Our Grandson Fought for His Breath

     Our two-month-old grandson Benjamin fought a battle for breath and won.     
     This past week he was carried by ambulance to the intensive care unit at a Denver hospital for children, where he struggled after a life-threatening virus attacked his lungs, leaving him fevered, congested, and panting.     
     All he could do was cough and cry, his big blue eyes asking “why?” as he peered at us through an oxygen mask that covered half his face.     
     We were on alien terrain. Tubes, probes, whirring machines, and monitors with blinking lights that create constantly changing graphs with indecipherable peaks and valleys.     
     I remembered what Mr. Rogers told children  - when they were scared, they should look for the helpers. We adults needed helpers here, too. And we found them. Specialists, nurses, and food service workers who answered questions, helped us get pillows and find a bathroom with a shower and hot water for tea as we settled in for the vigil. None of them postured for position; everyone worked as a team.They turned this strange place into a “human” space.     
     I’m thankful for those who care for all the kids I saw with burns, bandages, and bald heads from chemo. Kids with diseases with names as long as your arm. Kids whose moms and dads are frayed and fearful. All these helpers affirm that life is valuable.     
     Benjamin’s, too. After five days, he returned home, breathing on his own.     
     I thank God and wonder how I can be like those helpers on my little turf in life.