Robin Williams and a pediatric patient -- 1997. 



Patch


The afternoon is a sleepy time in a children's hospital. A lot of the kids take naps and everything settles down a little until dinner. I sometimes find it the pefect time to sneak off to take a snooze myself. So, I didn't pay much attention when a small group of people came around the corner with a couple of red wagons. Like everyone else, I was groggy and accustomed to all the Christmas visitors. Besides, these visitors were, well, kind of boring -- they brought just a bunch of books and ball caps.

As they congregated, I went about my business of hanging an antibiotic. One of the university's public relations officers asked me questions about the child in the radiation room at the end of the hall.

"Can we go in there?" she asked

"Not anywhere near there if you're pregnant."

She was very noticeably with child.

"But, it it safe for him to stand at the door?"

She was talking about a man who stood with his back to me.

"Safer than flying for an hour in a plane."

I started into my diatribe about how most people don't know you accumulate a significant amount of radiation while flying, how the atmoshere is less protective at that altitude, about how -- and I caught myself sounding very boring. And I stopped talking.

I prepared my antibiotic.

Then, the man, the only man in the group, turns around and faces me.

I look him over. He's very short, very muscular, and VERY hairy.

"ROBIN WILLIAMS!!!" I exclaim and immediately put my hand out to shake.

"Hello, nice to meet you," he quietly says and shakes my hand.

Our conversation ends there.

Robin picks up a large children's book and walks over to the radiation room. Through a strategically placed mirror, he stands in the doorway and looks at the little girl laying in the bed. She's been in the same bed for half of the month of December. She's not allowed to go beyond the lead wall. Her parents may only visit a few minutes everyday.

Robin holds the book up to his chest. He props it up there for a few seconds and hardly says a word. Then, I think I hear, "I brought you a book."

Compared to Robin's voice, the patient's meek Guatalmalen Mom's voice booms, "Do you remember this man?"

The child looks a little bewildered.

"From the movies," the mom adds.

Then, the little girl nods gently.

And for fifteen minutes I can't even remember what day of the week it is.