Every hospital has The Intersection. Every heart parent has stood at The Intersection. This is the place where it all becomes real, where it’s go-time, where you whisper that last fervent prayer before letting go. You woke up early to come to the hospital for a surgery date you’ve been dreading, you’re ushered up to a pre-op room where people come to get you to sign here, initial here. Maybe you review some last-minute information and meet the surgery and anesthesia team. But eventually the moment comes where you enter The Intersection. At our hospital, you step out of the room and into the hall where it forms a T: this is the place where a group of people (and your child) turn right while you have to let go and turn left towards the waiting area.
The Intersection is a heavy, heavy place. It’s the place where fear and doubt seem the strongest and where you muster every last bit of hope left in your body and try to project it on the people turning right. For a brief moment all those thoughts cross through your mind: did I pray hard enough, have I been good enough, have I been a good parent, did I give enough hugs, was this the right choice, are you sure it couldn’t just be me instead of him? It’s such a tough place because to turn right is handing your child over to certain fear and pain, which is necessary to live. To turn right is to be filled with fear and tears.
I don’t write this to merely drum up our old fears, but rather I spell them out for a different reason: to thank a group that I think often goes overlooked. A couple months ago I was asked to share Nolan’s story with our surgical services team at work. This was a massive group of nearly 200 people all in their green scrubs and funny giant shower cap thingies. They have their staff meetings at like 6am, which is bonkers, but I digress. As I walked to the auditorium, I was thinking in my mind what to say and this idea of The Intersection hit me like a ton of bricks and I just had to share it. So I shared Nolan’s story and at the very end I said to them, and I’m paraphrasing here:
“There’s a place I call The Intersection. Where Nolan goes one way and I can’t follow, so I have to go the other. This is a really tough place to be because I know where he goes there is pain, and where I go there are tears. But as I stand here in front of you I want to thank you, because when he makes that right turn I’m essentially handing him over to you…the people I don’t even see…to save his life. And without you, there is no Nolan, so I thank you.”
I gotta tell you, it took everything in my power for me not to lose it there. Not to mention it was 6am so I was already a wreck as it was. But I meant it. You see, while our amazing surgeons make the news and magazine covers and whatnot, there’s a whole team of people behind those operating room doors who we will never see or meet. They keep things clean, keep things stocked, keep things moving smoothly and Lord knows what else they do. They are so important to the success of these surgeries and I’m not sure they get the recognition they deserve.
So while I know it’s painful to think about The Intersection, remember that it’s Thanksgiving week: let’s channel those thoughts into some genuine thanks for the surgical services teams who have played such an under-the-radar role in the success of our kids. I encourage you to share this post on social media, maybe write a card or note to the surgical services team at your local children’s hospital. Whatever it is, just make sure you let them know how much you appreciate that they’re there on the other side of The Intersection.
If you’re reading this and you’re part of the team who wears the green scrubs and the funny shower caps: just know that our family thanks you for your hard work. Let this recognition encourage you and your teammates to know you are loved and appreciated for your work…keep it up!