To the additional Care Team

Dear Additional Care Team,

This letter goes out to Child Life, Home Nursing, and every member of the additional care teams who stepped into my life and carried pieces of it so faithfully over the years.

Thank you for caring about me as a person long before you cared about me as a patient.

There is something profoundly sacred about the people who walk into hard places willingly. The people who are not intimidated by pain, exhaustion, fear, or uncertainty. The people who enter hospital rooms day after day and somehow still choose gentleness. Still choose joy. Still choose compassion.

You were those people for me.

Especially during COVID.

At 21 years old, isolated in a children’s hospital for months, the loneliness could have swallowed me whole. The world outside had stopped. Doors stayed closed. Visitors disappeared. Days blurred together in ways that made time feel endless. Isolation does something strange to a person. It slowly tries to convince you that you are forgotten.

But you refused to let that happen.

You came into those rooms carrying more than supplies, activities, games, snacks, crafts, and distractions. You carried humanity back into spaces that felt painfully sterile and lonely. You reminded me there was still life happening inside those walls. You reminded me there was still joy worth fighting for.

And maybe one of the greatest gifts you gave me was this:

You allowed me to still be young.

Even at 21. Even surrounded by monitors and medications. Even during exhausting recovery. Even in a children’s hospital.

You reminded me that there was nothing shameful about needing comfort, laughter, creativity, or care. You made space for silliness in the middle of suffering. You gave me moments where I could simply exist as myself again instead of constantly feeling like a medical case to be managed.

That mattered more than you will probably ever know.

Thank you to the Palliative Care team that made sure everyone was on the same page so I could get to be where I am without complications and deeper challenges. For those outside the hospital who still ensured we had a great support team, the social workers who came to the school or home to ensure transition went smooth. You made a deep impact.

You showed up not only for the easy moments, but for all of it.

The painful days. The discouraging days. The exhausting days. The overwhelming days.

And you never flinched.

You walked into rooms where fear already existed and somehow made those spaces feel softer. Safer. More human. You helped carry dignity into places where illness can so easily strip it away.

Thank you for advocating for me. For listening. For paying attention to the little things. For recognizing needs before I even knew how to voice them. For helping me navigate college, home care, hospital stays, and the complicated in-between spaces of trying to build a life while constantly healing.

You reminded me over and over again that I was still worthy of joy, dignity, adventure, growth, and tenderness.

Not once did you make me feel like I was “too much.”

And after years of medical experiences, that kind of care leaves a permanent mark on a person.

Some people will never fully understand how life-changing it is to encounter caregivers who truly see you. Who remember your personality. Your interests. Your fears. Your dreams. The people who recognize that healing is not only physical, but emotional and deeply human too.

You gave me strength in ways you may never completely realize.

Not only because you helped me survive difficult seasons, but because you helped preserve pieces of who I was inside them.

Thank you for every moment of kindness that interrupted fear. Thank you for every ounce of energy poured into helping me keep going. Thank you for protecting joy in seasons where it could have disappeared so easily. And thank you for proving that compassion is one of the most powerful forms of healing in this world.

With endless gratitude,

Someone Forever Changed by Your Care