I couldn’t seem to stop crying – on the drive home, in the shower, trying to carry on with normal life.

It had been a difficult few weeks in ICU and the last five patients I’d looked after had all died.

Two of them were young women – one a pregnant mother – who did nothing to deserve the awful circumstances they’d been dealt.

It’s not often that I choke back tears in front of a patient’s family or cry all the way home from a shift. But these were some of the most heartbreaking cases I’ve seen in my five years as an ICU nurse.

And then something lovely happened. I came back into work and was handed a pink gift bag. Inside were two second-hand books and a note that set me off again.

The books belonged to one of my patients who had died and they were given to me as a gift from her family.

It was a lovely gesture and affirmation that there is a point to what I’m doing, even when the outcomes aren’t what we hope for.

This is what the note said:

“Dear Sally, we want you to know you make a difference. Thank you for your care, your gentleness and your understanding. While I didn’t get to meet all of the other ICU nurses, Nicko said everyone was incredible. Please pass on our gratitude. Read, love and pass these stories on. Love, Lauren and Nicko.”

The books gifted to me by a family, which I will pass onto friends.

It was such a gracious thing for a family to do in the midst of their grief and I’ll treasure it as a reminder of the humanity at the heart of my new career as a nurse.

In my former career as a journalist, life was different. I moved through different circles and the job came with perks – celebrity interviews, invitations to major events, rubbing shoulders with “important” people and power.

But there’s a superficialness to the media circus that’s not fulfilling. There’s a competitive desperation to succeed that can be narcissistic and trump the real reasons we need a free and fair media.

Nursing is the polar opposite – it’s so real and so connected to everything that people go through, from birth to death.

Of all the patients I’ve crossed paths with in ICU, it’s the loss of young mothers that affects me the most.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget watching a toddler asking Mummy to wake up, knowing it’s never going to happen. Or a 10-year-old, just old enough to understand the unthinkable, curled up next to their mother for the last time.

It’s utterly devastating and I still think about those motherless children and hope they’re being showered in love and support.

There are certain things that years of study and training simply can’t prepare you for and sudden, tragic death is one of those things. Seeing the overwhelming pain of their loved ones.

On the flip side, it’s almost euphoric to see children come in and greet a parent who is now awake and on the road to recovery. More tears, but this time happy ones.

I sometimes ask colleagues how they cope with the highs and lows of working in such a high-stakes, traumatic environment.

They mostly have strategies to switch on and off, so they can give their all when on the job, but then put it completely out of their minds.

It’s not easy to do and it’s a learned skill. But when the worst things happen, I’ll keep that little post-it note as a reminder that even in awful circumstances, we can make a compassionate, positive difference.

It’s the knock-on effect of kindness.