Comfort with a side of intubation

Adelaide has been on my mind a bit more than usual lately. Perhaps, it’s that last Saturday was Rare Disease Day, or learning of the school full of Iranian daughters being grieved by their families, or Anessa asking last night to see Adelaide’s ashes (more on that another time). There is a solid chance that all three contributed.

But I also think my new comfort show has something to do with it as well. What is this new comfort show you ask? It’s not Friends, or Gilmore Girls. It’s not even my typical go to Schitt’s Creek. Bear with me for a moment here, but it’s The Pitt. For those unaware, The Pitt takes place in a Pittsburgh hospital emergency department and is one of the most realistic hospital shows I have ever watched.

Perhaps it seems odd that I would find comfort in an arguably anxiety-inducing medical TV show like The Pitt. Especially given the trauma I witnessed and experienced first-hand in hospitals. Here’s what I’ve learned though, there are two types of people who live with medical related trauma: those that will take detours to avoid even seeing the outside of a hospital and those that miss the hospital.

There are few places I have felt more comfortable than in a hospital. Not comfortable because they are relaxing places to be. The phlebotomist coming in at 5am to draw blood when your mascara is smeared on your cheek, you’re trying to hide your contraband wine bottle, and you’re not wearing a bra pretty much ruins any spa-like vibes. But comfortable in that I know how they are organized, the language they speak, and the systems they utilize.

For me, watching The Pitt is, I guess, nostalgic. Like visiting your old school, but it’s been years since you graduated. You don’t know anyone, but you can still make out the social groups and could find your way to the cafeteria with your eyes closed.

In a time when we have absolutely no idea what terrifying and confounding news we are going to wake up to tomorrow, for me, there is something familiar about watching terrifying (fictional) events that I understand. Even when some of those terrifying events don’t have happy endings. And even when some of those events include the death of children.

I won’t spoil the show, but you do witness grieving parents. As I realized that was the direction the storyline was turning, I wasn’t sure how I would respond. At different stages of my grief I have responded to child loss by turning a show or movie off and never watching it again. And at other times, I’ve sobbed, shed a tear or two, or even felt nothing at all.

Having written two books pertaining to grief and having read a bajillion others, I consider myself well-versed on the subject and can be quite critical of how death, dying, and grief are portrayed in media. So, when grieving parents are portrayed as desolate individuals with no will to live following the loss of their child, you can be sure to find me screaming at the TV. Did losing Adelaide suck harder than anything else in my life. Sure did. Were there moments I struggled to find reasons to go on? Moments, yes. But I am still living my life as fully as I’m able, and you know what? So are all the other parents that I know who have lost children.

And unfortunately, given my line of work, I know a lot of grieving parents.

So, when Dr. Robby (Noah Wyle) turns to the charge nurse, Dana Evans, (Katherine LaNasa) and says, “How do you get through the loss of a child?” I braced myself for her response.

“The same way you get through anything, by leaning on your friends and family.”

YES! THANK YOU! Ok, I was still screaming at the TV, but not angrily this time. Losing a child is terrible, but you do get through it “the same way you get through anything.” I felt seen and because of that, my loss and grief felt honored.

Also, bonus, I learned that a lumbar puncture, formerly known as spinal tap, is called that because they literally tap the spinal cord to get the spinal fluid. Kinda like tapping a maple tree for syrup. Adelaide had several lumbar punctures – but I was never in the room for them so had no idea what they actually looked like. It was really cool to learn something new about her medical procedures so many years later.

Everyone finds comfort in different places or ways. Perhaps mine is a little off-beat, but I’m ok with that. The world is a tough place right now for us feeling types and goodness knows we can use all the comfort we can get. To that end, please know that I am sending so much comfort and good vibes your way. One emergency department patient at a time.

ID: Kelly is wearing a pink tank top and red cardigan while reading a two-year-old Adelaide a book. Adelaide is wearing a purple hospital gown and is propped up against Kelly in a hospital bed. Various machines can be seen behind them.