Julie Williams-Stensgard
In 1968, I was 9 years old. My mother carried me through the crowded waiting room to the front desk. Dr. Burnside heard a commotion at the front desk as my mother pleaded with the staff to let him see me. He kindly escorted us to a room and laid me on a table. He gently looked in my eyes, pinched the skin on top of my hand, listened to my heart, and looked at my mother and said, “Put your daughter in your car and take her to the emergency room at Washington Regional. I will follow you in my car and meet you there.” I blacked out. After three days and many tests, procedures, diagnosis, and surgery I needed a blood infusion. The IV entry port became extremely painful as the blood passed into my vein. Dr. Burnside took the IV out and personally placed a port and connected the IV with the blood sack into a vein in my foot. He stood on a stool next to my bed, held the blood sack over his head and massaged the bag until all of the contents were emptied into my blood stream. This took at least half an hour. I will never forget looking up at Dr. Burnside in his long white coat, arms over his head, taking time out of his busy day to make me feel safe and comforted. He was a gentle, giant in my eyes...