Tufts Blogs

I'm not sure if the general population gets the Tufts Community Health Program newsletter, so I thought you guys might be interested to hear about the super stellar internship I did this past summer, via the article I wrote for them! Enjoyyyyyy. [Disclaimer: all the super fun pictures that go along with my super fun article came from the super colorful Floating Hospital website, and hence consent has been given, and they conform to HIPAA. Yay!]

Like most people, I hadn't heard of child life before actually beginning work in the Tufts Medical Center child life department this summer. Sure, the title "child life specialist" had come up on some data entry I'd done for the hospital, but it sounded more like a new age therapist than a bona fide profession. Even when I was applying for the position of summer intern, I couldn’t begin to guess what my job would entail. My interview was somewhat enlightening, as it took place in Ace’s Place, the Tufts Floating Hospital for Children’s playroom. The playroom was and is full to the brim with fun stuff – we even have parents express their desire to spend more time playing and crafting with us. From table hockey and pool to board games and jigsaw puzzles, cars and dolls to arts and crafts, and even movies and CDs, the playroom contains every possible distraction and comfort technique you can imagine. That was my first clue: in some way, shape, or form, our job is to make kids happier.

My first week clarified almost every other question I had. Child life specialists are the yang to physicians and nurses’ yin. Where health care professionals are worried about healing the sick and fixing damaged bodies, child life specialists are entirely focused on the emotional well-being of pediatric patients and their parents. The field is based on the very basic premise that spending time in the hospital is hard. It’s a stressful situation in a stressful environment, surrounded by other people’s similarly stressful situations. Very few people, even chronically ill repeat visitors, enjoy trips to the hospital, but kids are kids, and they have the same needs and wants, regardless of the health and functionality of their bodies. Child life specialists are hyperaware of the way different children react to and cope with the fear and pain associated with being hospitalized, and their goal is to ease the process as much as possible. Not surprisingly, there are as many methods of care and comfort as there are scared and unhappy children. Talking, playing, distracting, and interacting, with or without friends or family, all are techniques which child life specialists employ to ease children through difficult times. The most remarkable thing is how logical and simple most child life tools truly are.

One morning, while I was doing my rounds on the inpatient floor, I heard a young boy screaming, wailing, and all-around causing a ruckus. To my surprise, few to no health care providers leapt to his aid, working, I believe, on the assumption that whomever was with him could handle the strain. When I learned the clearly painful and terrifying event would occur every six hours, I waited for his harried ophthalmologist to step out, and immediately recommended that she call for a child life specialist before the next procedure began. Six hours later, we received a call asking for help. With no prior knowledge of the child and no time to build a strong rapport, Andrea Pappaconstantinou, director of child life, grabbed some toys and headed down to help. When she returned, it was with profuse thanks and compliments from the doctors she’d helped, so I was naturally curious what magical techniques she’d employed to calm a clearly frantic patient. What she told me was shocking in its simplicity. She had every doctor, nurse, and technician introduce themselves to the boy by their first name. Everyone who was to touch him had to first say what they’d be doing, why, and, with complete honesty, whether or not it would hurt. His mother was allowed to hold his hand through the whole thing, and if he asked, he could be given a break, on the understanding that the procedure would need to be finished, one way or another. No part of these instructions required any sort of magical knowledge of the inner workings of children, only the understanding that children require a little more explanation than adults, and the willingness to make the child, if not physically comfortable, then emotionally so.

Such an emphasis on caring and communication is what sets child life apart from other health care-related professions. Despite a desire to help and heal, the education and technical know-how physicians and technicians must have can often overshadow the needs of the patient as an individual. Working in child life gave me an immense appreciation for how much can be done to improve the hospital experience for children. Before this summer, I felt that the distress and discomfort of being hospitalized could only be marginally alleviated, but child life truly has the ability to make hospital visits, if not fun, then certainly low-stress. Though I have a keen eye towards practicing pediatric medicine in the future, I firmly believe that the lessons I will take away from my internship are universally applicable. Children are intelligent, aware, and responsive to their surroundings, and with a little effort and education, proper and intentional communication makes life easier for both them and any adults with whom they interact.