The medal had been moved from her shirt to her hospital gown. It had seemed so important to her parents that I mentioned it in passing to the cardiac surgery resident as we sat writing chart notes in the nursing station on the evening before the surgery. He gave me a cynical smile. “Well, to each his own,” he said. “I put my faith in Dr. X,” he said, mentioning the name of the highly respected cardiac surgeon who would be heading Immy’s surgical team in the morning. “I doubt he needs much help from Lourdes.” I made a note to myself to be sure to take the medal off Immy’s gown before she went to surgery in the morning so it wouldn’t get lost in the OR or the recovery room. But I spent that morning in the emergency room, as part of

the hospital to tape it to the closed door of Dr. X’s office. I had signed it and on the way back to my bed I began to worry. What if I had done something really foolish? If the surgical resident didn’t care about such things, why should Dr. X? I was off call the next day and, exhausted, I spent most of the time asleep. When I returned to the hospital for the evening shift, the pediatric day resident told me that Immy was no better. For the next few hours I took care of whatever was most urgently needed on the service, but later in the evening I stopped by the Intensive Care Unit to examine Immy and speak with her family. I found her parents in the waiting room. Together we went to see Immy. She was still unconscious. Leaning over to listen to her chest, I suddenly noticed a medal pinned to her hospital gown. Turning to her parents in relief, I asked if it was another one. “No,” her mother said, “it was the same one that was lost.” Dr. X had come that afternoon and brought it to them. I told them how glad I was that it had been found. “Yes,” her father said. “We are too.” Then he smiled. “She is safe now, no matter what happens,” he told me.

Perhaps you should tell Dr. X,” I told him. He began to laugh. “Don’t be absurd,” he said. That night I could not sleep. At two in the morning I dressed and returned to the hospital to look in on Immy. She was no better. Her parents had not left the ICU waiting room, and several other family members had joined them there. We sat together talking for awhile, but I had no news and could offer little comfort. My heart ached for them and for Immy. Back in the house staff residence, once again I undressed for bed, but I still could not sleep. I kept thinking of the lost medal and what Immy’s parents had told me. At last, I took some paper and wrote to Dr. X, telling him what had happened and how important the medal was to Immy’s family. Folding the note in half, I dressed once more and went back to

I wear this Saint Christopher medal sometimes, because – I'm Jewish, but my boyfriend is Catholic. It was cute, the way he gave it to me. He said if it doesn't burn through my skin, it will protect me. Who cares? Different religions.

looking for Immy’s gown. It had taken half an hour but they had found it, neatly folded, with the medal still attached. I was astonished. “The people who work in the laundry room must have been very surprised to see you all there, and especially with Dr. X himself. Did he say why he asked you to do this?” “Oh, yes,” the resident replied. Surrounded by mountains of clean sheets and towels, Dr. X had told the elite young surgeons he was training that it was as important to care for people’s souls as it was to care for their hearts.

team working on two children who had been thrown from the back of their father’s pickup truck onto the roadway. By the time I reached the floor, Immy had been taken upstairs to surgery. The surgery had lasted almost twelve hours, and things had not gone well. The bypass pump, a relatively new technology, had malfunctioned for several minutes and Immy had lost a great deal of blood. She was on a respirator, unconscious and unresponsive, in the Intensive Care Unit. On the day after surgery, Immy’s mother told me in a shaking voice that Immy’s gown had been removed in the operating room and thrown into the hospital laundry. The medal was gone. Concerned, I called the surgery resident and told him what had happened. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked me.

to her parents in relief, I asked if it was another one. “No,” her mother said, “it was the same one that was lost.” Dr. X had come that afternoon and brought it to them. I told them how glad I was that it had been found. “Yes,” her father said. “We are too.” Then he smiled. “She is safe now, no matter what happens,” he told me. The following morning, the surgery resident told me how the medal had been found. On the previous day, Dr. X had made his patient care rounds much as usual, followed by a dozen of the young surgeons he was training. But instead of ending the rounds in the ICU, he had taken them all to the laundry department in the subbasement of the hospital. There, he explained what had happened, and then he and all his residents and fellows had gone through the pediatric laundry from the day before

I dedicated the medal to her, And when I landed in Eldoret, she welcomed me, held the medal and said 'This is my medal' - it was something special.

LOST AND FOUND IMMY WAS A frail little girl, the only child of older parents. At three, she was only as big as the average eighteen-month-old toddler. She was unable to walk more than a few blocks without tiring and did not have the strength to play games you could not play sitting down. A desperately wanted and long-awaited baby, she had been born with a hole in her heart and a badly formed heart valve. Only the most careful medical management had helped her

to live until she was big enough to undergo extensive open-heart surgery. She had been followed since birth in our Pediatric Cardiology Clinic at the New York Hospital, and many of the pediatricians knew her and her family. Despite her physical difficulties she took full possession of all the hearts around her, including mine. When the time for her surgery finally came, her parents were deeply anxious. These were early days for many cardiac surgery techniques, and the risks were considerable, but without surgery, she would not survive childhood. As the senior pediatric resident, I met with Immy’s parents before the surgery to do an intake interview and summarize Immy’s long story. They were committed and ready and very pale. As we spoke, they sat close together holding hands. Afterward I took them

To bring the gold medal as a mum will also inspire my daughter. It was really something special for me defending my title.

I got the Medal at one PM on September fifteenth, nineteen forty-two, on board the USS Enterprise in Pearl Harbor. It was awarded by Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz. He made a good speech. I still remember his words. He said, 'Do not think for an instant that we have the enemy on the run. He is a tough, sagacious, brave, determined enemy.' Then he said, 'But we are making progress,' so that made me happy. Then he come up, praised me, said laudatory remarks about my 'magnificent courage,' one thing and another. I've got a copy of that. But I wasn't courageous. All I was doing, I was pissed off and mad, and I was doing exactly what I thought I would do if there ever come a war. But I never dreamed that I might fight in a war. You didn't think of that. But anyway, he came up to me, and he had kind of a little bit of an old farmer way of talking- you know, he was born and raised in Texas- and he said, 'Finn, it gives me great pleasure to pin, or, ah, hang, this medal around your neck.' I was standing there, of course, I was naturally at attention, here was my admiral. The ship was under repair and there was more racket around there with air hoses and crap all over the deck and banging and hammering everywhere. But during that ceremony, they stopped all the noise. Nimitz gave out twenty-five awards. I was number one in line. I think there were two Navy Crosses, and other awards.

I don't consider the Medal my personal property. As a recipient, I feel I am wearing it to represent all the men and women who have served over the years with the same dedication and courage. Having said that, it did make me very awre of my responsibilities as a recipient, talking to kids, trying to instill the values of service, courage, honor, and duty, so it's been a very good part of my life. Personally and professionally it added a dimension. I certainly don't dwell on events of thirty-one years ago. That was thirty minutes out of my life and it came and went and life goes on. I've led a wonderful life since then.

Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore Its weight within the heart, but wore Without, devotion's sign in glistening ruby bright; The gall and vinegar they drank alone, But to the world at large would only own The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.