Learning to Rise Above
Every month I head into Women & Children's Hospital of Buffalo, either to attend the parent advisory meeting for Family-Centered Care or to greet new nurses on their way in to let them know that parents should have a voice in the care of their children.(Yeah, yeah, it's tough greeting the new nurses, but someone has to do it).
I've been proud to be on the Advisory Board since it started back about five or six years ago and it pains me when I can't attend one of the meetings. I've told the story about Jake's care - before he arrived at the hospital, while he was there, and since - about 300 times - and walking through those doors each and every time brings back a ton of the fear that I felt eight years ago.
Yet before me at every meeting are parents and nurses who seem so much stronger than me. There are mothers who have special needs children (twenty-four hour a day care), there are parents who have lost their children, and there are nurses and doctors who have seen so much pain. Way too much pain.
And attending the meetings always feels the same to me - I dread it heading through the doors, I grow invigorated when I realize that I can help impact change, and I'm in awe as I leave, wondering how some of the people involved find the strength every day.
We all have jobs to do. Most of our jobs don't mean the difference of life and death. They do not test our reserve for compassion day after day, hour after hour.
Yet I'm not naive enough to believe that every one in every hospital all across the country does their very best every moment of every day.
I'm sure that there are people who cut corners. I know that a lot of mistakes are made - there are human beings at work there.
Yet the visits certainly give me a charge and it allows me to see the very best of people who really, really care.
The meetings, of course, are not very well-attended by people who are just punching the clock and putting in their time, but I'm not ready to talk about them today.
I'm just thankful for the people who try to rise above the mess of life.
It does my heart good to hang around with those types of souls.
I've been proud to be on the Advisory Board since it started back about five or six years ago and it pains me when I can't attend one of the meetings. I've told the story about Jake's care - before he arrived at the hospital, while he was there, and since - about 300 times - and walking through those doors each and every time brings back a ton of the fear that I felt eight years ago.
Yet before me at every meeting are parents and nurses who seem so much stronger than me. There are mothers who have special needs children (twenty-four hour a day care), there are parents who have lost their children, and there are nurses and doctors who have seen so much pain. Way too much pain.
And attending the meetings always feels the same to me - I dread it heading through the doors, I grow invigorated when I realize that I can help impact change, and I'm in awe as I leave, wondering how some of the people involved find the strength every day.
We all have jobs to do. Most of our jobs don't mean the difference of life and death. They do not test our reserve for compassion day after day, hour after hour.
Yet I'm not naive enough to believe that every one in every hospital all across the country does their very best every moment of every day.
I'm sure that there are people who cut corners. I know that a lot of mistakes are made - there are human beings at work there.
Yet the visits certainly give me a charge and it allows me to see the very best of people who really, really care.
The meetings, of course, are not very well-attended by people who are just punching the clock and putting in their time, but I'm not ready to talk about them today.
I'm just thankful for the people who try to rise above the mess of life.
It does my heart good to hang around with those types of souls.
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