Luca Nicot works as a pediatrician in a palliative care unit for children in Munich and shares his experiences on how being present in times of suffering can provide comfort.
When we think of children in palliative care situations, many of us initially associate feelings of sadness, hopelessness, and despair. However, my experience with children in palliative care and their families is so far removed from this idea that I would like to share what moves and inspires me about this work, including in my role as a resident pediatrician.
The Latin word pallium, from which palliative medicine takes its name, means “cloak,” “cape,” or “protective garment.” This term vividly and aptly describes the goal of our medical, nursing, psychosocial, and existential support. Unlike in adult hospice care, the majority of children receiving palliative care are not in the acute dying process. Rather, they often live for years with life-limiting illnesses, have multiple physical and mental impairments, and are rarely able to express themselves verbally or communicate with their environment.
Time and time again, I am deeply moved by the experiences of these parents, whose lives are completely turned upside down when their children receive a life-shortening diagnosis. They often begin to see everything with new eyes. Without wanting to downplay or deny their suffering and despair, they begin to live with a hope that at first seemed foreign to me. The goal in life is no longer a high school diploma, a good college degree, or a prestigious career—none of which will ever become a reality. Instead, the parents’ goal for their children is focused on the present: on presence, devotion, and love.
For me, this means that my task is to be like a protective and comforting presence—a presence that envelops the child and his family and gives them security and comfort. This form of presence also determines the extent of our humanity. Accepting suffering does not mean explaining or eliminating it, but sharing in it—so that the suffering of others also becomes my own. Only in this shared suffering can comfort arise: not as a resolution of loneliness through words, but as a sense of togetherness that carries the suffering from within.
Luca Nicot, Germany, resident pediatrician and fellow of the Alfred Delp Study Network of the Jesuits in Central Europe (ECE).