Fire dances in Roberto's dark brown, 2-year-old eyes. His chin is set firmly in defiance -- but his expression gives away a hint of fear.
Roberto's grandmother brought him to Memorial Hospital in South Bend after a small cut on his ankle became infected. By the time Roberto arrived, the poison had spread throughout his body.
Antibiotics work wonders on such ailments, and Roberto will be fine in a few days. But wonder drugs can't heal what Roberto's young mind perceives as his greatest problem: He is alone in a strange place. His mother lives in Florida and can't make the trip north to comfort her son. Grandma does the best she can, but she can't stay at the hospital with him 24 hours a day.
Roberto speaks no English and only a little Spanish. As Notre Dame senior Colleen Cahill walks into his room, he is using an internationally understood language -- he's crying. Colleen smiles at the boy and holds out a toy. "Mira," she says. ("Look.")
Roberto's hoarse wails subside. He murmurs, "Da." ("Give.")
Colleen hands over the toy. Through his tears, Roberto makes another wish. Colleen does not have to translate this time: "Mama," he says brokenly. Colleen delivers the medicine: a big hug for Roberto.
The exchange takes only a few moments, but Roberto is no longer defiant. He is playful. He is hungry. Doctors at Memorial Hospital have published studies that predict Roberto will also heal faster, thanks to what they call "tactile stimulation" -- a hug.
Colleen volunteers two hours a week in this program, aptly called HUGS (Helpful Undergraduate Students). She's willing to give more time, but since more than 200 students are in the program, limits had to be set.
Next fall, Colleen plans to start medical school in New York and she hopes to specialize in pediatrics. HUGS gives her a chance to see the challenges she'll face. "I just like to see children get well," she says, "and this is one way that I can help."
Memorial Hospital for some time has allowed HUGS students to visit children in the pediatrics and pediatric intensive care units. Recently the hospital opened its neonatal intensive care unit to the program as well. That's where the going gets tough for Colleen and others.
A 3-week-old "preemie" baby named Kayla lies motionless on a small elevated bed surrounded by monitors and technological wizardry. She is not crying because she can't. Tracheotomy tubes help most of these babies breathe, but the tubes bypass their vocal chords, leaving the room eerily silent except for the chirp of electronic warning devices and the chatter of computer printers.
These infants are, in many cases, too fragile to be lifted and held. But they can be lovingly caressed, and that's what Colleen does as she whispers quietly to Kayla.
It is not Colleen's first effort to help sick children. Last summer she volunteered with medical missionaries in the Dominican Republic. That's where she became proficient in Spanish, a big help with Roberto. She also spent part of her junior year working with impoverished Appalachian families through Notre Dame's Center for Social Concerns. "I never would have believed such conditions existed within our national borders," she says.
She sees similar needs at another of her community service projects. Along with the HUGS program, Colleen volunteers at the Saint Joseph's Chapin Street Health Center in South Bend -- a facility providing free medical care to people who fall through the cracks of Medicaid and Medicare.
On a typical day, Colleen helps the physicians with their medical records and assists patients who have unusual needs. But one of her pre-holiday visits in December was purely elfin. She filled a minivan with Christmas gifts to deliver to the clinic. The gifts were for children who participate in Slice of Life, the center's effort to raise the academic potential of poor school-aged youngsters. Private citizens and pharmaceutical companies donated the gifts, and Colleen and other volunteers at the Center for Social Concerns spent a few nights wrapping them all.
During one of her health center visits, Colleen talks with another volunteer, Volker Blankenstein '93, who is serving in a one-year health ministry established by the Notre Dame Club of Saint Joseph Valley.
Volker has had a tough dose of reality this week: For the first time he was present for the waning hours of a human life, and he saw the effects a devastating illness has on both the dying and the living. "This is so difficult," he tells Colleen. "I had no idea what death was really like."
Colleen can empathize. Last year she spent many of her HUGS visits with Danny, a preemie baby who'd been in intensive care during the entire academic year. When Colleen went home to Long Island last May, Danny was getting better and it was anticipated that he might soon go home.
When Colleen returned to Memorial Hospital in August, Danny was not there. The nurses told her the baby's condition suddenly worsened. He died while she was away for the summer.
Anguish and grief are among the hazards of living. For Colleen, they are also an unexpected consequence of volunteer work, even for a group with a warm and fuzzy name like HUGS.