At times, 9-year-old Quincy was so ill that he couldn’t go outdoors, but the nurses at Fountain Valley Regional Hospital would sometimes clean the play area and let him spend time in there alone.

After a few years of struggling with rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare and malignant type of cancer, Quincy died in June 2008. To honor the boy and the nurses who took care of him, the hospital dedicated a wooden playhouse late last month in the revamped pediatric play area of the hospital.

'"It was never about the nurse and the patient,"' said Kim Ngô, Quincy’s mother. '"In the two and a half years, we became a family."'

Ngô donated $500 that went to Joni’s Angels, an organization that helps families cope with their children’s illnesses. In turn, the organization donated the playhouse to the hospital in Quincy’s name.

'"When my son was there, he loved the videos and games, and I wanted to make sure the kids had that stuff,"' said Ngô, who lives in Rosemead, Calif.

The hospital can treat up to 33 children in its pediatric and intensive care wards.

Nurses, doctors, hospital officials and friends gathered last week in a play room of the pediatric unit and recounted stories of Quincy, also known as '"Mr. Q."'

He loved snakes and aliens; drawing; and playing practical jokes on his nurses.

One time, Quincy called the emergency line from his hospital room phone, recalled Judy Walsh, one of his nurses. When she asked him about the phone call, he told her that he had just woken up and was confused. But the nurses knew he was bored and dialed the line.

'"We all miss him,"' said Adrienne Feilden, a child life specialist who worked with Quincy. '"Some of us describe him as an old man in a little person’s body. He was wise beyond his years."'

Quincy was diagnosed in late 2005 after his grandmother discovered a tennis ball-sized tumor near his stomach. He went in and out of the hospital during his bout with the cancer, sometimes staying there for a month at a time and going through multiple rounds of chemotherapy, radiation and surgeries.

Quincy quickly became attached to the staff.

'"They would go out of their way to put him at ease,"' Ngô said. '"We couldn’t ask for more."'

The cancer ultimately took over Quincy’s body. When he died, 17 nurses from the hospital attended his funeral.

'"If I could give them a gold medal, I would,"' Ngô said of the nurses. '"They deserve all of the recognition."'

Story reprinted courtesy of The Orange County Register.