Aubrey Milunsky

Vicki, whom I had cared for since her days as an active toddler, had become an introspective but fun-loving teenager. She had also become painfully thin and I endearingly called her “Sausage,” which always made her laugh. She had, however, been wracked by a chronic cough increasingly productive of a yellow-green purulent sputum. Her intestinal malabsorption, mostly controlled by pancreatic enzyme supplements, did little to maintain her declining health. That was when the new drugs of today for cystic fibrosis were yet to be discovered.

 Her family, of limited means and education, did as much as they could, including the needed chest physical therapy of pounding on the chest to loosen the tenacious mucus. Her mother always brought Vicki for the clinic visits. Vicki insisted that her mother remain out of the office and exam room. Early on, I recognized she was actually protecting the feelings of her very anxious and worried mother.  As Vicki’s health deteriorated, her mother slowly withdrew, and her uncle would bring her to clinic. Her mother, however, would call me immediately after the visit with details and concern, with nary a judgmental word from me. The deep emotional pain parents experience seeing their child slowly dying from a chronic illness is indescribable, as is the imperceptible subconscious withdrawal.

 Over 25 years, 40 children with cystic fibrosis died under my care. I attended many wakes and funerals, and my heart broke over and over when parents hugged me as I apologized for failing them.

 Vicki died at 17 years of age.

 Some months later, I received the sculpture shown below, made by Vicki’s mother, and inscribed “Sausage” with the image of Vicki cradled by a caring hand.

I cried then, and have tears now.