The Shoes I Borrowed: What I Learned from Seeing Life in A Different Sole 

I started the long, somewhat stressful hour-long drive to the Medical Center. Per my colleague’s advice, I parked in the Broadway Parking Lot and took the shuttle. In true “Nervous Nelly” fashion, I double-checked with a stranger to make sure I was in the right place. I paced back and forth—not just from nerves, but trying to shift the discomfort in my ankle, foot, and calf from a previous surgery.

It felt like I’d been waiting for thirty minutes. It had only been five.

When the shuttle finally arrived, I gave the driver a quiet smile and slipped into a front seat, trying to blend in—ready to make a quick escape when it was time. The first thing I learned-you have to be specific about your drop-off. “Davis Tower,” I mumbled, as we made several stops along the way.

My mind was already racing with what-ifs and nervous energy. And then we stopped at the Ronald McDonald House. A beautiful mom boarded with her three boys—one of them clearly there for medical care. I offered her my seat, offered to help—but in true Super Mom fashion, she kindly declined. She asked to be dropped at the Cancer Center, and my heart sank. I wondered—is this a good visit? Is her son okay? I also felt a deep admiration for her strength. Getting all three boys out the door and to an appointment? That’s heroic.

We picked up medical assistants, a doctor, volunteers, and finally reached Davis Tower.

Still unsure, I stopped at the security desk and asked for help. The officer had a mask on, but his eyes smiled. His voice was deep but gentle: “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do…” He wanted to show me but couldn’t leave his post. I thanked him and told him to stay safe—that he was appreciated. He stopped, turned, shook my hand, and said, “Thank you.” Like no one had said it before. Like it mattered.

The elevator ride was its own experience. A mix of patients, nurses, doctors, and volunteers. The smells—cafeteria food, sterile hallways, cologne, and oddly, something sweet, like Easter candy—triggered a mix of emotions. By the time I got to the twelfth floor, I didn’t know if I was hungry, sad, anxious, or craving a Reese’s egg.

Rhea and her colleague greeted me warmly. She teased me about being the only one there and asked gently if I needed the restroom—like she could read my nerves. She had a warmth about her, but also a clear confidence and authority.

We started our tour. Honestly, I don’t remember which unit came first—I was completely out of my element, on floors I had no business being on. But as we made our rounds, it became clear:

• Rhea is a fast walker—with purpose and authority.
• She’s highly respected by her peers.
• And she radiates strength wrapped in kindness.

Everywhere we went, she was greeted with hugs and “hellos.” Some staff nervously asked if her visit was about a patient—lots of knocking on wood. Thankfully, there weren’t any that day. I shared information about our workplace violence prevention services, handed out pamphlets, and, more importantly, expressed gratitude. These staff members aren’t just caregivers—they’re crisis managers, de-escalators, protectors.

Then came the call.

Rhea was mid-sentence, glowing about her unit’s support system, when she got the call. She had minutes to get to a room where an incident was unfolding. We moved quickly.

When we arrived, a nurse—visibly shaken—was trying to explain the situation. A patient was screaming from inside her room. Thin, tall, gaunt—she reminded me of my grandmother. She wanted a medication—or at least, that’s what I thought I heard. The Mental Health Worker gently offered to take a walk with her. She refused.

Supervisors gathered—BEST team, Lift team, Rhea, the nurse, the doctor. The more people arrived, the more escalated she became. Screaming. Cussing. Throwing things.

Eventually, the Mental Health Worker and doctor went in. Outside, Rhea debriefed with a colleague. I sat quietly, processing what I’d witnessed.

And then we moved on.

On the way, Rhea beamed about the BEST team. They respond to around 150 calls a month—and have helped reduce escalations by 80%. Her pride was contagious, her words were inspiring “Each one of us has a purpose, and we are a Team, with one goal and that is to help our patients to get better and be a support for our colleague.”

As we wrapped up, Rhea and I agreed: this hospital is a maze. I thanked her deeply—for her time, her work, her heart.

Leaving the hospital, I felt a strange mix of exhaustion, gratitude, and admiration. Outside, the world buzzed—construction noise, the smell of pizza and pavement. I sat on a bench, waiting for the shuttle, now surrounded by other employees. The driver was kind, and each person thanked him. He smiled every time.

When I got to my car, I took a huge swig of water and let out a long, heavy sigh. I reflected on the patient, the mom, the nurse, the BEST team, Rhea—and how lucky we are to have them.

Each “shoe” I stepped into carried its own story—some tattered, some stretched thin, some shiny and new. None were easy. All were full of emotion.

I’m grateful for my own tattered shoes. Grateful to witness this world. Grateful for the people who walk into crisis every day—and still show up with compassion, strength, and hope.

Resources:

Mental Health First Aid class: Sign Up Now!

Workplace Violence Prevention: https://hr.ucdavis.edu/departments/elr/workplaceviolence/

Academic and Staff Assistance Program (ASAP): https://www.hr.ucdavis.edu/departments/asap

Ombuds: https://ombuds.ucdavis.edu/

Counselor drop-ins: https://ucdavis.co1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_byI2jDrEAPyQzMa?Q_CHL=qr

Support U Peer Responder Program: clinicalwellbeing@ucdavis.edu

Harassment & Discrimination Assistance and Prevention Program: https://hdapp.ucdavis.edu/

Workplace Violence Prevention Program

• Reporting Workplace Violence
• Training & Preventing Workplace Violence
• Resources & Support
• About Workplace Violence & Tools

Contact the Workplace Violence Prevention Unit:

• ViolencePrevention@ucdavis.edu