Takeaway
Caring for my daughter with alveolar hemorrhaging syndrome, I watched my other child quietly shoulder confusion and worry. It reminded me that exceptional pediatric care must extend compassion to siblings whose lives are also upended.
Creative Arts in Medicine | July 10, 2025 | 1 min read
By Miriam Colleran, MD, St. Brigid’s Hospice & Naas General Hospital, Ireland
The other child
You
are the one who gets left behind
again.
And yet,
You are small too;
I make the phone call,
it’s sorted—who will mind You.
You are quiet and uncomplaining
again,
a child yourself but paler now
than this morning,
uneasy,
aware of the procedure unfolding
in our home
again:
the cough,
the shortness of breath,
no blood, not yet,
hopefully no blood
but blood helps them to believe us.
Oxygen sats and pulse rate-
l keep an eye
on her oxygen and pulse rate.
I love You too but
we both know
what will come:
our hug,
my worried and
purposeful kiss to your forehead
and finally . . .
the words:
“Your sister is sick.
I have to bring her to the hospital.”
This poem is a fictionalized account shaped by many episodes when my younger daughter’s symptoms from alveolar hemorrhaging syndrome demanded urgent hospital care. It explores not only the fear and urgency that illness brings, but also the quieter, persistent impact on siblings—the “other child”—who must often wait, adapt, and absorb worry as family life bends to crisis. It is a tribute to their resilience and an acknowledgment of how chronic illness quietly reshapes the whole family, especially those who stand patiently at the margins.
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This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.