June 2026 Honoree
Carlos Cornejo Hernandez, RN
To set the stage and share as much heart as possible on paper, it’s important that you know that I am an employee of NGHS. I am not a clinical employee, but I have deep relationships with nursing friends and family members in this profession.
On Thursday afternoon, my son, G, was in a terrible dirt bike accident. We were quickly taken into a trauma room in the ED, with all hands-on deck. My son was in severe pain and losing blood internally. He was trying to be brave, but he was scared. My son is 9 years old. As a mother, you switch into a different version of yourself so your children can’t see how afraid you truly are. No one teaches you how to do this; there is no manual for responding when your child is in a life‑threatening situation. I tried to stay calm, and I made it through with the support of the HSM ED team.
My son has a mentality much like mine—friendly to all but trusting very few. He is also deathly afraid of needles, something he unfortunately inherited from me. You would think that with so much pain, he wouldn’t care about a needle, but some fears don’t switch off. That changed when Carlos met G.
Carlos was calm and never forceful. He took time to explain what needed to be done, told G the truth—that it would hurt, but only for a second—and assured him that he could do it. He told him he believed in him, complimented his bravery, and spoke to him like a best friend. He met G exactly where he was. I witnessed my son calm down almost immediately. I witnessed him trust a complete stranger within seconds.
After the first IV, two more were needed. Each time, my son yelled, “Where is Carlos?” During moments of uncertainty as we waited for the helicopter to arrive, Carlos was right beside him.
G made it to CHOA and remained stable throughout the flight—praise Jesus. Wonderful staff at CHOA cared for us, but at every shift change and with every new nurse, my son still asked for Carlos. I think there is something to be said about that. We were at a children’s hospital filled with bubbly, positive staff offering popsicles around the clock, yet my boy asked for Carlos.
As we said our prayers last night (four days post‑accident), my son prayed for Carlos and thanked Jesus for making Carlos help save his life. Afterward, I asked G what it was about Carlos that helped him so much. He said, “When Carlos talked to me, it made me feel like I was the only person in the room, and it helped me calm down. Carlos wasn’t afraid when I looked in his eyes. I knew he really cared about me.” That is coming from a 9‑year‑old. What G felt was Carlos’ heart: a true, sincere, and genuine soul who wanted to help another.
Some people never get to say they are living out their calling. That is not the case for Carlos. He is living his purpose and making a difference in others' lives. What a blessing that is. Only a few people have earned G’s trust in seconds. Carlos, you will be a fan favorite in our house for the rest of G’s life. I will never forget how you handled yourself and made my boy feel like he could do anything, simply because of who you are. My words will never be able to explain my heart, but I hope my attempt captures the true recognition and appreciation of a mother's heart.
On Thursday afternoon, my son, G, was in a terrible dirt bike accident. We were quickly taken into a trauma room in the ED, with all hands-on deck. My son was in severe pain and losing blood internally. He was trying to be brave, but he was scared. My son is 9 years old. As a mother, you switch into a different version of yourself so your children can’t see how afraid you truly are. No one teaches you how to do this; there is no manual for responding when your child is in a life‑threatening situation. I tried to stay calm, and I made it through with the support of the HSM ED team.
My son has a mentality much like mine—friendly to all but trusting very few. He is also deathly afraid of needles, something he unfortunately inherited from me. You would think that with so much pain, he wouldn’t care about a needle, but some fears don’t switch off. That changed when Carlos met G.
Carlos was calm and never forceful. He took time to explain what needed to be done, told G the truth—that it would hurt, but only for a second—and assured him that he could do it. He told him he believed in him, complimented his bravery, and spoke to him like a best friend. He met G exactly where he was. I witnessed my son calm down almost immediately. I witnessed him trust a complete stranger within seconds.
After the first IV, two more were needed. Each time, my son yelled, “Where is Carlos?” During moments of uncertainty as we waited for the helicopter to arrive, Carlos was right beside him.
G made it to CHOA and remained stable throughout the flight—praise Jesus. Wonderful staff at CHOA cared for us, but at every shift change and with every new nurse, my son still asked for Carlos. I think there is something to be said about that. We were at a children’s hospital filled with bubbly, positive staff offering popsicles around the clock, yet my boy asked for Carlos.
As we said our prayers last night (four days post‑accident), my son prayed for Carlos and thanked Jesus for making Carlos help save his life. Afterward, I asked G what it was about Carlos that helped him so much. He said, “When Carlos talked to me, it made me feel like I was the only person in the room, and it helped me calm down. Carlos wasn’t afraid when I looked in his eyes. I knew he really cared about me.” That is coming from a 9‑year‑old. What G felt was Carlos’ heart: a true, sincere, and genuine soul who wanted to help another.
Some people never get to say they are living out their calling. That is not the case for Carlos. He is living his purpose and making a difference in others' lives. What a blessing that is. Only a few people have earned G’s trust in seconds. Carlos, you will be a fan favorite in our house for the rest of G’s life. I will never forget how you handled yourself and made my boy feel like he could do anything, simply because of who you are. My words will never be able to explain my heart, but I hope my attempt captures the true recognition and appreciation of a mother's heart.
Thank you, Carlos, for your exceptional compassion, advocacy, and dedication to your patients. You truly make a difference.
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