Sam was a 17-year-old who had been admitted following a major traumatic leg injury. The surgical teams were trying to save his leg.

A colleague asked me to ”pop in” on him, since he was having a hard time coping. Frankly, he was completely bummed out.

Sam and his mom were together in his room waiting to go to OR. I introduced myself as a nurse working with the pain management/spiritual care team. Conversation was stiff but polite. Sam made no eye contact with me at all.

Building relationships takes time.

photo courtesy of author

Following his procedure, I made a point of stopping by to visit almost every day. Mom had warmed up to me—Sam just a bit. It was an isolating time in the hospital. Visitors were not allowed, except for a single family member for pediatric patients, and the contacts with staff were often task focused and purposeful. One afternoon, I saw mom sitting in the hallway talking on her cell phone, crying. So I waited.

When she ended her call, I asked if she’d like some company. Our conversation found its way from the hospital to the kitchen, stopping along the way as we shared family and shopping tidbits. She laughed and we connected. I also learned a bit about Sam.

Sam was a bright guy, quiet, with a flair for photography. He also enjoyed fishing and had a big fish tank at home. The next time I went in to see Sam I asked him about his fish tank. It was the longest conversation we’d had so far.

On my phone I had a few pictures that a friend had shared with me from his underwater dives. There was one in particular of sea coral that I liked. I showed it to Sam and he was amazed.

Soon thereafter there was an astronomical event—a Super Pink Moon. Fortunately, I had taken a picture of it. I shared it with both Sam and his mom, who were as wowed by it as I’d been. The moon made us smile. He asked me for a copy of both the sea coral and the super moon, which I gladly shared.

Although Sam’s leg had been saved and the outcome was considered favorable, he was still struggling with adjusting to the impacts of his injury.

Slow healing, first steps.

After multiple surgeries, he had been fairly restricted, but now he was beginning to walk. I suggested that Sam let his mom take a picture of him he walked. I thought having a photographic journal of progress might be a powerful inspiration. But mom was hesitant and Sam silent on the idea.

About a week later, Sam’s mom stopped me in the hall one morning and showed me that she had taken a few photos of Sam as he was moving along. She said that he had sent them to his friend. He was walking. He was healing. Slowly he was coming around. I was through the moon!

Healing is hard work. Coming to terms with changes in physical abilities, body image, and potential alterations in lifestyle, even if temporary, can be difficult. Finding ways to demonstrate support and keeping the communication channel open to help foster a caring environment can be challenging.

In this case, I think we got lucky. Sam had a lot of support from his family and the staff. Perhaps turning the corner was just part of his natural healing timeline. But I was truly grateful for the opportunity to observe it.

Many weeks after his discharge, I received a message from Sam’s mom. She included an image of Sam with a big bright moon hanging in the background.

I guess it’s true a picture speaks a thousand words.

Barbara Wukovits, BSN, RN, BC, is director of alternative pain management services in the Department of Anesthesiology, Critical Care, and Pain Management at the Hospital for Special Surgery, New York City. She’s the author of the September Reflections essay in AJN, “My Pocket of Care.”