THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, January 9, 1996 TAG: 9601090027
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: By DEBRA GORDON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 158 lines
THEY WANDER the halls at Children's Hospital of The King's Daughters, ears pricked for the sound of a crying baby, a whining toddler. When they hear it, they swoop in with comforting arms, ready to rock a child, read a book out loud or watch yet another video.
There are about 60 of them - volunteers who spend their shifts not in the gift shop or at the information desk but on the patient floors. There, they provide much-needed relief to parents and staff who may not have the time, energy or inclination to give these sick children the other medicine they need - tender loving care.
Volunteeerrrr. Volunteeerrr.'' The call comes from Emanuela Johnson, a 4-year-old with AIDS. Johnson, a hospital veteran, may not know the volunteer's name but she knows that one is around. And that if she calls long enough, one will come read her a story or watch a movie with her.
On this Wednesday night, the volunteer on duty on the seventh floor is Dianna Nolette, 30, a mother of four from Chesapeake.
She knows Emanuela well from the girl's previous visits to the unit. And she knows enough not to coddle the sometimes-demanding preschooler.
``I'm coming,'' Nolette calls back to Emanuela as she passes her room, ``but first I have to visit this baby.''
The baby, 9-month-old Nicole Collins, has been in the hospital three days with bacterial meningitis. Her parents have kept vigil the entire time, but they are exhausted and have gone down to the cafeteria for dinner.
Left alone in a strange place, Nicole is frightened - rightly so - and it's up to Nolette to calm her fears and coax a smile.
She wipes the baby's face with a damp paper towel, murmuring to her the entire time: ``You're so pretty. You're so cute.''
And Nicole stops crying. Fascinated with this dark-haired stranger, she pulls herself up in her crib and stares.
Despite spending all day at home with her own children - ages 2 to 11 - Nolette finds the energy to spend one night a week at Children's Hospital mothering strangers' children.
One reason she does it, says this born-again Christian woman, is because it's a way to serve God. Another is because she can't stand the idea of a child's being in the hospital alone.
``I feel like I'm helping someone who might not get touched,'' Nolette says. ``Everyone has a job or something in their heart that they're supposed to do. This is what I'm supposed to do.''
From the hall comes Emanuela's plaintive cry again: ``Volunteeer, volunteeer. Come here. Please read me, volunteer. ''
Nicole is quiet, so Nolette heads down the hall. She slips on a pale-yellow paper gown and rubber gloves, then goes into Emanuela's darkened room.
Now the request has changed.
``I want you to watch a movie with me.''
``You need a tissue first,'' Nolette says, eyeing Emanuela's runny nose.
``I don't need one,'' Emanuela complains, even as Nolette is wiping her face.
The two settle in to watch the video ``Monkey Trouble,'' which both have seen several times before.
Suddenly, apropos of nothing, Emanuela blurts out, ``I want my mommy.''
``I know sweetheart,'' Nolette says, smoothing the girl's hair back. ``I'm sure she'll come tomorrow.''
About 350 volunteers work throughout Children's Hospital every month in areas ranging from accounting to nutrition to the outpatient clinics and patient floors. Most are women, but there the similarities end. Some are in college, others are retired or are homemakers, some work full-time and squeeze in their volunteer hours at night and on the weekends.
Like Nolette, they come because they want to help, says volunteer supervisor Nancy Elliott. ``Volunteers have always been necessary in any type of organization where you're helping others,'' she says. ``It shows a commitment on the part of the people in the community who want to do something for the welfare of others.''
The volunteers on the patient floors serve a special purpose, she says.
When adults are hospitalized, they can while away the dead hours watching television or reading. They usually know where they are, why they're there and approximately when they're going home.
But when children are hospitalized, the familiar is gone. Suddenly, they're in a strange place, with strangers sticking needles into them, lights on at all hours, and weird clicks and beeps from machines. Often, their parents can't be with them all the time. The parents may have other children at home. Or live too far away. Or need a break. Or, in some sad cases, simply don't care.
That's where the volunteers come in.
``Oh, God, yes,'' says registered nurse Susan Zimmerman when asked if the volunteer on duty this Tuesday morning, 61-year-old Patsy Dyer, is a big help.
``She can give the tender loving care that I can't,'' Zimmerman says. ``She helps with the feedings, with playing, spending time with them. Sometimes you need someone to just sit in the room. She's a blessing, a godsend and a lifesaver.''
Dyer, 61, began volunteering at the hospital nine years ago when the three children for whom she had provided paid day care didn't need her any more. Her husband strongly suggested she'd done enough day care, so Dyer went looking for other children she could help.
She found them at Children's Hospital. She spends three days a week, five hours a day at the hospital. Her neighbor accuses her of providing ``free baby-sitting.'' Dyer sees it another way.
``I get a lot out of it. A lot of rewards,'' she says.
From 22-month-old Stephanie Whisler, who was hospitalized in late December with a respiratory infection, Dyer gets the satisfaction of quieting a very scared, very lonely baby.
Dyer, a grandmother with steel-gray hair and oversized, tinted glasses, holds the miserable child in her arms, rocking slowly, singing ``Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'' in a high-pitched voice.
Finally, Stephanie stops crying and begins sucking her thumb. Dyer looks up, saying, ``I just enjoy every bit of it.''
As does Gay Shulman, of Virginia Beach.
Shulman, 60, has been volunteering in one way or another for the hospital for the past 25 years. Most of that time she spent on the board of The King's Daughters, the hospital's founding and fund-raising organization.
Members weren't allowed to volunteer in the hospital while serving on the board. So when Shulman left the board three years ago, the first place she headed was the hospital's volunteer office.
Don't put her in the gift shop, she told the staff there. She wanted to hold the babies.
Shulman never had any children of her own, so the joy she receives from rocking infants, comforting a scared 3-year-old or reading a story to a bored third-grader provides her pure pleasure.
As she wanders the halls, she talks about why she spends nearly every Tuesday at the hospital. A lot of people couldn't do this, she says. ``They say it's depressing to be with sick babies and children.''
Although she admits that it is sad to see sick children, she's happy they're getting the best care they can. And the volunteering, she says, ``does more for me than for them.''
``We all need to feel needed. I've always wanted to be with children. They're nice and wonderful,'' she says with a laugh. ``Tuesdays are my favorite day of the week.''
It gets difficult when she sees children who are abused by family or strangers.
``There are so many who want children that it's hard to understand how someone could abuse their own child,'' she says, her eyes reddening.
The AIDS babies also affect her. ``You pray for a miracle,'' she says, ``but I don't think that will come soon enough.''
Then she cocks her head. ``Do I hear someone? Does someone need me?'' she asks out loud.
Four-year-old Tasia Williams of Norfolk lies in the room alone, the cartoons on the television above her ignored. She has big, sad eyes and a mournful lip. Clearly, she's not happy.
Shulman chatters to the girl as she washes her hands: ``How are you doing? Tell me your name, darling. Do you have any brothers or sisters?''
Tasia coughs, a deep, rasping sound that is the result of the asthma attack that landed her in the hospital.
``Put your hand over your mouth, sweetheart,'' Shulman coaxes, her mothering instincts showing.
After a few minutes, Tasia's attention is caught by the television, and, convinced that her young patient is, for the moment, content, Shulman wanders out to find another child in need. ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photos]
BILL TIERNAN/Staff
TOP: Children's Hospital of The King's Daughters volunteer Patsy
Dyer holds 22-month-old Stephanie Whisler.
ABOVE: Gay Shulman of Virginia Beach sits with 4-year-old Tasia
Williams.
by CNB