After his son spent the first 2 1/2 months of his life in intensive care, Robert Hicks had to share his experience with the people who cared for him.

In a small conference room in Hopkins Children’s, Robert Hicks Jr. tells a group of pediatric nurses about Sept. 6, 2006, the day his life began to change. All seemed well when he took his wife to Howard County General Hospital in Columbia, Md., to give birth to their son. But when the newborn showed signs of aspirating meconium – the green fecal material produced in the intestines before birth – he was rushed to the hospital’s intensive care unit. There Hicks found his son, Robert Hicks III, on a respirator.

When the infant was transferred to Hopkins Children’s, Hicks felt confident. But if his son needed Hopkins, he also thought, he must be very sick. He was. The diagnosis was potentially fatal – persistent pulmonary hypertension due to breathing meconium into his lungs.

The months that followed would be a hellish rollercoaster ride for Hicks – so hellish that he felt compelled to share his experience with Hopkins Children’s staff even after his son was discharged. He had learned about himself as a parent in a medical crisis, and how clinicians communicated with him – “I just felt there were things other parents, doctors and nurses should know.”

A physician laid out the course of treatment for his son, which included ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation, considered the most effective treatment for persistent pulmonary hypertension. ECMO oxygenates and heals tissue while allowing the lungs and pulmonary valves to recover from the toxic effects of the meconium. But for Hicks, ECMO was just another medical term he couldn’t comprehend: “I’m hurting, withdrawing, and now we’re talking about ECMO.”

Seeing several intravenous lines threaded into his son, and his body vibrating from the ECMO machine, made matters worse. Nurses met with Hicks and asked if he had any questions. But he didn’t know what questions to ask.

“When I saw his body oscillate, I needed someone to decrease the distress of seeing that,” Hicks said.

As the days passed in the PICU, Hicks did learn more about his son’s condition and treatment. He formed relationships with the staff, who updated him daily by phone or in person. He ate with them, he shed tears with them. And when his son was discharged from the pediatric intensive care unit to a medical/surgical bed, Hicks was invited to become part of the team. He felt heard: “That was worth a world of good. I wasn’t just a crazed parent.”

Indeed, Hicks learned how to interpret his son’s monitors, and read everything he could about the enemy attacking his son and ECMO, the weapon that could defeat it. Looking into the eyes of the pediatric nurses in the conference room, Hicks said, “I’m blessed that my son survived, but there were days I didn’t know if he’d make it. It’s people like you who got me through.”