‘The Brightest of Lights Will Always Shine Through’
Sarah M. Bernstein, MD, MHA, FAAP
May 11, 2020
The generosity of the human spirit, particularly during times of grief and hardship, continues to amaze me. As a neonatology fellow, the vast majority of my days are filled with safe deliveries, reassuring conversations with parents and bonding with my colleagues. However, some of them involve gut-wrenching heartbreak and death.
I have held mothers in my arms as they collapsed to the floor and felt their tears on my cheeks. I have wiped the sweat from their brows and the vomit from their lips following waves of nausea. I have cradled a tiny child in my arms and watched her take her last breath, promising her parents that she would not die alone.
All of these moments have been jarring, but expected. I was ready for each of them. I have learned to anticipate the surge of sadness, anger, guilt, doubt, blame, hopelessness and agony that understandably accompanies the loss of a child.
What I have never quite been ready for is the generosity of the human spirit that can also break through during these times of devastation. I have experienced moments of pure selflessness that have shaken me to my core in a completely different way.
After telling one mother that her daughter had developed a devastating bowel infection and would not survive, her first question to me was, “Can I donate the rest of my milk to the other children in the NICU?”
Upon hearing similar news, another mother asked if it would be possible to donate her child’s eyes. She’d heard that some premature babies go blind and she wondered if her daughter might be able to help one of them see. She didn’t ask about herself or her child’s needs. She didn’t place blame or shout. She simply asked how she could help.
Another one of my other patients died unexpectedly overnight. When I came in the following morning and kneeled next to her father, his first words to me were, “I am so sorry she died. I know how much you cared about her.”
Here was a family who had struggled to get pregnant, who had experienced a preterm birth and watched their child grow for five weeks before abruptly dying of sepsis. Here was a father whose own world had just shattered, and yet, he was apologizing to me.What strikes me most about each of these situations is that in the midst of unbearable personal loss, each of these individuals was thinking about someone other than themselves.
I have learned that adversity can bring out the best and the worst in people. Over the last few months, I think we’ve seen this play out on a global scale. This pandemic has brought us images of death, greed, selfishness, lies and political pandering. It has led to protests and upended our lives in every way imaginable. People have lost their homes, jobs and loved ones. They’ve had to adjust to different schedules and routines almost overnight.
And yet, there have been moments of selflessness and light. Strangers have stood on their balconies and lifted up each other through song. Local businesses have donated countless meals to workers on the front lines. Teachers have continued to read to their students through glass doors, and a Boy Scout invented 3D-printed ear guards to relieve the pain and pressure caused by wearing surgical masks for prolonged periods of time.
Nurses and respiratory therapists have pasted photographs of themselves on the front of their PPE, reminding patients that there’s still a person caring for them behind the mask, and thousands of people volunteered to work in hot spots, risking their own health and safety to serve others.
If you look carefully, behind the loud calls to reopen barber shops and restaurants, people are quietly performing random acts of kindness all around us; reminding me that even during the bleakest of times, the brightest of lights will always shine through.
To everyone working tirelessly on the front lines and behind the scenes, thank you for all that you do. I am proud to call you my neighbors, my colleagues, my mentors and my friends.
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*The views expressed in this article are those of the author, and not necessarily those of the American Academy of Pediatrics.
About the Author
Sarah M. Bernstein, MD, MHA, FAAP
Sarah M. Bernstein, MD, MHA, FAAP, is a board-certified pediatrician and a Neonatal-Perinatal Medicine Fellow at Duke University. She can be reached directly on twitter @sbernsteinmd