I am truly honored to receive this award today. I would like to thank Marcia McManus for her generous and thoughtful introduction. This award was first presented to Ellen Martin, St. Vincent’s Hospital, whose service to both our State and National societies was admirable. Then to Ruby Greene, Long Island College Hospital, who is here with us today. It was my privilege and pleasure to present the award to Ruby — “A Hero in an Age of Superstars.” Sandy Burke, NYU Medical Center, was our third recipient. I will say more about Sandy later. Marcia McManus and our host, Sr. Joan Caldano, Calvary Hospital, were the fourth and fifth members of our society to earn the distinction — “Distinguished Member.” As I stand before you today, truly I feel that I stand on the shoulders of giants!

As I reflected on what remarks I might make, I realized that even though this hopefully will not be the last time I address our State Chapter, it might be the last time I have a “bully pulpit.” I realize that at this stage in my career (and my life) I should consider what contribution I may still make to our society and our profession. I believe that my role has become that of mentor to new Patient Representatives — to encourage them, as I was encouraged, to make a difference in the lives of their patients, to their institutions and to our Society. 

In the course of my career, I have been mentored by wise women. Some of them are in this room today:

Judy Valentine — who taught me what it means to be devoted to both our organization and our profession. Judy made sure that during my presidency in 1993, I was a responsible steward of our society’s assets. Judy, (in the words of Bob Dylan) “May you stay forever young.” Thank you, Judy.

Marcia McManus — who taught me about the importance of friendship among colleagues and to not be afraid of loving our patients. I hope that I will always be as good a friend to Marcia as she has been to me. Our friendship (we met at our national conference in Atlanta in 1988) has been inestimable in my growth as a Patient Representative. Thank you, Marcia.

Spencine Hendricks — (the newest member of my department at Coney Island Hospital) who reminds me daily that: “People will rarely remember what you did and they will almost never remember what you said – but they will always remember how you made them feel.” Thank you, Spencine.

Gretchen Harris — who taught me that you can go from HHC (Gretchen was Director of Patient Advocacy at Bellevue) to a Voluntary Hospital and not lose your soul! Thank you, Gretchen.

Ruby Greene — who taught me that a Patient Representative needs to be just as effective in the Board Room as at the bedside! Thank you, Ruby.

Sr. Joan Caldano – who taught me not only to see God in people but also to love God in people. Thank you, Joan.

Marisa Byer — Many of you remember Marisa. She was my right hand for 13 years. Marisa taught me to be less judgmental — something I have to struggle with daily. Marisa gave me a way to do this. She taught me to say the person’s name followed by “Beloved of God” before I went in to see them. How could I still be judgmental?

Sandy Burke — I am sorry that Sandy is unable to be with us today. It is Sandy who gave me the inspiration for my remarks this afternoon. One day in a casual conversation someone asked Sandy why she was a Patient Representative. She responded: “…for the richness of the emotions.” That seemingly offhand remark has remained with me over the years. Like a koan it has been the subject of much thought and reflection for me as my journey towards being an effective Patient Representative has really been a personal journey from the head to the heart.

They say that it is not uncommon for men in middle age to develop the feeling side of their personalities. Maybe it’s a combination of life experiences, becoming more comfortable with oneself, beginning to accept mortality and limitations – I don’t know. For me it has been entwined in my growth as a Patient Representative. When I began the Emergency Department Patient Representative program at Coney Island Hospital in 1986, I thought I knew all the answers. I thought I could help people simply by the force of my will or intellect. Gradually I began to realize that I could accomplish nothing without empathy, compassion and love. I remember a piece I wrote for the President’s Letter in 1993 about my encounter with a homeless woman, a former prostitute, in our ER. Some of you may remember it. We shared some coffee and tuna fish right from the tin. I recall sharing with you my sense of helplessness, my lack of anything to offer her, no quick fixes, no solutions…I felt powerless. Later I shared a poem I wrote about a dying patient named Charlotte C. and how I wished I could give her one of my days. I know that I still have a long way to go…but my journey has been guided and inspired by wise women — Patient Representatives. “…for the richness of the emotions.”

I would like to conclude my remarks this afternoon by sharing with you a story. It’s not original with me. It’s been around the Internet a few times and someone even told me it was made into a TV vignette (though I didn’t see it). It is arresting in its poignancy…

In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a Yeshiva that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools. At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?" The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that He seeks is in the way people react to this child." He then told the following story about his son Shaya: 

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Papa, do you think they will let me play?" Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son were chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging. Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning." Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya's teammates came up to Shaya and together the held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya. As the pitch came in Shaya and his teammate swung at the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first." Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shaya run home." Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team. "That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

How lucky we are as Patient Representatives to be able to reach out daily and touch the perfection of God in the poor, the suffering and those less fortunate…how lucky we are through our patients to be able to approach our level of God’s perfection. I know that this is why I am and why I will always be a Patient Representative. Thank you all for this honor today.
 

 

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