Last night was one of those nights that make me question why I love the PICU. We lost a child...a 12 year old beautiful boy. Two weeks ago he was healthy and active and driving his mom crazy. Then his appendix ruptured and he arrested in the ER...his heart stopped because of the overwhelming infection and it took 15 minutes and a lot of drugs to get the heartbeat back and then he came to us. He was so sick, we didn't have much hope but we tried so hard...he needed a special machine that only a few of us can run and so we all worked overtime these past 10 days...his family was large, close and devastated but they never lost hope. We knew about midnight that he wouldn't make it to morning and they all stayed at his bedside, softly singing (in awesome voices) while his Mama sobbed and his grandma begged him to hang on...it is hard to be professional at those times and finally, I just did my work with tears streaming. My own patient (a 4 year old gravely injured in a car crash) needed my complete attention as he is also very very ill and my heart was breaking for his mom as well because I honestly don't know if he'll survive either. I kept returning to the 12 year old's bedside when I could and holding a hand or hugging a grieving relative...and always watching his monitor as the numbers kept falling...his nurses and I exchanging looks of dread for what we knew was coming. Finally, he coded and we all worked as one in the perfect ballet that we know too well as the family continued to sing and pray and sob. It was an eerie and yet hauntingly beautiful backdrop to the code. His nurse pushed drugs and doctors and nurses took turns doing compressions...over and over, "succeeding" knowing all along it was only a temporary save...and finally, it ended as the sun rose. I was at my patient's bedside...still crying when I heard his Mama's sobs elevate to that primal scream that signifies a parent's ultimate loss. My little man needed me and I had to turn off my emotions, take a long steadying breath and care for his needs. Day shift arrived and as we reported off to each other, we spoke in hushed tones. There was no banter, no greetings, none of the usual cacaphony that accompanies shift change. In somber silence, night shift gathered belongings and left. We left together...our hearts ripped in shreds, our bodies exhausted...stopping to touch and quietly cry with the family... knowing no words that could comfort but trying anyway. It was a silent walk to the parking lot as we each struggled to gain composure...knowing this night might be repeated in the next few days as we were leaving several gravely ill children in the PICU. I tell people that I love my job because usually we win and it is so awesome when a child recovers...but this was one of those horrible terrible no good nights when we were no match for the illness that ravaged that precious little boy. I thought of my sister Jean and little Noah...and I cried all the way home. I thought of the scripture "Jesus wept" and I thought how thankful I am for the gift of salvation and eternal families. and when I got home, I hugged my children tight. As I fell asleep this morning, I whispered a prayer for tender mercies to be sent to that broken hearted mom who cried, "I'll miss you baby...I'll miss you so." And I heard again the sweet voices softly singing, Amazing Grace.
Monday, May 26, 2008
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5 comments:
Well...I didn't need to read that first thing this morning but I certainly am glad that you were there for that mother and family. Losing a child is the most devastating loss parents have to endure and you continue on because of an unshakable faith in Heavenly Father and a knowledge that you will see and hold and raise your precious child again. My heart goes out to those families and I pray the Lord will send comfort to them...I know He will...He loves us too much to want us to suffer unnecessarily and I really believe at times like those he cries with us even though he knows we will see them again. I spent a long time last night talking about Noah with one of the nurses up here that had taken care of him before. She cried along with me as I talked about my last minutes with him and how I continue on because I want my children to know and understand the eternal plan of our Heavenly Father. I wish I knew better what to say when things like this happen but for now all I can say is take time to listen to those who are hurting..that helps more than anything and that is one thing you do very well. That PICU is blessed to have a nurse like you who has so much compassion and love for those who are suffering with such tremendous losses. You are making a difference in the lives of those families and for me that is a great comfort...grieving parents need someone like you around. I know I do. I love you, Jean
I honestly do not know what to say to that post. Libbi, it was absolutely beautifully written!!! I could feel the emotions just from reading your words. You are just the person that needs to be a nurse, families need people like you there during tough times.
All I have to say is that all the people who think moms should never work and always stay home with their children would probably be very thankful if they had to go through something like that and you were their child's nurse. So I'm thankful that my momma is willing to share her gift with others. Being able to be a nurse is a gift, I'm not compasionate or nice enough or strong enough for that matter. You are impressive.
oh, that just breaks my heart. I don't know what else to say. :0(
You are an amazing writer Libbi. I felt everything you said. I have the tear drops on my shirt to prove it. I'm glad you share your talents with those families too. I love you Libbi!
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