Vancouver artist and musician Amanda Hope Pulfer has created a work of art called Some Kind of Wonderful for the institution
Artist Amanda Pulfer’s works of abstract realism are moments of creative magic that stem from deep, personal emotions.
Her latest oil on canvas, called Some Kind of Wonderful, is of a girl holding a posy of flowers running through a meadow.
It’s named after the Grand Funk Railroad song her father, Christian Costo, would sing to her over and over, accompanied by his Walkman, during her long stays at B.C. Children’s Hospital.
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Next month Pulfer, who is 33 and lives in Vancouver’s West End, will donate the painting to B.C. Children’s as a form of thanks — and a beacon of hope for the hospitalized boys and girls.
“As a child I spent a considerable amount of time in the ICU isolation chamber,” Pulfer, whose middle name is Hope, said. “I wanted to donate a piece of art to show how extremely grateful I am.
“It’s my way of giving back to the nurses and surgeons, ambulance technicians, all the staff involved in my treatments.
“Without their support I would not actually be here today.”
When Pulfer was born and her mom went to breast feed her, the baby girl began choking. She had only a partial esophagus and the milk was going into her lungs, drowning her.
She was born with a tracheoesophageal fistula, or TEF, an abnormal connection between the esophagus and trachea. The wall that normally separates the two doesn’t form correctly before birth and because the tubes are connected, food and liquid meant to be swallowed to the stomach can instead be inhaled into the lungs.
She was rushed to B.C. Children’s for life-saving surgery.
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“But Amanda wasn’t out of the woods yet,” Costo said by phone from Thousand Palms in California, where he and his two youngest sons run a business.
“We were back and forth, in and out of hospital quite a bit over the ensuing months because she kept having these issues where she would, essentially, choke on the food we’d give her.”
That food was liquefied, puréed pizza and other creative ways of getting tasty nutrients into her little tummy.
Costo’s wife left the family to deal with personal issues, and now-single dad moved from Coquitlam to New Westminster to be close, a few doors down, to Royal Columbian Hospital.
His girl, by then two years old, had already lost consciousness 22 times because of aspiration. With her baby teeth now in place, he’d placed her in a high chair and given her some pieces of dried fruit, which had not previously caused any problem, and he began vacuuming in stocking feet.
“I turned around and Amanda was slumped over, she was white as a ghost and had a blue ring around her lips.”
By this time he’d been given an oxygen tank and mask because of her proneness to aspirating. He put it on her and ran down the block to Royal Columbian.
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“I kicked open the doors to the emergency department and immediately started spouting off all the medical terminology I’d become familiar with, and I explained what happened,” Costo said.
He was 22. He still tears up recalling these memories, but the passage of time also allows him a laugh or two.
“I was even asked if I was a doctor, which was hilarious, I don’t even know if I had a shirt on, I certainly had no shoes.”
Dr. Paul Zickler and two paramedics with the Infant Transport Team happened to be right inside the doors. They put the tot on a gurney and began working on her.
The late Mark Van Manen, a Vancouver Sun photographer, happened to be there on a different assignment and captured Costo’s grief and concern.
Today when Costo looks at the photo he sees the definition of teamwork, heroism, humanity and professionalism on full display. The moment the photo was taken, however, captured the critical seconds between life and death.
“I saw my daughter’s innocent life slipping away right before my eyes as she lay lifeless there.”
It was touch and go before she was resuscitated, and then transported to Children’s, one paramedic in the back of the ambulance with her, Costo in the passenger seat up front.
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Pulfer was operated on by Dr. Geoffrey Blair at Children’s, who repaired her trachea.
Today her esophagus has no valve to prevent acid reflux, and she has trouble swallowing certain foods — nuts and dried fruit, for example — but things are good.
“I obviously have some issues, but day to day I am well.”
Her husband, musician Ryan Pulfer, said his wife’s story encapsulates the intersection of art, gratitude and healing.
“Her journey from a patient facing life-threatening complications to a thriving artist is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit,” he said.
Her story also emphasizes the power of art as a tool for healing, and serves as a reminder of the impact of kindness and compassion in health care settings, he said.
“By donating her artwork to the hospital she not only honours the medical staff who helped save her life, but also aims to bring comfort and inspiration to current and future patients.”
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Source: vancouversun.com
