The Kind of Care You Never Forget

Something profound happened in our lives today.

After battling with insurance over extraordinarily high medication costs and my son’s dermatology office advocating for him to remain on the only medication that has truly helped him in thirteen years, his nurse Cindy found a way to make sure he could continue receiving it.

And I have spent most of today emotional over the kindness of people who chose to care deeply about my son.

Over the years, we have spent more time than I could ever calculate in doctors’ offices, urgent cares, hospitals, labs, and specialists’ offices—not only with my son, but with my daughter, my mother, my mother-in-law, and even myself.

And I can honestly say it is rare to find people who consistently go beyond what is required of them.

People like this deserve to be recognized.

By the time we found California Dermatology Group, we already knew what it felt like to be rushed through, overlooked, or made to feel like complicated care was inconvenient.

And then we found Cindy and Sean.

From the very beginning, they treated my son with patience, gentleness, and compassion.

Not as a difficult patient.

Not as a time slot.

But as a teenager who was scared, suffering, and trying his best.

When my son first came to them, his eczema was severe enough that he rarely looked people in the eye.

Sean recently acknowledged how far he has come and said he still remembers that version of him.

Withdrawn.

Quiet.

Embarrassed.

My son also had a significant needle phobia and needed injections twice a month—something that was too overwhelming for him to manage at home.

But after they learned about his fear, they never brought attention to it again.

There was no shaming.

No pressure.

Only encouragement.

Praise for how well he was doing.

Recognition that each visit was becoming a little easier for him.

They always moved at his pace.

Always smiling.

Always welcoming.

Always genuinely happy to see him.

And over time, something beautiful happened.

The boy who once barely looked them in the eye slowly became a teenager who smiled when he walked in, talked with them about his healing and his life, and trusted the people caring for him.

I have seen tears well in their eyes while talking about how far he has come.

Real concern for how he was doing.

True happiness as we all watched him heal.

This medication is the first thing in thirteen years that has ever truly helped him.

The first thing that helped him finally sleep a bit better at night.

The first thing that stopped the constant infections.

The first thing that gave him relief after years of severe eczema covering nearly his entire body.

The first thing that gave him the ability to just be sixteen.

To see friends again.

To laugh again.

To stop hiding in his room.

Last summer, during one of his worst flare-ups ever, he spent much of the summer in bed because the pain and itching were unbearable. He did not want to see friends. Some days he barely wanted us to come into his room.

Today felt like the opposite of that.

When I got the phone call, I think my mind went into shock before my heart could catch up to the relief and gratitude I was feeling.

It was not until after I hung up and sat quietly for a minute that the reality of it finally hit me.

Then I cried from relief before I could even speak.

Then I cried again while telling my son.

And again when I told his dad, who answered the phone and became terrified because I was crying too hard to get the words out.

I think sometimes we underestimate the impact people can have simply by treating others with humanity.

Healthcare is not only medicine.

Sometimes it is kindness.

Patience.

Advocacy.

A familiar smile when someone is afraid.

A person willing to keep trying because they understand what is at stake.

There are people who walk beside us during the hardest seasons of our lives,

and we never forget them.

That is what Cindy and Sean have become for our family.

And I will forever be grateful for them.

For their compassion.

For their advocacy.

For seeing my son not just as a patient—

but as a person who mattered.

Today reminded me that even in broken systems,

there are still extraordinary people quietly changing lives every single day.

And sometimes, if we are very lucky, we find our way to them.

Reflection

Sometimes taking Our Health in Our Hands does not mean having all the answers.

Sometimes it means continuing to ask questions.

Continuing to advocate.

Continuing to search until we find the people who truly listen.

Over the years, I have learned that the right provider can change everything.

Not only through medicine—

but through compassion, patience, encouragement, and the willingness to genuinely care.

The people who walk beside us during hard seasons matter deeply.

And sometimes healing begins the moment we finally feel seen.

A Gentle Practice

Take a moment to reflect on the people who have helped carry you through difficult seasons.

Who made you feel safe?

Who listened when you felt unheard?

Who treated you or someone you love with genuine compassion?

If you are still searching for that kind of care, let this be your reminder not to settle.

Sometimes taking our health in our hands means continuing to advocate until we find the right support, the right environment, and the right people to walk beside us.

You are always welcome here.

WGG