Lisa Royalty

I'm a diehard UK Wildcats fan! RN with 43 years experience, currently doing pediatric telephone triage. Love my kiddos and their parents!

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

#wisdom

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@game46312 @sleepnumber thanks

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

I bought a new sleep number bed and it was delivered 6 days ago. I’m less than pleased with their installation. I fell twice recently and now walker dependent. Their installation is a fall
waiting to happen. @sleepnumber, I need a resolution. Not a shoddy installation.

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@sleepnumber Done and thank you

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

"My husband thinks I'm wasting my time.

Every Wednesday morning, I drive to Riverside Nursing Home. Not to visit anyone. I don't know a soul there. I go to sit in the lobby and knit. Been doing it for three years now. I'm 67, retired teacher, got nothing but time.

The staff thought I was confused at first. "Ma'am, who are you here to see?"
"Nobody," I said. "Just sitting."
They let me stay. I think they felt sorry for me.

But I noticed something. Residents would shuffle past, some in wheelchairs, most alone. They'd see me knitting and slow down. Stop. Watch.
One woman, Agnes, finally asked. "What are you making?"
"Scarf. For nobody in particular."
"That's a waste," she said.
"Probably," I agreed. "Want to help?"
She looked startled. Like I'd offered her the moon. "I haven't knitted in 40 years."
"Good. Then you won't criticize my terrible stitches."
She sat. I handed her needles. Her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten.

Next week, Agnes brought two friends. Then five. Then eight. The nursing home staff moved us to the sunroom. Called us "the knitting circle," though we mostly just sat together, hands moving, talking about nothing important. Grandchildren. Weather. The awful meatloaf they served on Tuesdays.

But here's what I noticed, these women started showing up to meals. Getting dressed instead of staying in robes. One woman, Clara, hadn't spoken in months according to staff. Started telling stories about knitting blankets during the Depression.

The scarves piled up. Terrible, uneven scarves in every color. "What do we do with these?" Agnes asked.
"Give them away," I said.
We donated them to the homeless shelter. Every month, a pile of scarves made by women everyone had forgotten about.

Then last winter, something happened. A homeless man came to the nursing home. Asked to meet the knitters. Staff was confused but brought him to our circle.

He held up a green scarf, terribly made, one end wider than the other. "I got this at the shelter in November. Wore it every night. There was a note in the pocket. 'Made by Agnes, age 81. Stay warm, friend.'"
Agnes's hands flew to her mouth.

"I'm in an apartment now," he continued. "Got a job. Saved that scarf. Wanted to say thank you. Nobody ever made me something before. Made me feel like I mattered enough to keep living."
Agnes cried. We all did.

My husband still thinks I'm wasting my time. Driving across town to knit with strangers.

But Agnes died last month. Peaceful, in her sleep. At her memorial, her daughter found me. "Mom talked about Wednesdays constantly. Said it gave her a reason to wake up. You gave her three good years."

The circle still meets. Eight women, ages 74 to 93, making terrible scarves for people who need to know someone cares.

I'm not saving the world. Just sitting in a sunroom, knitting with lonely women.
But sometimes that's exactly what saving the world looks like."
.
Let this story reach more hearts....
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AI image is for Demonstration purpose only.
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By Mary Nelson

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.

Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.

One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.

Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.

Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"

"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."

He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."

The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."

Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.

But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,

"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."

So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.

Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."

Let this story reach more hearts....

Credit: Mary Nelson

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@Ummmmichelle @theJoShPENNER @UHC Oh, Michelle. As we in the South would say, "Bless your heart!"

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@ProfYolonda @UHC @UHC denied my brother's prosthetic leg and tried to repossess his wheelchair

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@JenniferBisop @JPo1369 @cookespring She passed away

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@Supermansings Incredibly sad

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@RNSuperHero Never administer anything other than normal saline through a blood line

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@gretchemaben @DocLT2 Human metapneumovirus is kicking butt and taking names here. Wondering if that's what you have? Hurry up and get out of there ASAP. Whiskey said so!

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@RepBoebert "The time is _____, current temperature is______"
that's who Lauren is talking with and we all know it! :D

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@RonFilipkowski Lies, lies, all lies!

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@nathaliejacoby1 I'm out of here in a split second

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@gretchemaben Obviously, I already have, LOL!

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@gretchemaben Whiskey sends his regards

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@JacksonLeeTX18 He's an idiot who needs to be slapped stupider than he already is (if that's even possible).

[Lisa Royalty @LisaRoyalty1]

@drannamvaldez @NursePatMacRN Drives me crazy! Also, walking into a room and seeing a piggyback tubing disconnected but dangling with an end open to air...grrrr!