Statistics, no matter how alarming, sometimes blur into faceless numbers when parents hear them on TV or read them in a news story.

That’s until it’s your child in the emergency room, hooked to an IV while receiving treatment for ingesting too many pills—in this case, over-the-counter pain meds often used to relieve menstrual cramps—with the intent of harming herself.

And then suddenly, those numbers have a face. For Betty, a Tarrant County mom who asked not to be identified to protect her 14-year-old from any stigma attached to her attempted suicide, the face that came fully into focus was her own teenage daughter’s.

Betty’s daughter is among the many children and young adults across the country who’ve used excessive doses of common drugs, like pain relievers or allergy medications, with the intent of harming themselves. National studies have shown OTC meds as the No. 1 means used by youths in suicide attempts and the third-leading cause of youth suicide deaths.

“I really didn’t put those in the category of prescription medications, so I never put them away,” Betty said of the handful of OTC meds—a combination of Motrin and Midol—her daughter swallowed earlier this year. (Motrin contains ibuprofen, and Midol is a mixture of acetaminophen, caffeine and pyrilamine maleate, an antihistamine.) “I want other people to know, and to even have lockboxes for their medications, so that someone else doesn’t have to go through what we went through.”

Her daughter, who went to school but said it wasn’t the same because of COVID restrictions, had felt isolated and been sad because she missed her friends, she said. She faced the typical teenage stuff like low self-esteem, Betty said, but she had no idea her daughter was considering suicide.

“She’s seeking treatment now, but I want to be really clear, ‘Put all your medications away, not just your prescription medications,’” she said.

Betty is far from alone in facing this issue. Other parents across the nation also are grappling with children and teens who are intentionally overdosing with easily accessible OTC meds.

In a study published by The Journal of Pediatrics in May 2019, Nationwide Children’s Hospital and the Central Ohio Poison Center found that suspected suicide attempts by self-poisoning in children and young adults had doubled in the past decade. The research, which targeted ages 10 to 24 during 2000 to 2018, also showed suicide attempts using OTC meds had tripled among girls and young women.

The same researchers later expounded on the initial report, pointing out that the two most commonly used substances among all age groups were OTC pain relievers—such as acetaminophen, ibuprofen and aspirin—followed by antidepressants.

Last year, a study conducted by the Center for Injury Research and Policy and the Central Ohio Poison Center at Nationwide Children’s Hospital focused specifically on the use of OTC pain relievers in suicide attempts, showing a 57-percent hike in overall cases from 2000 to 2018. Children and young adults between 6 to 19-year-old made up half of the cases, and of those, 73 percent were female, the study showed.

Researchers analyzed 549,807 suicide-related calls made to poison control centers across the United States that involved OTC medications. The study, published in Pharmacoepidemiology and Drug Safety journal, also determined a 34-percent rise in the frequency of those cases during that time period, caused primarily by a jump among calls involving 6- to 19-year-old females, researchers said.

The results from the study showed the breakdown of OTC substances involved in the calls: 48 percent, acetaminophen alone; 33 percent, ibuprofen; and 19 percent, aspirin. Acetaminophen and aspirin accounted for 65 percent and 33 percent of deaths, respectively. Aspirin created the most serious medical outcomes for 36 percent of the cases and 68 percent of the cases with aspirin were admitted into a health care facility compared with other OTC pain relievers. Overall, while suicide-related cases using acetaminophen and ibuprofen climbed, the number involving aspirin decreased, researchers found.

Although local numbers on these types of cases are not yet readily available, physicians at Cook Children’s Medical Center are noticing a similar increase in intentional OTC medication overdoses.

Stacey Vanvliet, M.D., an inpatient pediatric hospitalist at Cook Children’s, said suicide attempts “have become part of my daily practice” and most are overdoses on a substance that’s “convenient for the children and teens to grab.” While it’s mostly older ones, children as young as 8 or 9 come in for attempting suicide, she said.

“Commonly, we see Tylenol, Motrin, aspirin, Benadryl—things that people just stock in their cabinets to have on hand,” she said. “We see teenagers take huge handfuls of them.”

Many people have a misconception of how dangerous these drugs can be when ingested over the recommended dosage, Dr. Vanvliet said. For example, high levels of acetaminophen (as in Tylenol) can cause liver damage or acute liver failure as well as other serious health issues.

“I think another misperception is that there’s a certain type of patient or type of teen that might try to overdose. Or that there’s a certain stressor or pattern, so to speak, that this happens and then the teen goes for pills or whatever it may be,” she said. “But in my experience, that’s not the case. We certainly have children who have undergone significant trauma and have mental health issues…but we also have children who haven’t shown a whole lot of warning signs and are very high achievers.”

When a child or teen attempts suicide, it’s usually an impulsive decision, Dr. Vanvliet said, which makes the accessibility to OTC meds more dangerous.

“You’d be amazed at some of the things that trigger them to make a serious attempt. It can be something as small as, ‘My mom took my phone away because I got a bad grade,’ or ‘My best friend is mad at me,’” she said. “It’s not necessarily anything that’s huge…but they make these snap decisions, and they go take a handful of pills, and it could be really damaging. It happens over and over, unfortunately.”

So, what can be done to keep children safe? Many health experts and researchers propose restricting the amount of OTC meds that can be purchased at one time and suggest unit-dose packaging, such as blister packs, as well as promoting safe storage for OTC and other medications.

Responding to that call, The Jordan Elizabeth Harris Foundation, a Fort Worth-based nonprofit group that targets suicide prevention, plans to launch Keep All Meds Secure (KAMS) public awareness initiative this summer. Christina Judge, the foundation’s executive director, said the initiative includes educating families and caregivers on the dangers of various medications, providing lockboxes for safe storage and advocating safe disposal of old medications. The foundation also offers free suicide prevention training to help parents to know what to look and listen for with a child who might be considering suicide.

The initiative began with a phone call that Judge received. A frantic mother, whose daughter had taken a handful of Tylenol and a handful of Advil, called the foundation seeking help in finding a bed at a mental health facility for her daughter.

“The pivotal moment was just hearing the anguish in the mother’s voice,” Judge said. “I asked her, ‘Did you know that these drugs in the hands of a suicidal child could be lethal?’ She said, ‘No. We just keep them in the cabinet above the sink.’”

“Well, that was enough for me,” Judge said, who researched the topic, presented a case for it and sought funding for the initiative.

Vanvliet believes programs such as KAMS will help with suicide prevention among children and teens.

“Education for parents and keeping those substances safe, I think, is a big part of preventing this from happening,” she said.

For Betty, what happened to her daughter has made her even more vigilant. She has always paid close attention to safety in her house. The family’s guns are always locked away in a safe, along with prescription medication. Now, she secures her OTC meds, too, she said.

She’s thankful her daughter, who’s getting ongoing treatment, didn’t suffer any long-term health effects from the incident. But Betty is highly aware that it all could have ended much differently that day her daughter tried to overdose.

“I think she got scared and came to me and told me. I’m so glad she did,” Betty said. “And I have to say if there were more pills in the bottles, we would have had a much different situation…it could have been much more harmful.”

“Like I said, we’d locked up everything else except for that. And if we had locked that up, maybe we would have avoided this,” she said.

“These are a couple of toys for our PICU and TCU families,” she says, donning a plaid scarf and a Cook Children’s mask.

Coffee mug in hand, she speed walks to the door – partly to get out of the cold and partly to check in with the charge nurse as soon as possible before the COVID-19 Command Center call in 30 minutes. By her side is Lori Parrott, a pediatric intensive care unit (PICU) nurse manager, who’s helping carry in Christmas presents for patients.

“It sounds like we may have gotten two more overnight,” Melodie tells her as they briskly cross the sky bridge linking the garage and medical center.

As the director of the PICU and the Transitional Care Unit (TCU) at Cook Children’s Medical Center, Melodie wears a lot of hats. She’s a decision maker. A trusted leader. A master juggler. And she oversees a special wing dedicated to critically-ill COVID-19 patients known as 2North.

She quickly sets the bags down in her small, windowless office and heads to the nurses’ station without pause. Sitting next to a small Christmas tree, the charge nurse fills Melodie in on what happened overnight. A med alert, or medical emergency on the 3P, the stepdown COVID-19 unit, and a DKA, otherwise known as diabetic ketoacidosis. But the big news is the latest patient admitted to 2North. It’s a teenager transported in from another hospital. This patient makes eight on the unit, which has a total of 10 beds. This admission means her team will soon have to find more space to house the patients that are increasingly filling up the COVID-19 unit.

Back in her office, Melodie awaits her turn to speak on the Command Center call, a tri-weekly meeting for leaders entrenched in COVID-19 planning and processes. While sipping coffee, she listens as the director of infectious diseases rattles off the latest number of children who’ve tested positive for the virus. Today, it’s 112 in 24 hours, with 25 currently in the hospital.

Soon, it’s Melodie’s turn to share bad news.

“We may need to think about moving kids over to ‘A’ depending on what the continued census is, and especially if we get down to one bed,” she says as clearly and concisely as possible. “These kids continue to be quite ill and I don’t think any will go out today.”

Moving patients to ‘A’ means opening up a new COVID-19 ICU wing. The hospital is being stretched, but you wouldn’t know it by the positive tone of the call. People are optimistic; there’s hope on the way. They’re waiting on notification from Pfizer that the hospital’s allotment of the COVID-19 vaccine has shipped, which could happen at any moment.

We’re with Melodie this Wednesday morning, the week before Christmas, because she’s offered to show us something we have not seen before. She’s volunteered to take us inside 2North.

Inside the COVID-19 ICU

After the call, we follow Melodie down the hallway, her heeled-boots clicking on the confetti-laden floors. Big, purple double doors are ahead of us with 8-by-11, paper signs. They read, “Doors Must Remain Closed,” and “Isolation Garb for COVID (+) rooms,” with a long list of recommended attire: N95 or PAPR, surgical mask, gown, goggles or face shield, gloves, hair covering, and booties. Immediately upon entering, we see all of this gear in action. To the right, there’s a doctor towering over two nurses. All three are concealed inside in personal protective equipment (PPE) – yellow gowns, white masks and blue headcovers. The physician’s goggles resemble something you’d see on the ski slopes, but he’s not on vacation. He’s just left the room of a child who’s suffering a heart arrhythmia due to the virus.

It feels like we’ve just stepped inside a beehive or an ant bed. Every worker has a job and they’re busy doing it. The energy is fast-paced, but controlled. We watch as a respiratory therapist just a few feet in front of us straps on a PAPR, a small backpack that pumps air through a hose into a sealed helmet. Her speed and skill reveal that she’s done this many times.

To the right, a gloved nurse gives us a thumbs up through a window in a patient’s room. She’s talking to her colleague, who’s sitting at a computer on the other side of the wall. The two are communicating through a mini walkie-talkie type device called a ‘Vocera’ that’s clipped onto their scrubs.

“Can I bring you anything,” said the one sitting near us.

The nurse inside the room can’t leave. She’s halfway through a 12-hour shift, meticulously monitoring the many machines keeping her patient, a 12-year-old girl, alive. This is not a job for the weary. She’s an ECMO specialist, meaning she is precisely trained to take care of children who need extracorporeal membrane oxygenation (ECMO). This treatment is a last resort in which blood is pumped to a heart-lung machine that removes carbon dioxide and sends oxygen-filled blood back into the body.

When a child is on ECMO, two of these specialized nurses or respiratory therapists remain at the bedside at all times. Breaks for food and the restroom are limited. Layers of PPE keep them safe from the virus, but not comfortable. They wear two masks, a surgical mask on top of an N95, plus a face shield, gown, gloves and headcover. If they were soldiers, they’d be ready for war. Their enemy, though, can’t been seen – only the ravages it’s left on their young patient.

Melodie has asked if the girl’s mother would be willing to speak to us. She’s just woken up from the small couch/bed in the room and agrees to step into the hallway. Obviously exhausted, she tells us her name is Florence and that her daughter was diagnosed with COVID 11 days prior.

“She was having a mild temperature, so I brought her to the emergency room just so they could check her out, and we ended up here,” she said in a low, hushed tone. A steady beeping flows in the background.

“That visit was the best decision I made,” she said.

Due to the virus, Florence is the only person allowed to be in the hospital with her daughter. And she can’t leave the room, unless she is leaving the property. All meals are delivered. Anything she needs will be brought to the room for her.

We asked about her time at Cook Children’s, and how things have been.

“I love this place, and I love the staff,” she said.

Florence breaks down. She says everyone she has encountered at the hospital has treated her as if they were the only family there.

“That matters a lot,” she said with tears soaking into her mask.

Ready to return to her room, she shares one last thought: “The ECMO machine is a lifesaver.”

As she walks away, Melodie asks ECMO Manager Jill Pittman to suit up and join the two nurses inside the girl’s room. Shanna Senay and Sara Morgan are the ECMO specialists on duty today. They show us the machine that’s taken the place of the child’s lungs and heart. It’s a bulky contraption with multiple screens, tanks, and tubes, which are red with blood pumping through them.

“ECMO is allowing her lungs to rest and heal from the pneumonia, while we oxygenate her blood and circulate it throughout her body,” Shanna says.

She’s the nurse who gave us the thumbs up from behind the window.

“ECMO is the highest form of medical care that we offer at Cook Children’s, and it requires a lot of training,” said Jill, who’s been a nurse at the hospital for 23 years and now leads the ECMO program. “To be able to facilitate that and have an active role is very meaningful to me.”

ECMO patients are often on the machine for weeks, not just a few days. Because of that, ECMO specialists have to have endurance and the mental fortitude to keep going, even when there is no end in sight.

We’re curious and ask ‘Why do you do this?’

“There’s something special about being able to take care of these kids when they’re so sick and their parents can no longer give them the care they need. Then, it’s up to us,” Sara said with clean air being pumped inside her PAPR helmet. “It’s the last chance these kids have, so we fight every day, every night until they get to the point where they can get better on their own.”

Shanna nods in agreement.

“These kids are warriors. They’re why we push through and why we come out of here sweating bullets and having held our bladders for hours,” she says. “If it were my kid, I would want somebody doing the same thing.”

Back in the hallway, another group of 2North staff members gather to talk to us. One is a young nurse named MyKayla. She has bandages across the ridge of her nose and both ears to protect herself from her N95, which cuts into her skin and leaves sores. Five bandages total, but she’s not complaining. She says she loves taking care of children. It’s her calling.

A respiratory therapist named Joanna is with her, along with another nurse named Megan. They both echo MyKayla, saying they love what they do. We ask if they’ve ever felt scared. There’s a pause.

“Yes, I’ll say it. Especially with it affecting the Hispanic population, it worries me for my family,” says Joanna, who is Hispanic. “But, if God forbid, any of my family members get it and had to be in the hospital, I feel completely comfortable with our doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists taking care of them.”

Megan jumps in.

“I’m not scared, but I have a healthy respect for it,” she says point blank.

Megan, tall and blonde, moved to Fort Worth a couple of years ago when her husband was sent to work at the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base. She was accepted into the competitive nurse residency program at Cook Children’s, and after six months was selected to work full-time in the PICU. She had just a few months under her belt before the pandemic hit. Nearly 10 months on 2North, she now seems like a seasoned nurse.

“I came into this profession knowing anything is game,” she says. “Since COVID, our teamwork as a unit has exponentially increased. It’s been stressful, it’s been frustrating, things are constantly changing, but we keep plugging through, trying to keep our spirits up, and the kids’ spirits up too.”

Off to the side, Jennifer Hayes has just exited a patient’s room. She’s a chaplain on the floor and is accustomed to the tougher moments of an ICU setting.

“The PICU is a hard and heavy place to work, and then you add COVID on top of that, it’s tough,” Jennifer tells us, her appearance failing to match her words.

She’s wearing a bright red shirt with a snowman on it. Her hair is short and brown, pulled up into two spunky knots. She explains her role, how she helps patients and families deal with difficult situations both emotionally and spiritually. She provides the same support to the PICU staff.

“I’m trying to bring joy and fun into the unit,” she says while showing off her fanny pack, creatively decorated to look like a taco for a contest she spearheaded.

She also tells us about the ‘COVID Café,’ a space she established on the unit for worn-out frontline staff to retreat to during their shift. They can watch TV, enjoy the snacks or one of the many word searches, games, or funny memes she’s left at the half-dozen socially distanced tables.

Jennifer is the caretaker of the caretakers, and one of the many moms on the unit. She, like everyone else on this floor, has had to change the way things are done at home. She explains how her 2 year old always wants to hug her as soon as she walks in the door, but can’t for fear that some microscopic particle of COVID-19 has made the trip home with her.

“It has been a big change and has created a delicate balance where we are trying to keep normalcy for our kids, but also we have to be mindful keeping them safe,” she says.

Ashley Miller, the charge nurse we saw filling Melodie in early this morning, agrees. She is also a mom and shares how her 14-year-old son watches the news and worries. She oversees the entire 43-bed PICU and is in charge of admitting each patient. She says the now is by far the worst they’ve seen of the pandemic.

“It’s a reality that kids can get COVID and they can become very, very sick,” she says. “It’s definitely a change from March, we’re seeing many more now.”

While we’re talking, Melodie reminds us about an 11:30 a.m. meeting we’re due to attend. It’s with PICU leaders, and they have a lot to discuss.

Leading During a Pandemic

We make our way down to the basement of the hospital where five women have gathered in a classroom. More are on a conference line. Their top concern today is overflow for COVID-19 patients.

“It’s hard to put a target on when we should open a new wing, because we don’t want to turn around and close it if our census lowers,” Melodie tells the group, which is spaced out around the large room. “But once we get to nine patients, that’s it, and that can change in five minutes.”

Until recently, 2North only had two to three patients at one time. Now, it’s pushing capacity. Finding more space and beds is not an issue. The problem is staffing. With a new COVID-19 ICU unit, more staff will be pulled in to take care of the children in the beds. That’s worrisome because burnout is already top of mind for these leaders. They will do anything to prevent losing essential caretakers. That includes Linda Thompson, M.D., medical director of the PICU, who’s sitting in the corner of the room. She is so concerned about burnout, she offers up her vacation home on the Texas coast for fatigued staff to escape to with their families. Everyone here is willing to do whatever they can to prevent from losing people in the pandemic.

“Ding, ding, ding – Ashley Miller.”

This is the sound of a call coming into a Vocera. Ashley, the charge nurse, is alerting the leaders that another COVID-19 patient is being admitted as they speak. Their discussion about overflow may take shape sooner than expected. They hurry to get through their agenda, knowing there is work to be done on 2North.

After the meeting, we part ways with Melodie. She’s off to do what she does best, leading her team during a challenging situation. We’re gathering our cameras and equipment to capture another area we’ve never seen, the step-down COVID-19 unit known as 3Pavilion, or 3P. Until today, 2North and 3P had been restricted to ‘necessary’ personnel only. Somehow, we got lucky, and are being allowed inside both.

Inside 3P – the COVID-19 Step-Down Unit

We take the nearest elevator to the third floor. As soon as we step off, Valerie Badgett, the day nurse manager, is waiting for us. She’s worked on this unit for 17 years and recalls the day this past March when administrators gathered everyone into a break room and told them they were about to be taking care of COVID-19 patients.

“This was a specialty med surge unit prior to COVID. We treated patients with renal disease, from acute kidney failure to children who received kidney transplants, and GI patients,” she explained. “When they told us we were going to become a COVID unit, people were understandably nervous.”

The administrators explained that their floor has a unique airflow system, which allows air to vent directly outside. This prevents airborne viruses from circulating through the ventilation system.

Valerie tells us more about that day in March, and how they had to quickly move their patients to other floors. They thought they had days to prepare for their first suspected COVID-19 patients. In reality, they had just hours before seven children under investigation for COVID-19 were admitted to their floor.

“There were a lot of questions at first because we didn’t know enough about it,” Valerie said. “But Dr. Whitworth came over the very next day and eased a lot of people’s concerns. She has always been there to answer our questions.”

Mary Suzanne Whitworth, M.D. is the medical director of Infectious Diseases at Cook Children’s. Valerie credits her composed leadership for helping the staff on 3P not only accept the challenge ahead of them but take it on as a mission they were called to serve.

Unlike 2North, the atmosphere on 3P is calm. It’s quiet and much larger than the ICU. Patient room doors stretch down two long hallways lined with purple and blue carpet. The only thing that visually sets this floor apart from other non-critical areas of the hospital is the donning and doffing of PPE happening all around us. Doctors and nurses are suiting up in PAPRs, gowns, goggles, and gloves before entering rooms. Knowing this team didn’t necessarily sign up to take care of COVID-19 patients gives us a whole new respect for them.

“It has brought a lot of new diagnoses that we didn’t take care of before, chemo patients, newly diagnosed diabetes, a lot of patients that we’ve gotten have come in the emergency department because they’re sick from something else, and then coincidentally they test positive for COVID,” Valerie said. “Many of our nurses have become certified in chemotherapy so they can take care of the patients we’re now seeing.”

Hearing how this unit has stayed together the past 10 months, even when they had opportunities to abandon ship to work in other areas, is inspiring. They’ve overcome fear, learned how to care for an array of injuries and illnesses, and built an unbreakable bond. They’ve proven resilient, and their strength is needed now more than ever.

“We have 20 beds on this floor, and today we have 17 patients,” says Ashley Kovacev, the night nurse manager who’s volunteered to give us a tour.

She walks us down the hallway, pointing out the negative pressure rooms they never had to use for isolation purposes until this year. We round a corner and an alarm is dinging. A light overhead flashes. Ashely peeks into the room.

“Are you ok?” she asks.

Inside, a mother needs help getting her child to the restroom. Ashley calls for a nurse.

Families on 3P rely on the staff for everything, including food and water. Like 2North, only one parent at a time is allowed per patient and they can’t leave the room unless they are leaving the hospital. Because of COVID-19, the floor’s family lounge and playroom are closed. Patients and parents are stuck in their rooms, but everyone tries to make the best of it.

One small glimmer of hope is the child life specialists and music therapists who don and doff PPE to deliver activities to the children’s rooms. We spot one, a young woman with long blonde hair, sitting alone in the closed playroom. She’s teaching a patient how to play guitar via Zoom, just one of the many creative ways the child life team is engaging isolated patients.

To the left, down a short hallway, a woman in a blue scrub top and black pants is pushing a large cart.

“That’s Rebecca. She’s been absolutely phenomenal since day one,” Ashley says. “We tease her because she literally wipes down the walls non-stop.”

Rebecca is an environmental services worker. She looks uncomfortable as Ashley gushes about how she has kept the team safe throughout the pandemic.

“Not a single person here has contracted COVID from our unit,” says Ashley, crediting Rebecca for their protection.

Reluctant to accept the praise, Rebecca says simply through her mask, “We have to take care of each other.”

As we near the end of the tour, a food services employee in a mask and goggles delivers a plastic bag full of Styrofoam containers to the nurses’ station. It’s just one of the many trips he will make to 3P today, delivering three meals to each of the 17 families on the unit. He, like everyone else we’ve met, smiles as he drops off the food.

It’s no small feat for any of these people – the changes they’ve adapted to. The anxiety of the unknown. The courage they’ve displayed. After spending eight hours behind-the-scenes of Cook Children’s COVID-19 units, we can attest to the following statement:

“Our staff truly honor our ‘Promise’ every single day,” Ashley says holding back tears. “It makes me emotional. These people are so resilient. They care for these kids like they’re their own. It’s truly amazing.”

This is the daunting statistic looming over the heads of the team at the National Marrow Donor Program at Cook Children’s. Each day, this dedicated group of six sets out to see how many people they can enroll in the National Marrow Donor Program, also known as the Be the Match registry. Equally as important, they’re also tasked with contacting, scheduling and counseling donors who have been identified as a likely match.

“We have the potential to save anyone’s life,” said Jamie Kayser, the program’s director. “It’s not just blood cancers, the donors we identify also save the lives of patients with diseases like sickle cell anemia. We find donors for both adults and children.”

For Kayser, her work is more than a job. She’s one of the millions of people who have been deeply affected by cancer.

“When I was 27 years old, my first husband died of leukemia,” she explained. “He underwent two bone marrow transplants over the course of his treatment. I was not a nurse at the time, but going through it with him, I realized how important nursing was and I decided I was going to become a nurse.”

At the time, Kayser vowed to never work in oncology or in a bone marrow transplant unit. She ended up doing both. Her first role was as an oncology bone marrow transplant nurse at Cook Children’s, which she accepted in 1994. Seven years later she took over her current position as the director of the National Marrow Donor Program at the hospital.

“I say I’m doing the other side of transplant,” Kayser said. “There’s the side where the patients receive the bone marrow transplant and then there’s this side where we register donors, find matches for patients and get them ready to give.”

The National Marrow Donor Program is a nationwide registry. For those enrolled, the chance of being identified as the best possible donor for a patient is one in 300.

“There are two ways to donate depending on what the patient’s doctor requests,” explained Kayser. “The most common way is very similar to giving blood.”

Seventy-five percent of donors are asked to provide blood stem cells through a peripheral blood stem cell donation (PBSC) donation. This was the case for 21-year-old Andrew Kozman of North Richland Hills, Texas. He knew the chances of being identified as a match were rare when he signed up for the donor registry in late 2018. During his PBSC donation, he said he was shocked to receive a call just three months after he submitted his cheek swab in the mail.

“You always hear about the people who have been on the list for years and have never received a call,” said Kozman. “I was fortunate to get a call just months later. Everything has moved pretty quickly since then.”

To prepare for his donation, a nurse visited Kozman’s home for five days ahead of the appointment and injected him with a drug called filgrastim. The medication increases the number of blood-forming stem cells in the bloodstream. On the fifth day, blood is drawn and circulated through a machine that filters out the stem cells. The remaining blood is returned to the donor.

“It was just like getting a normal flu shot. I felt a little sore afterwards, but that’s it,” said Kozman. “I never really gave it a second thought. I signed up and found out that someone needed my help. I thought ‘I could sit in a chair for a few hours if it’s going to save someone’s life.’”

The second way to give is through a surgical procedure called a marrow donation or harvest. Only 25% of donors are asked to provide blood stem cells in this manner. This procedure is done at a hospital while donors are under anesthesia.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of misconception about bone marrow harvests,” said Gretchen Eames, M.D., medical director of Hematology/Oncology and Stem Cell Transplant Program at Cook Children’s. “It is considered a minor surgery. There is no incision; no stitches or sutures are needed.”

During a marrow donation, blood stem cells are withdrawn through two small punctures in the back of the donor’s pelvic bone. Discomfort during recovery varies from person to person, but Dr. Eames says donors are usually able to manage any pain with Tylenol or hydrocodone. Most people will make a full recovery within a week.

Rebecca Proctor joined the National Marrow Donor Program registry in 2014 when she was a college student. Now a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit nurse at a Fort Worth hospital, she was also surprised to receive a call informing her that she was a match for a patient in need of a bone marrow transplant.

“I was definitely a little nervous when I first got the call,” said Proctor. “After agreeing to a marrow donation, I would have days here and there where I would panic. But I knew if this was going to save someone’s life then I could do it.”

Dr. Eames performed the procedure on Proctor at Cook Children’s, which is one of two bone marrow collection centers in Texas and the second busiest center in the U.S.

“We do approximately four to six bone marrow harvests a month,” said Dr. Eames. “Our donors come from all over the place. Many of them live here in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, but we have people who travel here from California, the east coast and the Midwest because they do not have a national marrow donor collection center where they live.”

For Proctor, the process was much easier than she anticipated.

“Besides a minimal amount of soreness, this really hasn’t been a bad recovery,” she said two days after her donation. “There’s some hoarseness in my throat from the breathing tube, but honestly, this is nothing compared to what my recipient has been going through.”

While donors don’t know who they are giving to, they are likely of the same ethnic background since donors and patients need to be a close genetic match. Given the current makeup of the National Marrow Donor Program registry, the likelihood of finding a match for a white patient is 77%. African American or black patients only have a 23% chance of finding a match.

To improve these odds, ethnic diversity among people on the registry needs to increase. To put it simply, more people are needed to join the registry.

“Everyone, when they turn 18 years old, should sign up for the National Marrow Donor Program registry,” urged Kayser. “We believe every patient should have an equal opportunity to find a match, regardless of their ethnicity.”

To increase those odds, Kayser’s team hosts booths at live events in North Texas as well as West Texas to enroll potential donors. They answer questions, collect information and cheek swabs.

Proctor, like most donors, encourages others to join the registry. Having gone through the process herself, she says she is glad she was able to help someone in need.

“This is something I am so proud to say I have done. Looking back, I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Donald Murphey, M.D., medical director of Infectious Disease at Cook Children’s, worries over the fact that diseases like measles and pertussis are once again in the news.

“It’s alarming to see the rise in these diseases that were so common prior to the advent of effective vaccines, but largely disappeared with immunization,” Dr. Murphey said. “It’s frustrating too because we have safe vaccines that prevent these diseases. The solution is for kids, teens, and adults to get immunized.”

Measles is a highly, dangerous, but preventable disease with vaccinations.

The CDC report says that many of the cases are from people who visited other countries. Of the 129 cases reported by the CDC, 34 were “importations” from other countries. The Philippines has seen 20,000 confirmed or suspected cases of measles cases from Jan. 1 to Feb. 28 and 69 confirmed deaths.

But why is this happening? “The increase in importations from this outbreak and subsequent transmission in certain settings in the United States highlights the importance of ensuring age-appropriate vaccination for persons traveling to areas where measles is endemic and maintaining high vaccination coverage at the national and local level,” The CDC report states.

Parents can make an important step in preventing their children from catching measles through the use of two doses of the MMR vaccine.

“We thought we were on our way to eradicating these diseases,” Dr. Murphey said. “Our goal was that these diseases would be completely controlled by the year 2015. But misinformation and fear about immunization has prevented that from happening. It’s a very sad situation because children suffer, but it can be much worse if segments of the population refuse to receive their vaccines.

Measles is particularly contagious. Transmission is by coughing, sneezing or simply being next to someone laughing. It’s that easy.

Dr. Murphey said what’s particularly frustrating is that these diseases can be contained and even eliminated if we do our part. MMR vaccination remains the most effective way to prevent outbreaks. In children, the first MMR vaccine dose is usually administered at 12-15 months and the second at 4-6 years.  However, the MMR vaccine is recommended for children as young as 6 months old when they are traveling abroad. Children under 12 months of age and traveling internationally should receive 2 doses of MMR, separated by at least 28 days

All college students, international travelers, and health care personnel should receive two doses of MMR vaccine, unless they have other evidence of measles immunity.

“I can’t stress enough if you are traveling abroad, the importance of making sure you are updated on your immunization,” Dr. Murphey said. “This holds true for pregnant women, infants, kids, teens and adults. We all have to do our part and have our shots updated to keep each other healthy.”