I want to share a story about my sister. She was born in Ukraine with level 3 Autism. Later, she became blind from a treatable condition after experiencing neglect and abuse. The orphanage led to hospitals. The hospitals did not provide her with quality care, making them scary and painful places.

Right before the pandemic hit, we brought my sister home to the US, where she was adopted into our family. Over the time she has been home, we have gotten to know her as the feisty and strong young girl she truly is. She does not like to be touched and prefers to spend her time on the cold, tiled kitchen floor, curled in a ball with her plush blanket. As you can imagine, her experiences and diagnoses make hospital stays brutal for her and those who love her. This is where her story crossed with Maya's.

I arrived at the Riley Children's Hospital PICU to find my sister intubated and agitated. There were a million questions in my mind, as well as a fair amount of fatigue. The nurse assigned to our room handled both with patience and a genuine smile. I relaxed enough to sleep, it being the middle of the night. After popping up to the alarms, I found the nurse fully attentive not only to the alarms but also to my sister's experience. She spoke kindly and gently, affirming to my sister that she was safe. At that point, I saw the first of many times, Maya skillfully decide what pain or sedation med was appropriate and administer it efficiently.

Often, she would change a glove or both when performing the multitude of tasks that must be done simultaneously in a setting like this. I began to trust her more than the other nurses, as her attention to detail matched my own. This feeling was continually affirmed as she would always explain what she was doing to my sister and me, accompanied by gentle words of encouragement and support. Small details of care, such as brushing her teeth when her mouth was dry, were performed frequently. Her sheets were sometimes changed multiple times a shift, as fluids from her OG tube leaked onto them.

Maya learned quickly when my sister was agitated and scared, as opposed to when she was getting comfortable. Maya could discern when D needed support staying safe and when giving her space was best. My sister needs her loved ones to advocate for her needs, even in the best of circumstances. So, you can imagine my relief in finding a person who understood and responded to her needs and wants as I did.

Often, a feeling of helplessness would creep over me. Here lay my sister, sick, scared, and fighting so hard that sedation became no easy feat. And as I noticed a small thing to improve her comfort, Maya would already be acting on it. Again, I was surprised at her openness to hear about D's wants and personality, and tailor her care to fit. Maya started her favorite movie without even being asked; she offered hot and cold packs (along with other things I didn't even know were options). She propped her legs with a knack that other nurses have not yet matched, bringing her knees high enough to guard her scarred belly, but not so high as to disturb the dressing. The tricky balances were always struck with grace.

As we spent the weekend together, it became clear D had gained an advocate I could trust. One who would notice the nuances of her care and respond accordingly. Maya stood her ground and affirmed my family and me as we faced the process of extubating. Again and again, we reiterated together that coming off sedation will be a grueling experience. We have to prepare. Maya listened to my anxious ramblings and came back with meaningful solutions. We will place her NG tubes and take out her Foley while sedated. We have mitts to slow her down from pulling out lines. We will both continue to tell the team she needs a plan for safe sedation when extubated. You see, Maya was there when D cried from fear when the tube came out, and was the one who was able to stand next to her when it went back in after almost an hour of restraining and fighting to keep my sister safe from herself. She saw my sister for who she was and told D how proud we were of her, how brave and strong she is. And I saw Maya's heart break with mine as we struggled with sedation. I saw her reserve, strong and steady, give my sister the best care possible while she writhed in bed, terrified and confused.

After finding some semblance of a baseline, Maya carefully redressed each line that had gotten bloody, remaking her bed with the same level of attention. She was so precise that I knew the day had been as painful for her as it had been for my sister. Maya was acting as more than a nurse; she was a friend. I've adored every nurse I've interacted with here at the PICU, but I felt a special weight when Maya left around 7 pm today. She only works weekends, and we hope to be out of the PICU by her next shift. I can't help but grieve the loss. I want Maya to get this award not just because she earned it, but because it is a way I can give a meaningful gift back to her. I may never see Maya again, but the impact she made on my sister's care will not be forgotten.