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By Dave DeFusco

In a bright therapy room filled with toys, Kasey Giordano waits with quiet determination. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t prompt. She doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She waits—10 seconds, 12 seconds—until the young boy across from her, a child with autism and minimal verbal skills, meets her gaze, looks at the bubbles in her hand, then back at her again. He doesn’t say the word “more,” not yet. But his body speaks for him. And for Giordano, a student in the M.S. in Speech-Language Pathology, that small exchange is nothing short of profound.

“That wait time—it’s everything,” she said. “When I slowed down, I created the space for him to communicate. That’s a win.”

For Giordano, who is currently completing a clinical rotation at Children’s Specialized Hospital, each of those “wins”—as tiny as they may seem to an outsider—are reminders of why she chose speech-language pathology in the first place. And why, of all the hospitals in the state, this one in particular means everything to her.

Long before she ever stepped into a therapy room, Giordano grew up watching her mother hustle through long shifts as a social worker at Children’s Specialized Hospital. Whether it was early mornings, late nights or weekends, her mom showed up—always—with energy, empathy and an unshakable commitment to helping families navigate some of the hardest moments of their lives.

“She busted her butt every day,” said Giordano. “She had this impact on people. You could feel it. And I remember thinking, ‘I want to be like her. I want to make a difference like she does.’”

Her mother’s ability to switch seamlessly between the loving warmth of “Mom” at home and the composed, confident presence of a social worker at the hospital left an indelible mark. “She’s such a great communicator—so bubbly and loving,” said Giordano. “Watching her operate in both roles, I realized the power of communication, of presence. That was inspiring.”

It’s no surprise, then, that when it came time to choose a career path—and later, a clinical rotation site—Giordano had her sights set. “I told myself, ‘I’m going to get to Children’s no matter what it takes,’” she said. “It’s where I belong.”

Giordano enrolled at the Katz School not just with a dream but with a mission: To become an advocate for individuals with complex communication needs. Her belief in communication as a human right is deeply rooted.

“No matter your shape, size, color or ability—everyone deserves a voice,” she said. “I want to help people find theirs, even if that voice comes through gestures, facial expressions or technology.”

At Children’s Specialized Hospital, the nation’s leading provider of inpatient and outpatient care for children with special health challenges, Giordano is turning that mission into practice. With 14 locations across New Jersey, the hospital treats children from birth to 21 years of age facing everything from chronic illness and brain injuries to behavioral and developmental disorders.

“Kasey’s work at Children’s Specialized Hospital is a testament to the importance of human connection in patient care,” said Dr. Marissa Barrera, assistant dean of health sciences at the Katz School. “Effective clinical care is not about fixing or forcing—it’s about creating space, honoring each patient’s pace and believing that every form of communication is meaningful."

Her daily caseload includes children with expressive and receptive language deficits, articulation challenges and joint attention difficulties—children whose brains developed differently and who may struggle with even the most basic communication tasks.

“Some of the kids I work with don’t speak much at all,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean they’re not communicating. My job is to figure out how.”

In one recent session, Giordano worked with a young client on the autism spectrum who was largely nonverbal and resistant to traditional play. “He doesn’t enjoy toys. He doesn’t engage naturally. And I’m this big, bubbly person,” she said. “But I realized I couldn’t expect him to match my energy—I had to match his.”

That meant adjusting her tone, her pacing, her expectations. It also meant honoring silence as part of the therapeutic process. “We take communication for granted. Most people respond in a second or two,” she said. “But for some kids, they need 10 to 12 seconds just to process. When I give them that space, they surprise me.”

In the case of her quiet client, Giordano used bubbles as both a toy and a tool. Blow, pause. Cap the bottle. Hold it up with a smile. Wait. Eventually, the child looked at the bubbles, then at her. A flicker of understanding. A desire. A connection.

“That’s communication,” she said. “It’s not about words—it’s about engagement, intention, and understanding. These kids don’t need to come up to where I am. I need to meet them where they are.”

Giordano’s journey is just beginning, but the seeds were planted long ago watching her mother serve others with patience and heart. Now, standing in that same hospital, she’s learning to do the same.

“One of my professors said, ‘We’re not just teaching kids how to talk. We’re teaching them how to connect with the world,’” she said. “That’s what I want to do. That’s why I’m here.”