I had twin girls in 2017 at 25 weeks gestation. We soon became a permanent fixture at Stanford on day 10 of life when A was transferred to Stanford from CPMC, she had been diagnosed with TEF.
I became very familiar with the walls and routes within the facility. We were there before the new ward opened up and after, and we came to know the staff. There were some that stood out more than others, Brent is one of them.
I came to know Brent on our last visit to Stanford. He may have worked with A in times past, but this is when I was able to know him and his character. He always greeted me with respect. I knew I was part of the team when Brent was on. I felt safe and I knew my girl was safe when Brent was on. He was thorough in his work with A, he was knowledgeable and could explain to me what was going on in a way I understood. He didn't speak over my head and he was straightforward, something I will always appreciate.
Brent is kind and gentle. He was kind when my other children came to visit, he would be soft-spoken when necessary.
There was one particular shift that stands out for me. I was sitting there, I don't remember if it was a day or night shift, everything gets blurry when you "live" at Stanford. I believe he was her primary nurse that day, I was sitting in the back of the room, like I do, a fixture on the wall, observing, watching, standing guard essentially, because that's all a parent can do when everything is out of hand.
Brent was doing his thing, friendly to his co-workers, polite and kind, always willing to help, saying hello to everyone as they passed. I sat in the back, my head going through everything that was going to go wrong with our girl, knowing that her time here on this planet would be shorter than I wanted. I was quiet, I'm sure everyone knew and got it, my eyes were always puffy from constant crying and worrying and no sleep.
I don't know what started the conversation, he told me a story, a story about when he was a teenager and he got into a lot of trouble, he had thrown rocks up on the neighbor's roof. Then when the police came, he lied and said it wasn't him (however he was caught because his accomplice hold the truth). Brent's parents grounded him, not just for days, but for months. That included being fed in his room.
The story might seem trivial. You might be like, "yep, that's Brent". And I can get that, Brent is the person on the team who helps and "fills in the holes". I don't mean that in a negative way, again, this is just my observation sitting back and watching from the back of the room. He was always engaging with his peers, willing to help and support them.
In that moment, I don't know if he knew this, it was the first time in weeks that I laughed, a belly laugh like Santa Claus, full of joy, a child laughing because it was funny. I laughed until I cried and then I laughed more.
In that space of time, I was so grateful to his parents for grounding him and his willingness to tell me his story. I became human again, I felt again, all because he engaged with me about something about himself. Maybe it was to get me out of my head or lift my burden for a moment. I don't know the answer really, all I know is I laughed, I laughed hard. And in that moment, my girl, completely paralyzed, open chest, on ECMO, heard her mom laugh.
That was a gift to both of us. I will always be grateful to Brent for helping me laugh that day. I know A heard me, I would like to think it helped her moving on and transitioning, knowing her mom would find her laugh again, even in the darkest moments of life.