The Vital Role of Empathy in Nursing: Nursing Sacrifice
I was raised in a hospital. My father was an ICU nurse, and my mother a respiratory therapist. Sometimes they worked nights together at the same hospital. On those nights, I slept in the ICU break room.
My father passed away when I was eleven, so I never got to speak with him about the sacrifices he made as a nurse. But I saw them. I remember them. I lived them too. Our entire family sacrificed. I remember the Christmas when he worked a double. I remember him pulling into the driveway, me excited to have him open his gift, since the other presents had already been unwrapped well before sunrise. He opened his truck windshield squeegee, smiled, and then went straight to bed. He had to be back at work in less than eight hours.
Since his passing, his colleagues have told me stories about him. My favorite: one night, my dad was in the ICU with a man who had third-degree burns over most of his body. My dad needed to sedate him to change his dressings. The patient asked if he could finish watching the basketball game first, so my dad pulled up a chair and sat down to watch with him. The patient remarked that he was surprised he wasn’t in more pain. In that moment, my dad knew the man would die. So he stayed. He sat there, chatting, watching the game, pretending everything was normal.
Lately, I wonder if, at some point in that story, my dad walked to the ICU break room to check on me.
Nursing takes incredible strength. It isn’t fair. The money will never be good enough. Ninety-five percent of your patients are self-absorbed, and the other five percent are going to die just as soon as you get attached to them. Yet we expect nurses to wake up every day and save lives not only with evidence-based care, but with empathy and compassion.
I’m proud of the sacrifices my dad made. I’m proud of the sacrifices I made as a kid, and the sacrifices my family made. I’m not proud just because he cared for people; I’m proud because I know how my dad cared for others. I know our sacrifice meant something in this world. It wasn’t just another job. It wasn’t just about life and death. It was about how someone died – and preserving their dignity even when it costs your own.
Five Ways to Show Empathy
- Introduce yourself and ask their name
- Start with, “Hi, I’m Phil, I’ll be with you today,” and confirm what they want to be called. It turns a moment of fear into a moment of connection.
- Explain what you are doing before you do it – and stop if the patient has questions.
- A simple “Here’s what I’m about to do and why” lowers anxiety, restores dignity, and helps patients feel less powerless.
- Acknowledge the emotion out loud
- Try: “This is scary,” “This is exhausting,” or “You have been carrying a lot.” You do not have to fix it to validate it. As a patient, nurses and staff who dismiss concerns destroy trust. Patients and caregivers need to feel they are heard to trust in their teams.
- Give one small choice back
- Even tiny choices help: lights on or off, curtain open or closed, a sip of water first, a minute to breathe, which arm, which side, who to call. Heart failure is a journey of loss of control. One day you can run up a flight of stairs and the next day you’re searching for an elevator. Control is a form of comfort.
- Close the loop before you leave
- Before you walk out: “Here’s what happens next,” “When I’ll be back,” and “If you need me, press the call button and I will come.” Reliability is empathy in action.
