Nurturing A Rose
Love cures a lot.
When I arrived at 6 a.m. in the large hospital kitchen, Rose was already checking name tags on the trays against the patient roster. Stainless steel shelves held rows of breakfast trays, which we would soon be serving.
“Hi, I’m Janet.” I tried to sound cheerful, although I already knew Rose’s reputation for being impossible to work with. “I’m scheduled to work with you this week.”
Rose, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, stopped what she was doing and peered over her reading glasses. I could tell from her expression she wasn’t pleased to see a student worker.
“What do you want me to do? Start the coffee?” I asked.
Rose sullenly nodded and went back to checking name tags.
I filled the 40-cup pot with cold water and began making the coffee when Rose gruffly snapped, “That’s not the way to make coffee.” She…
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