Unfortunately, yes. They didn't mean it in the way that it sounds, but it still stung.

On the worst day of someone's life, your words have the power to further traumatize or to bring whatever comfort can be found.

Choose carefully.

You may not remember the encounter. They never forget it.

**"I would have liked it better if you had seen him collapse."**

One sentence can echo in someone’s mind for years. Be intentional, especially when things are hard.

Small kindnesses become lifelines.

An offer of a warm blanket. A referral to a social worker. A kind, “How are you holding up?”

These are remembered more than clinical details.

They tell the co-survivor that someone sees and understands their pain, and they will be cared for, too.

The co-survivor's world is cracked open by the thought of losing the person they love, the responsibilities that now fall on them, and the weight of making decisions while traumatized or grieving.

The illness may not be contained in their body, but they are suffering from it, too.

Co-survivors are navigating trauma of their own.

When a patient faces a critical illness, so do the patient's closest loved ones.

If a person is accompanying someone to an oncology ward or an ICU, their two bodies might be separate, but their lives are most likely intertwined.

Read this and more on my Typeshare Social Blog: https://typeshare.co/kristinflanary/posts/day-1-why-im-getting-back-to-writing-online-uv5f6

This is so kind, thank you!

Oh, not that one. I am referring to “quiet” in a healthcare setting.

Quiet. If healthcare workers say it’s quiet during a shift, it’s jokingly-not-jokingly considered tempting fate.

Not quite yet, but she’s a huge fan of @neildegrassetyson.com