No one likes being a patient in a hospital. Being hospitalized usually means you are dealing with health issues, and you feel awful. It means being stuck in a bed that is uncomfortable, and you are subjected to unsavory hospital food. Worst of all, you are being poked and prodded by doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff. There is no rest in the hospital as they wake you frequently to take vital signs, give medicines, and do assessments. Being sick is laborious. I know this because I am a registered nurse who works in a medical-surgical unit.

Nursing is my second career, and as challenging as it is, I love it. I was fortunate enough to begin this journey before the onset of the “big C.” Working as a nurse before COVID gives me an interesting perspective that newer grads will never have. Recently, I had an experience that highlighted that reality.

A typical nursing shift is 12 hours of hustle and bustle, always working to prevent catastrophe, keeping patients comfortable, and timing medications so patients may avoid pain. Our hospital has three medical-surgical units arranged in a circle. Each unit consists of a hallway lined with single- or double-occupancy rooms on either side. Every room has a door with a large window. Nurses can be seen pushing and pulling around computers (known as “workstations on wheels”) up and down the halls and maneuvering into patient rooms.

One morning, I pulled my workstation up to a patient’s room at the end of the hall and peered through the window. I noticed a man sitting in a chair by the window and talking to my patient. I turned my attention to organizing the medicines I needed to administer, along with my papers and assessment tools, before entering the room. When I glanced through the window again, I was pleased for my patient that a friend or family member cared enough to take time out of his day to spend time with someone during a very vulnerable and daunting experience.

Research shows that the healing process is enhanced when patients have physical and emotional support from loved ones. Some days, I am struck by how few patients have any visitors at all. It makes me think about how lonely that must feel. While providing emotional support is part of the nurse’s role, no amount of compassion can replace the love and comfort of family and friends.

On this day, my thoughts drifted back to the start of the pandemic, when the hospital enforced a blanket “no visitor” policy. I held the hands of isolated patients dying from COVID as they took their final, ragged breath. I looked into their eyes, cried with them, and whispered words of support in their final moments. Those were harrowing times that I hope humanity will never see again. Thankfully, we now know more, understand how to manage COVID, and once again encourage loved ones to visit regardless of illness.

As a nurse, I speak regularly with patients’ family members and friends. Some admit, often reluctantly, that they are afraid to come to the hospital. This is a valid concern, as hospitals house a plethora of maladies, germs, and the ever-present risk of infection.

Despite that, when someone voices fear about visiting patients in the hospital due to possible exposure to germs, I explain the numerous ways staff work to minimize risks. These include use of personal protective equipment, meticulous hand hygiene, and rigorous cleaning of our equipment and the facility in general.

Seeing someone ill, in pain, and vulnerable is difficult. These experiences can stir our own fears and anxieties about susceptibility, morbidity, and mortality. However, avoidance may lead to fractured relationships, guilt, and regret. At times, being a nurse can feel like wearing the hat of a therapist. Nurses have a responsibility not only to their patients but also to the friends and family of their patients. A skilled nurse walks a delicate line when managing these conversations. I want my patients to have visitors, yet I want their loved ones to feel comfortable visiting. Everyone must do what is best for themselves while keeping in mind what is best for those they care about.

Encouraging visitation means educating people about how their presence can brighten a patient’s day and support healing. An abundance of research shows that visiting, and even participating in care, improves health outcomes, accelerates recovery, and enhances safety. The presence of loved ones has been shown to improve communication between healthcare providers and patients, reduce anxiety and depression, decrease delirium, and increase patient satisfaction (Checa-Checa, et al. 2025).

A nurse call bell jolted me out of my thoughts about the benefits of visitation on this day of reflection. I refocused and readied myself to enter my patient’s room. I knocked on the door and pushed my workstation inside, greeted my patient, and informed him I was here to give him his morning medications. I was about to ask who was visiting when I glanced at the chair by the window. It was empty. Goosebumps crept up my arms. There was no visitor.

“Forget it,” I told myself. “Put it out of your mind. Focus on your patient.” 

I completed his physical assessment, gave him his medications, and left the room. There was no time to dwell on the empty chair; another patient was expecting me.

At 11:30, the patient at the end of the hall was due for an intravenous antibiotic. I gathered up the medicine, supplies, and workstation and headed back down the hall. I parked outside the room and glanced in the window. Once again, the man was sitting in the chair by the window again. The fine hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and goosebumps climbed up my arms. I was not afraid per se, just unnerved. I focused on my computer, opened the correct chart, knocked, and entered the room. When I looked at the chair by the window. It was empty. Again.

“Concentrate,” I told myself. I gave the patient the medication and left the room in record time.

Immediately, I headed to the nurses’ station where the two other nurses were charting. Nervous energy spilled out of me. “There’s a ghost in room nine,” I blurted out. My co-workers stared at me in astonishment. “I looked in before going into the room for morning meds, and there was a man sitting in the chair. But when I went in, there was no man in the chair. I went to the room again, and when I looked in the window, the man was sitting in the chair. But when I went inside the room, the chair was empty.” Not sure if I was speaking coherently, I looked to my coworkers for their response.

“I saw him too, earlier,” one nurse offered.

“Maybe you thought you did,” I whispered. “But no one has been in that room all day.”

“I’m going to check,” another nurse said, confidently striding down the hall. She glanced in the room and moments later returned. “There is someone sitting in the chair,” she said with conviction.

“Yes. It looks that way, right. But you did not go in the room. There is no one in the room,” I insisted.

I stood up and walked back to the patient’s room. Through the window, I clearly saw a bearded man wearing a puffy coat. Heart racing, I opened the door. An empty chair sat by the window. I shut the door and stared at the window. I opened the door and looked at the chair again. Suddenly, I burst out laughing. I turned around and looked at the room across the hall. Its door was open, and sitting in a chair by the window was a bearded man wearing a puffy coat.

“It was a reflection,” I said aloud. “It was the reflection of the man in the opposite room.”

Reference  

Checa-Checa, A., Medina-Maldonado, V., Ramírez, A., & Rodríguez Diez, J. (2025). Family Support Strategies During Intensive Care Unit: A Systematic Review. Inquiry: The Journal of Medical Care Organization, Provision, and Financing, 62, 469580251368654. https://doi.org/10.1177/00469580251368654