Dear
Dr. Gelvez,
I’ve
wanted to write this letter a hundred times in the last year, and I’ve started it
at least as many. We met four years ago
today, so I guess it makes sense to finally write this on the anniversary of
our meeting under those dire circumstances.
We’ll see if I can actually get through it this time.
I
know that you see hundreds, if not thousands of children come in and out of the
PICU in a year. My child may have gotten
lost in the numbers, but he was a patient of yours on July 12, 2014.
His
name was Garrett, and he turned three that spring.
He
was life-flighted to Cook Children’s after drowning in my parents’ swimming
pool, and he was under your care in those sixteen hours until he finally
slipped the bands of mortality the next morning. Our lives changed forever in an instant and
while my dreams have been plagued with horror these past four years, your face always
come to mind and ironically, it’s the only thing that gives me any
comfort. And so, I’m compelled after all
this time to thank you for doing all you could.
I
don’t know if you remember every child who passes away on your watch, but I
remember yours being the kind of eyes that truly grieved when our little boy
didn’t make it. I remember those
magnetic glasses you wore around your neck, and how you put them on the bridge
of your nose each time you examined him.
I remember your eyes being full of hope, but how they'd quickly fill with dry tears and how you'd rub that place between them in aguish.
It was pain. I knew that you felt
the grief and despair but even though you were exhausted after a long shift,
you never left.
Garrett
epitomized the three-year-old boy. He
loved Lightening McQueen and Thomas the Tank Engine and tigers and pancakes and
hotdogs and all things blue and orange. His
life was short, but he left a mark on all who had the chance to know him and
see the light in his eyes. I regret that
those who met him in his final hours, those who cared for him and loved him as
he left this life, never had the chance to know him. I assure you, he would have been your
favorite, as he was the favorite of so many.
As
I sit and write this with a heart so heavy that it may fall right through the
floor, I’m also overcome with a sense of gratitude for people like you. Your job is often times a thankless one, and I
know work for you does not end at the close of day. It becomes part of you, and you carry it with
you always; both the victorious and the tragic cases. How I wish I’d had the chance to know you
under completely different circumstances, and how I wish things had been different
that day. However, I must thank you for
putting your heart into it for us, as I’m sure you do every child and every
family. Even on days when you’re too
tired to stand up and your soul is weary, thank you for loving children like my
son. Thank you for your kindness and
your compassion and the shoulder you lent us when we were faced with the
unthinkable.
Thank
you for doing all you could do. You may
have been plagued that night, wondering if you did enough. Wondering if your best really was your
best. Wondering if you’d been too tired,
too overloaded, or too distracted.
Garrett was a very sick little boy when he came to you, and I’m certain
above all else that if you’d been able to save him, you would have. Even if you don’t remember him, I know that there
have been instances since then wherein you’ve wondered these things, and I hope
this gives you a sense of contentment and a sense of peace, to know that this
mother appreciates all that you do.
There. I finally said it, even though I don’t think
it came out right. So after four years,
I’m finally saying thank you for your best effort to help my son live. I will never forget you.
Sincerely,
Garrett’s
mommy, Veronica Andrew
No comments:
Post a Comment