There's the 8 year old near drowning. Came in and we thought his spirit had already flown. Chest tubes, pressors, the whole nine. I was a tech at the time and was washing him up when he woke up. Later that week I took him out into the hall for his first walk, and he walked out of our unit to go home. No rehab, nothing.
There's the son of one of our own nurses. Was in a bad snowboarding accident, head injury and ended up trached following injury from a traumatic intubation. He used to come back to visit us and joke around with us about how funny his "trach voice" was. He just had reconstructive surgery and is doing just fine.
There's the little 9 year old paraplegic who reminded me that, despite our scars, we're still beautiful.
There's inspiration in death, too, sometimes. The mother of 6 kids who decided, after a 13 month struggle, to let her youngest go back to Jesus. He was a former 24-week preemie, and had every problem you could think of. When they found a huge cyst growing in his brain, she and her husband had the strength to take him off the vent and let his disease process take over. He died quietly, tucked into bed with his mom.
There's the ones who are so cheerful and so grateful, despite the fact that it takes us over a week to find the right diagnosis. We have one who's been back to visit 3 times since we discharged her, just to let us know that she's fine and back in school and thankful for all we've done.
And I'm inspired by the people I work with, too. We just had a couple really rough days at my work. It seemed like everyone was sick, and we were all pulled in 100 different directions. I didn't hear a single complaint, as everyone calmly went about doing what needed to be done. I love the teamwork in the PICU!
Welcome to the family, googabin! =)