Member-only story
A Tribute to Nurses
Heroes in scrubs
I’m posting this in honor of my Grandma Ruth, who crossed over twelve years ago today.
A little more than twenty-three years ago, a nurse named Vincent at Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit made all the difference.
Our first baby, only three months old, had just had an insanely complicated surgery where his skull was cut into pieces and put back together. He was born with a condition where he did not have any soft spots in his skull. Most babies are born with cartilage in their skulls to allow them to pass through the birth canal and let their skull fill out proportionally as they grow. Because he was born with a fused skull, his head would not have grown properly without the surgery.
We were terrified and very anxious even though the surgeon was incredibly kind and made sure that he explained everything to us in great detail, even drawing pictures of the procedure. The surgeon had a wonderful reputation and we had full faith that he would take care of our boy.
Indeed, the surgery went well. But the sight of my baby boy, tiny and helpless in that PICU hospital crib, his head wrapped in bandages, made me cry. What helped us get through those three days in the hospital was his main nurse, Vincent.
