As she glances at her Facebook page one evening, Meghan Martin, M.D., recalls a story she heard that day from a colleague in the Emergency Center (EC) at Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hospital.
It was about a toddler on the hospital’s cancer floor with a tumor on his nose. The story comes back to her as she scans a childhood friend’s page, detailing her son’s nasopharyngeal rhabdomyosarcoma—a nose tumor. The stories match. Martin immediately reaches out to the family. She had just treated Clayton a few months earlier in the EC after he hit his head.
Martin decides to rally the troops to support her friend, a nurse at Trinity Hospital.
To help with the costs of care, travel and missed work, and to increase support for their beloved son during his ordeal, Clayton’s parents are selling gray “Clayton’s Crew” T-shirts. Martin persuades about 30 of her coworkers in the EC to buy shirts in support of the little boy struggling through treatment six floors above them.
Love for a sick child doesn’t require a medical degree or blood relations. Just a little compassion.
Clayton is now in remission. His hair is coming back. The EC team still proudly wears their shirts supporting a little boy most never even met.
Because that’s how a children’s hospital rolls.
As the vaccine comes to the frontline workers, a world of possibilities begins to open up.
For Gavin, the hospital isn’t all about challenges and adversity. It’s about giving joy to others.
The holidays she has altered to care for kids are too many to count, but as she retires, she leaves much for patients and colleagues to be thankful.
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