To the Respiratory Therapist Who Comforted Me During My Worst Moments

It was like I was repeatedly drowning on dry land. I was in the ICU after intubation from a routine surgery that deeply aggravated my autoimmune disease, causing me to be reventilated after surgery. I was eventually extubated, but it left my airways swollen to the point of almost being completely shut off. I was on high-flow oxygen and every two hours I would wake up coughing, wheezing, gasping, and begging my lungs to fill with air. Then I’d press the call button and pray respiratory therapy would come as quickly as they could, only to get enough relief to once again fall back to sleep after being given the most powerful inhaled steroids my hospital had to offer. And wake up to repeat the same mentally and physically grueling routine.

It was hell. A seemingly never-ending hell. And because of the global pandemic, I was facing it completely and utterly alone.

One endless night in particular, all I wanted was my mom. Too weak to raise my head, let alone even fold my arms I closed my eyes, and in my head pleaded to God saying, “Heavenly Father, I have never felt so alone. I just want some comfort. I just want my Mom. Please show me tonight that you are there Please show me I’m not alone in this. Please be with me.” And when once again, the breathing treatment wore off, and my lungs pleaded for the oxygen they just couldn’t seem to intake, I pressed the call button and prayed that respiratory therapy could come as soon as possible.

That night my favorite respiratory therapist from the day before was on call. I tried to speak to her and express how grateful I was that she was the one on call that night, but I was too winded and too exhausted to even finish the sentence I was trying to mutter.

With an understanding smile, she looked at me and said, “Megan, I know you love to talk. But save your breath. Close your eyes. Do your treatment. Your body needs every ounce of energy you have just to breathe right now.” With a struggled sigh, I put the nebulizer in my mouth, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on making my breathing as regular as it could be.

As I began to drift into an exhaustion-based sleep, I felt a familiar pattern of fingers running through my hair. Whether I was a small child with a stomach bug, or a teenager in the hospital after a surgery, or in a severe flare, it was my ultimate feeling of comfort — the way my mom runs her fingers through my hair.

Finally able to somewhat catch my breath, I lazily opened my eyes, half expecting to see my mom next to my side. And I saw my respiratory therapist, smiling down at me and continuing to run her fingers through my hair.

Tears of pure gratitude filled my eyes. And with a look only a mother could give, she whispered, “Shh. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen you since you have got here.  You are OK. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. You are OK.”

I can’t imagine the exhausted relief that swept across my face when after so much suffering and panic, I was finally able to take a full breath and peacefully close my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt her fingers run through my hair, and tried to think of a way to express to this respiratory therapist that she was literally an answer to my prayers.

She came in the morning right when her shift was about to end to give me an early treatment because I was having symptoms (so we could avoid unnecessary aggravation to my airways). When my breathing normalized, with tears brimming my eyes, I said, “I just have to thank you. Last night I was so miserable. Seriously, all I wanted was my mom. I prayed and prayed to God for comfort, and when you ran your fingers through my hair. You did it the way my mom has my whole life. You reminded me of my mom. You were an answer to my prayer.”

Tears filled her eyes as she responded, “You are the second patient that has said that to me today. I have a daughter that is around your age, and it kills me to think that she could be going through a similar situation and I couldn’t be by her side. And how much it must hurt your mom not to be by your side. So especially with you, the younger patients, I don’t want you to feel alone in this. I want to treat you the same way I hope someone would treat my daughter.”

At that moment, I knew the job was more than a career to her — it was a calling.

As a rare disease patient, I’ve come in contact with hundreds of people in the medical field, to the point where the faces of nurses, rad techs, doctors, and phlebotomists all start to blend together. Some are easy to forget, and by their actions you can assume they just as easily forget about me the second I leave their vicinity. But others, whether through years of trial and growth, or pure natural talent, it’s more than a career to them. They understand the weight upon their shoulders (especially during this pandemic) and that they are so much more than our nurse, doctor, RT, PT, lab tech, rad tech, med tech etc.

When our bodies betray us and we are isolated from our world during a pandemic of mask-covered smiles and social distancing, when no friend can come closer than a screen away, they are there with a kind word or a shared laugh. They are a support system when no one can be there to cheer us on, a hand to hold when we are scared, a sigh of relief when we are anxious, a shoulder to cry on when we just can’t take it anymore, and fingers to lovingly stroke our hair.

As complex patients, this isn’t our first time at the rodeo. We know the stress you carry as you’re drowning in oceans of paperwork, as books of ever-changing protocols are placed upon your shoulders, and the threat of catching COVID yourself looms in every corner you pass. But we are thankful for every small act of kindness you do, every time you put the humanity in healthcare, every moment you think, “How would I like to be treated?” or “How would I want my loved one to be treated?” and then act accordingly.

Your patients may not always say it — heck, they probably rarely say it — but by going the extra mile, you make a bigger impact than you could ever imagine. I will never forget the impact that respiratory therapist made in my life, and I will forever be grateful for the fact I was able to thank her for being that comfort when I needed it, and through her actions showing me that she views her job as a healer as so much more than a career.