Several years ago, I was sitting in a local restaurant with my husband and six of our good friends when a woman cautiously approached our table, her adorable little girl flitting about nearby.
She asked if my first name was Sue, and as I replied, the memories of this woman and her family came rushing back. Her daughter was now in elementary school—it had been years since she’d spent time in the NICU.
The mother reintroduced me to her daughter, a sweet soul I’d known for just a matter of weeks all those years ago—and never forgot. She told her daughter about the work we’d done together, how we helped her “do the things that made her so smart and strong.” I asked the little girl a few questions about her life now, which she answered with delight before asking if she could run off to play with her friends. Her sparkly eyes caught mine as she dashed away, and I was surprised by the sudden tears that welled up as I watched her go.
Her mother asked about her favorite nurses and then said, “I honestly don’t know how you all do it. Why keep doing a job that must be so hard, so emotionally intense—I mean, you MUST get so attached.”
I replied, “For moments exactly like this. That’s why we do it.”
You’ve likely had similar experiences. And like me, you never get tired of them.
Beneath the challenges and frustrations of healthcare, this truth remains: the work you do changes lives. It’s supportive, pivotal, and powerful.
It’s the kind of work that makes two people who haven’t seen each other in years tear up with shared gratitude—both spoken and unspoken.
I can’t put my finger on what first led me to the NICU, but I know exactly why I’ve never left this space.