During Respiratory Care Week, I want to recognize something that doesn’t always show up in a
chart: how much of ourselves we bring into the homes we visit.

As homecare RTs, we carry a lot in our minds. We’re assessing the patient, listening to the caregiver, reviewing equipment, and deciding what needs attention. We’re thinking through what we can address during the visit and what needs another conversation with the care team.

At the same time, we’re sitting beside people whose lives have changed — and who are trusting us to help them understand what happens next. 

A caregiver’s question about an alarm may come with a deeper worry: “Will I know what to do
when you’re gone?” 

We need to hear the question and make room for the worry behind it. That takes attention,
patience, and emotional energy. 

When the patient is a child, that connection can become especially personal.

I’ve spent time playing with a child who uses a ventilator. In those moments, I get to know their
personality, what makes them laugh, and what holds their attention.

I’m there as their respiratory therapist, but I’m also someone they can get comfortable with. A few minutes of play can be part of getting to know each other.

Over repeated visits, you may become a familiar face. You learn how the child communicates and what helps them feel at ease. You get to know the family’s routines and hear about moments that matter to them.

You still have equipment to check and clinical responsibilities to complete. But now you know more about the child receiving that care.

That relationship can make the work deeply meaningful. It can also make a difficult visit stay with you after you leave.

Recognizing the Weight of the Work

To the RT who has driven away from a home still thinking about a patient: I understand why.

To the RT who has lost a patient: my heart goes out to you. You may remember their laugh, the
stories they shared, or their familiar way their family welcomed you into their home. You can miss them too. Being their clinician does not make that any less real.

To the RT who has listened while a parent finally put their worry into words, or taken a few minutes to play with a child before returning to the clinical work: that time matters.

And if you feel tired from carrying both the clinical responsibility and the human side of this work, you deserve support, too. There should be room to ask for another perspective, talk through a difficult visit, and tell someone when the workload feels heavy.

Watching Patients Grow

There is joy in this work too.

There is the child you’ve watched grow, whose personality you’ve come to know through visits and moments of play. There is the patient who reaches a milestone their family has long hoped for — and, for some, the day they no longer need a ventilator.

You remember where they started. Seeing how far they’ve come can mean more than you know how to put into words.

Every patient’s progress looks different. Sometimes a moment worth celebrating is a little more
independence, a more confident caregiver, or a child feeling comfortable enough to play while you are there.

To my fellow RTs: I hope you have moments when you can pause and see what your care has meant to someone. The familiar smile when you arrive. The patient, eager to share something new. The patient showing you what they can do now.

Those moments deserve a place beside the difficult ones. This Respiratory Care Week, thank you for the care, patience and heart you bring into each home.