Barb Barnes faces the camera with her daughter, Autumn Barnes, at her side. More than twenty years ago, Barb faced a challenging medical condition, requiring open-heart surgery. The news came as no surprise since her energy levels had significantly decreased, affecting her ability to climb stairs without feeling breathless.
Scheduled for the summer of 2005, the impending surgery was daunting. Barb, a single mother, endeavored to prepare both emotionally and practically. Her thoughts constantly revolved around concerns for her daughter if the surgery didn’t go as expected.
“I had all the faith in the world and really loved the surgeon and the staff and the team, [but] I was terrified out of my mind. I mean, it was open-heart surgery,”
Moving forward, the procedure was scheduled in a city several hours from their home. The night before surgery, they checked into an affordable hotel, ordered pizza, and watched a movie. Autumn clung to her mom, fearing it might be their last night together. Early in the morning, Barb quietly guided her daughter to stay with a relative in the room next door.
Discussing the moments after leaving her daughter, Barb recalled feeling she’d done all she could to prepare, yet guilt lingered due to not being able to further alleviate Autumn’s fears. Later that day in the hospital, the surgeon brought reassuring news. The surgery exceeded expectations, and Barb felt improvements as soon as the anesthesia effects diminished.
“I actually felt better from the time I woke up as far as energy and breathing were concerned,” Barb expressed.
Despite the post-surgery pain, which resulted from the invasive procedure involving the sternum and ribcage, Barb faced a challenge with pain management. A nurse advised tapering off opioids. Initially terrified, Barb resisted, fearing life without pain medication.
Within a day, a nurse approached Barb, offering personal insight after overcoming her own opioid dependency following an injury. Her vulnerability resonated with Barb, shifting her perception of pain from a dire sensation to a manageable aspect of healing.
“She looked me right in the eye and in the most authentic, vulnerable way, said, ‘I really don’t want that to happen to you. I know that you’re really frightened, and I think it’s possible, Barb, that you are confusing pain with fear.'”
Barb teared up, confronting the reality of her fear-driven response. Holding this nurse’s hand, Barb agreed to taper her medications, relying on a supportive plan.
“She said that she would be with me every step of the way, with a pain plan that if . . . the pain came back, whether she was on duty or not, they could call her and she would help me work through it.”
This moment of shared understanding redefined Barb’s relationship with pain. Future medical procedures inevitably included discomfort, yet the nurse’s support irrevocably changed Barb’s coping method.
Barb emphasized her gratitude, recognizing the nurse as an unsung hero, whose compassionate support helped her maintain a strong relationship with her daughter, friends, and her own independence.
“I’m pretty sure I would not be where I am today, with a terrific relationship with my daughter, terrific relationships with my friends, independent and able to help others. It’s truly because she did that.”
My Unsung Hero offers more stories like Barb’s—available through podcast episodes released every Tuesday. Readers can share their experiences by recording a voice memo and sending it to [email protected].
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