My mom recently underwent surgery at Sarasota Memorial Hospital, and the experience has made me reflect on the importance of kindness and care in helping folks recover. And so I turned those thoughts into this week’s Sense and the City, out in the Ticket today.

Here’s a sample:

It’s easy, when you arrive at a hospital for surgery, to view it as a giant conveyor belt sending a blur of bodies through an elaborate, dispassionate assembly line.

You’re dispossessed of your belongings — no jewelry to touch for good luck; no glasses to help you see the size of the needles; you don’t even get to keep your underwear on, for crickets’ sake. You might as well say goodbye to your ego and any sense of vanity as well — it’s hard to be Miss Priss when your butt’s hanging out the backside of a barely there hospital gown.

All the usual accoutrements of self-articulation, the titles, degrees and ZIP codes… they’re not much help here. All you’ve got is your body and the complex swirl of thoughts and emotions that make up who you are inside that body. The sense of vulnerability must be mind-blowing.

I worried about this recently when my mom, a fiercely independent woman, entered Sarasota Memorial Hospital for five hours of surgery. But to my great relief, the staff of caregivers surrounding my mom seem less like paid professionals just doing their jobs and more like longtime companions doing work they loved.

Read the rest right here.