in my career as an author/editor/speaker. There are simply too many to narrow it down to one thing.

So I stepped back to look over my personal life and almost faced the same problem: too many acts of kindness. Not that I’m complaining. Regardless of the extremes we see on the news, most people want to be kind, want to be that beacon of light that flashes over dark, turbulent waters.

But many of the most memorable acts of kindness have come when I was hospitalized.

Most of my friends and followers know I have severe Crohn’s disease. It’s under control now, after eight surgeries and two long hospital stays, and, as long as the medicine works, I’ll be okay.

Several years ago, before I got diagnosed, when the doctors were still scratching their heads over what was wrong with me, I landed in the hospital. I’d lost so much weight that, according to one doctor, my blood tests showed that I was at starvation levels. I hadn’t been able to hold anything down for quite some time and reached the point where I couldn’t hold water down. I’d been through several tests and was scheduled the following Monday to have my gall bladder removed. But when we called the doctor that Friday afternoon and told him what was going on, he sent me straight to the emergency room.

It was during the surgery to remove my gall bladder that they discovered I had Crohn’s disease.

Everything surrounding that first surgery was quite an experience, but finally, while I was recuperating, I gradually got my appetite back. I hadn’t been hungry for a couple of weeks.

While I was in, the nurses would check on me at night. My sleep hours are wonky anyway, but when I’m in the hospital, they’re even crazier. So the nurses would come—not just to check my vitals, but to sit and talk. Many shared things they told only to close friends. Others would listen to me as I conjured up stories to make them laugh. But someone was always in my room at night, keeping me company.

I got close to one in particular, a precious Mormon lady with a great passel of kids. We discussed everything from her childrearing woes to our faith and choice of churches. We became amazingly close in the week or so I was in the hospital and continued our friendship once I was released. She was a wonderful friend for the length of time God allowed her in my life.

One night, she checked on me to see how I was doing. I couldn’t help grinning when I answered, because the whole medical team had been waiting for me to say it: “I’m hungry.”

Ever see a nurse dance?

She asked if I knew what I was hungry for, and I admitted to a hankerin’ for glazed donuts.

My sweet nurse left her shift—left the floor—left the hospital—and ran across the street to the Walmart to get me some donuts at three in the morning. She came back with a full dozen as if I could eat them all at once, which I couldn’t. I hadn’t been able to eat in so long, I was barely able to finish one.

I’ll never forget her for doing that. She risked getting herself into trouble to cater to a whim I’d had. Of course, she was probably immediately forgiven when the other eleven donuts wound up at the nurses’ station, but she was a true beacon of light for me that night.

Linda W. Yezak lives with her husband and their funky feline, PB, in a forest in deep East Texas, where tall tales abound and exaggeration is an art form. She has a deep and abiding love for her Lord, her family, and salted caramel. And coffee—with a caramel creamer. Author of award-winning books and short stories, she didn’t begin writing professionally until she turned fifty. Taking on a new career every half century is a good thing.

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