For those who bring hope to sick children

I spent the entire afternoon at the Alfred I Dupont Hospital for Children today.

For the past two weeks my 12 year old brother Jeff has been complaining of back pain. This of course is not an ailment typical of someone his age. He has been examined by several doctors. Tests have been administered. X-Rays have been taken. As of this moment, no one is sure exactly what is making his back hurt.

Earlier today he was scheduled for a bone scan. He had some radioactive dye put into his body around seven this morning. They had to give the dye time to circulate so Jeff, my dad, and my step mom went shopping. After some time spent browsing, my dad decided they should grab a bite to eat before heading back to the office to have the bone scan done. Jeff ordered a burger, fries, and a sprite. He sat back in his seat as the car began to pull out, taking a few swigs of his soft drink. According to my dad, thirty seconds later Jeff was puking his guts out...literally as the vomit was mostly blood.

Yes, it was a terrifying as it sounds.

My dad and step mom immediately drove him to the ER at AI. No more vomiting ensued and they were able to complete the bone scan. The bone scan found...nothing. So he will be spending the night there and having an MRI completed tomorrow. The doctors feel the vomiting was most likely caused by the Motrin he had been taking for several days to ease the pain. I finished teaching at one thirty and immediately shot over to see how he was doing.

This is the reason I found myself sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair around three-ish, with a tremendous need to pee. I excused myself from the room and walked down the corridor in search of a men's room. It was a hospital corridor much like the thousands one can see on any TV hospital drama or in a thousand movies. The only real difference was the hand drawn pictures of famous cartoon characters on the window's of each room. I walked past Dora, Sponge Bob, and a dog that I believe was supposed to be Scooby Doo, but the likeness was a tad shaky.

I finally found a bathroom and took care of business, following the command of the sign on the bathroom mirror to wash my hands to help keep the hospital a "healthy" place. I found the wording to be a bit amusing, considering the ER was packed with sick children, but I appreciated the sentiment.

As I walked back to the room a mother and daughter were approaching slowly in my direction. The girl appeared to be about five or six years old. She had the most beautiful head of hair, a strawberry blond waterfall that cascaded straight down to her delicate shoulders. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, two chips of solid arctic ice. She had the face of an angel. Her body was a different story altogether. Her hair lay across a right shoulder that was at normal height and a left shoulder bunched up by several inches. Her arms and legs were twisted like the branches of an ancient oak tree. This made it tremendously difficult for her to walk. It was more of a shuffle than a walk really. Clutched in a hand that was more claw than anything else was a Strawberry Shortcake doll. As I closed the distance between us the mother and I made eye contact. She nodded at me and I returned a half smile.

Just as I passed them the little girl dropped her doll. It hit the cold tile floor with an audible thump. The girl's fingers reached out for it, but her mother did not allow her to bend over, as that understandably was impossible for the young girl. I squatted down and picked up the doll thinking nothing of the physical effort I exerted to do so. The little girls eyes met mine and I was riveted by the intelligence, the awareness in their gaze. It was an adult gaze. Her mother stood just behind her, steadying her daughter's uneven posture.

"Looks like you dropped someone," I told her.

She nodded shyly and help out her left hand for the doll. Smiling, I held it out and watched as the girl visibly struggled to open her fingers to reclaim it. My heart broke at the obvious discomfort the action caused her, but at the same time it also swelled with awe to witness the grim determination on her young face. It took her about thirty seconds or so to pick the doll out of my hand. When she reclaimed it a look of victory lit her features with a glow so deep it made me almost feel the need to look away. She looked at me and smiled. Her gnarled fingers clutched the doll closely to her chest.

"Rebecca honey, what do you say to the nice man?" her mother asked her.

Never breaking eye contact with me she said "Thank you for picking up my Shorty Cake."

"The pleasure was all mine," I replied with a croak. A lump had suddenly developed square in the middle of my throat.

Her mother thanked me as well as I rose to my feet. I assured her it was no problem then continued my walk back to my brother's room. When I reached the curtain I glanced back to see how they had progressed. They had stopped not far from where Rebecca had dropped the doll. Another adult was crouched down to her eye level, this one a pretty young woman in a white coat, her auburn hair held back with a scrunchie. She was listening to something Rebecca was saying to her. She smiled then suddenly all three of them, the young girl and the two women looked at me. The girl smiled at me again and raised her right hand in a wave. The young doctor pointed at me and said something and Rebecca giggled. Choking back a tear I returned the smile and the wave and then went back into my brother's room.

I sat back in my uncomfortable chair and thought about that doctor. I looked through the window (Bugs Bunny danced across the glass surface of ours) and saw other doctors. I saw nurses and aides. I saw cleaning staff as well. All spending their day in the company of children like Rebecca. I wondered how they did it. I still wonder how they do it. To see suffering children on a daily basis. To look into young and innocent eyes that have experienced more pain and suffering in their brief time on earth that I have ever experienced in my much longer time. To dedicate their lives, from doctor to custodian, to helping these children improve their quality of life.

I thank God that there are people like that. I thank each and every one of them for the amazing work they do day in and day out. These are people who TRULY make a difference in the world. It is not a trite saying our a cute bumper sticker for them.

We are blessed to have them, and we should tell them that when we have the chance.

Blogged with the Flock Browser