Life and life changing experiences. It's taken me awhile to get to the point where I am able to post this, but the events of the past few months have reminded me of how precious...and tenuous life is. I am grateful that Cameron is going to be okay. I am saddened that other babies are not so fortunate.
The day before Cameron was released from the NICU, I saw a baby die. It happened quickly, over the course of an hour, and it was awful... and strangely beautiful at the same time.
Cameron was in the quarantine room in the back of the NICU. On the other side of the sliding glass doors was a 26 weeker who, up until that day, had done great. She was six weeks old when she developed a bacterial infection in her intestine, causing it to perforate.
I was feeding Cameron around 11am when the alarms on the baby's incubator started going off. Initially, I didn't think anything of it, as the alarms go off on all the babies' beds all of the time. I knew that something was up, however, when the number of doctors and nurses in the room started to rapidly multiply. The doctors were amazingly calm, yet they were moving fast. The urgency on their faces was palpable.
As the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly apparent that the baby was very sick. This was confirmed when the attending physician asked the charge nurse to call the baby's parents. Normally, I don't pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop, but I wanted nothing more at that moment than to run away. I was watching some one's worst nightmare unfold, and I felt helpless, guilty, and heartsick all at the same time. Although I desperately wanted to leave the NICU, I couldn't. The doorway was blocked by 20 people. When I realized that I wasn't going to get out, I closed the doors to Cameron's room, closed my eyes and prayed for the doctors, the nurses, the parents, and most of all, for the sweet baby who was fighting for her life.
Although the door to Cameron's room was shut, it did little to muffle the sound of what was taking place five feet away. Within a short period of time, the baby's condition deteriorated to the point where doctors were forced to shift their goal from resuscitation to keeping the baby alive until her parents arrived at the hospital.
In the very long and painful minutes that followed, I watched a group of wonderful doctors and nurses take turns cradling the dying baby. I was touched by the tenderness with which they cared for this precious little girl. The room that was a few minutes earlier a flurry of activity, was now peaceful and quiet.
It all became too much. I seized upon the opportunity of a cleared room and ran out into the hallway, where I cried for a half hour. When I returned, the incubator was gone and one of the nurses was gently folding the baby's sleepers, blankets, and other personal effects and placing them into a clear plastic bag. I learned later that the baby's parents didn't make it to the hospital in time.
I didn't know what to do; there was nothing that I could do, other than give the nurse a hug and tell her that she did a good job. Afterward, I returned to Cameron's room, where I held him a little longer and a little tighter than I did before.
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
November 25, 2008
October 3, 2008
What I Learned from my Children
Prewritten Post # 2
Small children are blessed with unabashed pride in their own accomplishments and attributes.
"You are very beautiful," I told my daughter the other day.
"I know," she replied.
Somewhere along the journey to adulthood, however, most women stop taking compliments as incontrovertible truths about ourselves and instead, start viewing them as cruel jokes. This is proven by the fact that if you ever tell a young mother that she looks pretty or, heaven forbid, sexy, she will first laugh at you, and then insult your intelligence.
"You don't know what you are talking about," she'll bark as she pinches a layer of fat around her middle.
I worry sometimes that I am so focused on teaching my kids how to be better people that I forget that I have much to learn from them on the subject in return. Specifically, I fear that if I don't start following my children's example, then they will follow mine.
The next time that someone pays you a compliment, join me in resisting the urge to stomp on it. Instead, smile and simply say "thank you."
P.S. Have a great weekend! I'll be back "live" on Monday. I hope!
Small children are blessed with unabashed pride in their own accomplishments and attributes.
"You are very beautiful," I told my daughter the other day.
"I know," she replied.
Somewhere along the journey to adulthood, however, most women stop taking compliments as incontrovertible truths about ourselves and instead, start viewing them as cruel jokes. This is proven by the fact that if you ever tell a young mother that she looks pretty or, heaven forbid, sexy, she will first laugh at you, and then insult your intelligence.
"You don't know what you are talking about," she'll bark as she pinches a layer of fat around her middle.
I worry sometimes that I am so focused on teaching my kids how to be better people that I forget that I have much to learn from them on the subject in return. Specifically, I fear that if I don't start following my children's example, then they will follow mine.
The next time that someone pays you a compliment, join me in resisting the urge to stomp on it. Instead, smile and simply say "thank you."
P.S. Have a great weekend! I'll be back "live" on Monday. I hope!
October 2, 2008
What I Learned During This Pregnancy
I knew that my D-Day would come sooner or later, and since I couldn't guarantee that I would have access to a computer in the hospital, I wrote a few entries in advance. Here's #1:
Most women in Penn's High-Risk Pregnancy Clinic have been asked at least once if they want to terminate their pregnancy. My friend (let's call her Aalia) has been asked this question more times than the rest of us, and for good reason: Aalia has Brittle Bone Disease, a debilitating form of dwarfism. Standing no taller than the average kindergartner, the eight-month pregnant Aalia is all belly....literally. The added weight and pressure of her unborn baby has put such a strain on Aalia's petite body that she has a tremendously difficult time doing things that most of us take for granted (i.e. walking, sitting in a chair).
Because our doctors' appointments are scheduled on the same days and times every week, Aalia and I have had a lot of opportunities to talk about our pregnancies, and the choices that we have made in relation to them. Last week, Aalia told me the story of when her 20-week ultrasound revealed that the baby she was carrying would be born with the same debilitating disease with which she struggles.
"Would you consider terminating your pregnancy?" asked her doctor.
"Not any more than I would consider terminating myself," Aalia replied.
It's been a week, and I can't stop thinking about Aalia's response to her doctor's suggestion. Specifically, I am overwhelmed by this mother's love for her child...and for herself.
How often do we look in the mirror and lament our physical imperfections? More often, I bet, than Aalia does. As I catch myself focusing with increasing frequency on the inconveniences of pregnancy, I can't help but acknowledge with great admiration that Aalia understands with perfect clarity what many in the world never will: namely, that beauty lies in the gift of life itself.
Most women in Penn's High-Risk Pregnancy Clinic have been asked at least once if they want to terminate their pregnancy. My friend (let's call her Aalia) has been asked this question more times than the rest of us, and for good reason: Aalia has Brittle Bone Disease, a debilitating form of dwarfism. Standing no taller than the average kindergartner, the eight-month pregnant Aalia is all belly....literally. The added weight and pressure of her unborn baby has put such a strain on Aalia's petite body that she has a tremendously difficult time doing things that most of us take for granted (i.e. walking, sitting in a chair).
Because our doctors' appointments are scheduled on the same days and times every week, Aalia and I have had a lot of opportunities to talk about our pregnancies, and the choices that we have made in relation to them. Last week, Aalia told me the story of when her 20-week ultrasound revealed that the baby she was carrying would be born with the same debilitating disease with which she struggles.
"Would you consider terminating your pregnancy?" asked her doctor.
"Not any more than I would consider terminating myself," Aalia replied.
It's been a week, and I can't stop thinking about Aalia's response to her doctor's suggestion. Specifically, I am overwhelmed by this mother's love for her child...and for herself.
How often do we look in the mirror and lament our physical imperfections? More often, I bet, than Aalia does. As I catch myself focusing with increasing frequency on the inconveniences of pregnancy, I can't help but acknowledge with great admiration that Aalia understands with perfect clarity what many in the world never will: namely, that beauty lies in the gift of life itself.
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