After taking morning vital signs I prepare patients for 9am medications. I return to Mrs. Adams, explaining the painkillers she has been given before physical therapy kicks in to strengthen her knee. I head to Mr. Moore's room; I go in and ask him to state his name and date of birth, any allergies, and his pain level before giving him the medications. I help him get ready for the bath, we work slowly together to help him sit down, get up and go to the bathroom. Little breaks were taken as he sat down to catch his breath and cross the room. He tells me: “I can't now, it's too difficult to breathe” in a weak and hoarse voice. I tell him that it's okay and that he's making great progress and that we can try again later. We go back to his bed and arrange the room with soft lights to let him rest. I leave the door slightly open to block the noise of the nurse's station from her room. As I look into the room, my heart aches at the difficulty Mr. Moore has in grasping each breath as if it were his last. As I walk down the corridor I am greeted by Mrs Adams and the physiotherapists. His smile radiates the room with life, even if his steps are not the most stable or quick. They are the best they have been in a long time. The sight of his recovery gives me hope and inspiration, as well as love for my field