Chapter 15 - THE DAY ROOM NINE FOUND ITS VOICE
One year after the night I met Nathaniel Reed, St. Catherine's opened a new patient communication center.
It wasn't named after a donor.
Or a hospital executive.
It was named after the people it was designed to serve.
The Room Nine Communication Initiative.
The program expanded access to qualified interpreters, assistive communication tools, staff education, and patient advocacy services.
Nathaniel attended the opening.
Evelyn stood beside him.
I stood near the entrance, wearing my nursing badge.
A little girl approached with her mother.
She was deaf.
Her mother looked nervous.
I crouched.
Then signed:
Hello. My name is Noelle.
The girl's eyes widened.
She smiled.
You sign?
I nodded.
Yes.
She laughed.
Then signed:
Good.
I felt tears rise.
Across the room, Nathaniel watched us.
His expression softened.
Later, during the ceremony, he approached me.
Do you remember the first thing I asked you?
I smiled.
Where did this hospital find you?
He laughed silently.
Then signed:
I think I know the answer now.
I raised an eyebrow.
Where?
He smiled.
Exactly where you were needed.
I swallowed.
Then looked around the room.
At the interpreters.
The patients.
The nurses learning new skills.
The families who no longer had to fight simply to be understood.
I thought about my father.
My mother.
The frightened rookie nurse who had walked into Room Nine expecting humiliation.
And the decorated veteran who had been called combative because nobody had bothered to communicate with him.
I smiled.
Sometimes the most important thing a nurse can do isn't speak.
May you like
It's listen.
And sometimes, listening is what finally gives someone back their voice.
