Reid was a primary RN for one of our little oncology patients who spent several frightening weeks in the PICU as her newly diagnosed neuroblastoma overwhelmed her fragile body. As she teetered at the edge of life and death, Reid stood vigil, providing care with such composed and quiet compassion that he became the still point for this devoted family as they were swept up into the storm of a life-threatening pediatric cancer diagnosis. Not only was Reid's technical ICU nursing care impeccable, but he was also an invaluable source of information, explaining to parents with a focused calm the urgent procedures and ICU interventions their little one was about to undergo. But sometimes it's the little things that make all the difference, as I watched him help provide a sense of normalcy for this scared and anxious mother by encouraging her to accessorize our sweet little patient with a new headband each day.
Over the course of her PICU stay, Reid advocated for his patient each shift worked, whether he was in charge or at the bedside, asking the hard questions and championing her care. Her parents trusted their baby girl in his strong and capable hands. He worried, he watched, he stayed late on the days her condition deteriorated, almost willing her back to this world. The mother confided in me that he was their hope when all hope seemed lost. Reid shepherded our little one through those dark days and celebrated when she sufficiently stabilized to transfer to our hem/onc unit. Weeks later, I shared with him the miraculous news that she was well enough to be discharged from the hospital. I have never seen him smile that broadly! (and I might have seen a glint of grateful tears in his eyes.) Reid, I hope you never forget the difference you have made for this family and the countless others you care for and guide through the shadow of life-threating illness. You are their light.