Surrounded by heroes

Every day for the past week we’ve interacted with dozens of staff and volunteers at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia and it’s impossible to put to words what heroic humans these are, though I’d like to try.

When we first arrived at the pediatric ER we were full of confusion – Wes wasn’t sick, but there we were sticking needles in him, keeping him awake all night, running test after test. Throughout it all, we saw nothing but empathy, compassion, and honest, direct communication from the team. ER staff is on the front line, surrounded by panic and crying, open wounds and symptoms of undiagnosed and invisible diseases, everything the human system can throw at them. This work is a vital cushion against the very real psychological trauma being experienced by their young patients as well as the parents and guardians who are unspeakably worried, wracked by the guilt of failing to protect their child, and craving the right mix of information, prediction, and miracle. A good ER team provides it all, but by the time anyone can appreciate what they’ve done it is days later, in a different department and their faces and names are barely a wisp of memory.

The bulk of our week in hospital, so far, has been spent with the pediatric oncology department. Every 12 hours we’ve had a new nurse, with only one or two repeats, but these women have been everything for us. They’ve monitored his vitals, delivered his meds, taught us how to care for him, kept us informed at every step of the way, changed linens, and been a constant source of cheer and human contact. I couldn’t begin to list all their names, many of which I forgot almost as soon as I heard them, but their faces and their presence are forever memorable for what they’ve done for us, selflessly and with nothing but the sense that they want to be right there, doing exactly what we needed at the moment. There was the sweet nurse who reminded us of a cousin’s running mate and who seemed as Midwestern as they come except for being a devoted child of New Jersey. Another nurse, whose Philly accent was so strong initially I had to ask her to repeat her name three times, was an easy source of strength and empathy, talking about her other life as a mother and connecting easily with Wes. One nurse whose personality was so bright and bubbly that my cynical self took a moment to accept that she was exactly what she seemed, sweet and loving and amazing with kids.

It struck me this week that we so often speak of heroism in combat, but what these people do is every bit as brave, as selfless, and life saving and all I can think is how I can someday find a way to return their gifts. Each of these women and half a dozen others do the kind of hard, gut-wrenching and absolutely critical work that can only be described as heroic.