Some days in the hospital, the confetti falls while someone down the hall is still wiping away tears. We wanted to talk about that gap—the space between appearances and what caregivers carry—and how to close it with simple, human acts that actually help. Marissa, a self-described “fun ambassador” with deep roots in healthcare, shares how she designs support that feels real: asking what people need, showing up when the day is heavy, and tailoring recognition so night shift and ICU teams can breathe instead of perform.

We trace her path from growing up around medicine to a defining crisis: septic shock and pulmonary edema while pregnant with twins, odds of survival near three percent. She remembers the moment she wanted to quit, her father’s hands on her face, and the decision to fight. Later, in an elevator, she met the anesthesia nurse who recognized she couldn’t breathe and spoke up—proof that caregivers rarely see outcomes, yet outcomes heal caregivers. That full-circle moment fuels Marissa’s mission to care for the people who care, turning survival into service.

Across the hour, we challenge the comfort of one-size-fits-all gratitude and replace it with presence. Recognition isn’t a box lunch; it’s timing a break so night shift can attend, building decompression after a code, and using language that honors the human in room seven and the human walking in from there. We talk hurricanes and Team A, Red Bull runs and quiet check-ins, faith and doubt, and the stubborn hope that healthcare can be both clinically excellent and deeply human. If you’ve ever felt unseen under a badge, this conversation brings light, practical ideas, and a reminder: you matter more than the metric.

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