It saddens me that as the years go by, I remember less of this story, although it was the situation that changed me the most in my career. The details are fading, but I'll never forget.
I worked 12 years in Labor and Delivery. Wonderful times. Amazing patients. Even better co-workers. My family away from family. I had been working on the unit one year. We got 6 months of orientation to labor and delivery. Seemed like a long time, but wow, it's needed. I had been a nurse on a psych unit for 8 years then moved to this area. I had completed by 6 months of orientation with an amazingly passionate nurse. Loved her. Learned so much. I came in for my night shift. I was in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit). My preceptor happened to have worked the day shift. I got minimal report on the baby, which was fine. It was a baby that had a difficult delivery and wasn't doing well. This wasn't out of the ordinary. I don't think people realize that "natural birth" can go very wrong. More often than what people think. The LifeFlight crew was present to transfer the baby girl to a level III NICU. The crew had assumed care of the child so I only had involvement if they needed supplies, an extra hand, etc. She wasn't "my assignment." I was to write her vital signs in the chart and transfer papers when the crew left and then I'd take another assignment. No big deal. It generally isn't a quick event when transferring a child. The new crew gets all items hooked up to their equipment, make phone calls to doctor's for orders, etc. I stand and watch. And learn. This is still very new to me.
The baby took a turn for the worse, so they again attempted to re-stabilize. This went on for 45 minutes. It seemed like half the night. I was beginning to feel uneasy. This was a "write the VS down and leave" thing. Before I knew it, compressions were being done. Meds were being given. The monitors weren't reading numbers that were reassuring. At all. I think they did compressions maybe 3 separate times. They got to the point of transferring the baby to their isolette (the portable warmer that they use to transport onto the helicopter.) The parents were present to see their first child taken away from them in very critical condition. Mom and dad were both crying. I felt like I was in a "what the hell is going on" zone. Before I knew it, it sank in. This baby wasn't going to make it. No. This is not what I'm used to. I'd never seen a dead baby before. This simple assignment had gone horrendously wrong. Explanations were made to the parents that their beautiful dark haired daughter wasn't going to live. Many tears. From me now. Her heart rate on the monitor was 40's 30's then nothing. Mom was sobbing. Put her hand through the window of the isolette and touched her beautiful miracle. The monitor jumped to 142 or 147. I can't remember. I felt a force. A maternal/daughter bond. She knew that was her mom. I sobbed. Please live. Please please please live. It was so brief of a heart rate. Then she was gone. Oh dear God. What has just happened here. So many emotions I've never had before flooded me. A baby died. A BABY. This isn't right. I'm a nurse. I make people better. This LifeNet crews saves more critical people than I do. And they couldn't. Why. I felt so awkward, but attempted to maintain composure, which I did very poorly.
We took the little lifeless girl from the isolette. I had mom sit in a rocker so she could hold her baby for the first time. A rocker that was meant to rock babies to sleep. Not to hold a child that died. I found out mom was a nurse. Of course she was. Bad things also happen to medical providers. I had no words. None. What can you say? I'm so sorry.
I later learned how one baby that I had seen for approximately 45 minutes, would change my life forever. I spent the evening with the parents. The family. Crying. This was my first exposure to making memories. I had no idea what I was doing. I wanted to go home. Run. Cry. Hug someone. Hug my 2 kids at home. Sadness I had never felt before overwhelmed me. We made hand prints and footprints. Cut locks of her beautiful dark hair. The rest of the night is a blur now. I think it was several months after May 3rd, I found a card I felt was appropriate. I had done some research on caring for families who experience loss. I read about sharing my feelings with the parents. I wrote a novel on that card. What I remembered. What I saw. What I felt. I did not forget them. I never will. I felt it was important to let them know how special their daughter and they were to me.
This pained me for months. I'd cry uncontrollably. I thought "How in the hell can I do this job?" This is the most gut and heart wrenching thing I'd ever experienced. I felt some closure after writing to the parents. I heard back from the mom. She was so grateful for the card, for all I did. I felt like I had done nothing but be an awkward bystander. As months went on, I felt less anxious. Less anxious going to work. Good God if I ever had to do or see that again I couldn't do it. That was too hard to witness.
I still have occasional contact with her parents. I wouldn't consider us friends. But we have an unspoken bond. Unbeknownst to me, this was a turning point in my career and it would shape many more occurrences I would encounter. God bless you A, J and C.
No comments:
Post a Comment