I hardly remember driving home on Sunnyside that evening. Dog-tired and still thinking about two of my patients who had received devastating news a few hours earlier, I felt emotionally drained and must have slipped into auto pilot. My old Chevy truck, however, knew the way home and was in a hurry to get there.

Suddenly the sight of a state patrol car in the oncoming lane got my attention. I glanced at my speedometer, groaned, and slowed. The cruiser passed me, made an immediate U-turn, and came up behind me, lights flashing. I pulled over, knowing I was guilty and that a bad day was about to get worse.

The officer walked slowly along the side of my truck, giving me time to roll the window down and collect myself. I looked up through a wall of tension and saw his face, anger and disgust written all over it. He almost shouted. “You were driving 55 in a 35 mile zone!” All I could do was mumble, “I’m sorry.” Knowing you’re in the wrong is a tough pill to swallow.

He paused, but I had seen him eyeing my scrubs and RN badge. And had I also seen something else — a spark of recognition maybe? (A lot of people visit patients on my floor every day.) He cleared his throat and then spoke calmly. “Are you just getting off work?” I nodded. He said his day was almost over, as well. And the wall between us crumbled.

To my surprise, he said, “I want you to go home, get some sleep, and drive a little slower tomorrow.” He extended his hand and added, “Thank you for all you do.” I gratefully took that hand, and as we shared a respectful handshake, I thanked him, too, for his service and for keeping knuckleheads like me in line. Then through my left side mirror, I watched him walk back to his cruiser, his hand sliding along the bed of my truck.

I drove the rest of the way home, still tired but totally in control of my truck and feeling grateful for that perceptive state patrolman. Instead of getting the speeding ticket I deserved, I received his thanks for the work I do. And then, in turn, I thanked him for the work he does, which is considerably more dangerous than mine. I will always remember that officer’s kindness on such a difficult evening and how much it lifted my spirits that day. 

Bryce Angell has lived around horses all his entire life and is a retired registered nurse who still works part time at Ashton Living Center.