life and death

What a day.

So busy at work- I could've cried. Too much to do. Too many patients. Three pokes at three ropey veins in a little old lady's arm. No blood. In the hallway, too. Not the worst thing, but just one of many things.

Then at 5 minutes to shift change. Right before my twelve hours here is over. Woman comes in, something's not right. Normal ultrasound today, now something is dreadfully wrong. Gush of fluid. Get her in, get her on the stretcher, doctor and two RN's in there... the baby is coming out. But the baby has only been in that warm, safe, secret place for 19 weeks.

But he or she is coming out. That tiny little life. Not ready for outside life yet. Quick, get obstetrics. Luckily they're just down the hall. "I'm sorry, you've lost the baby". She starts to weep. And weep. We call in the husband, he's there, holding her hand and speechless and so awkward and helpless. "We prayed for so long" "Seven years trying, no drugs, no treatments, just hope." Finally, this long awaiting pregnancy, and now their hope and their dream is leaving her body, their arms, their life. Husband says, "don't worry sweetie. We can try again. We can try again." What else can he say? I start her IV. Saline drips in, then oxytocin. What cannot be put back in their rightful spot is now stuck in limbo, and must come out.

I look down. Baby's feet and legs. Tiny little legs, but so unmistakeably fully formed little limbs. You knit me together in my mother's womb. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Even if none of those days were in a mother's arms, only from beneath a mother's heart and straight up to heaven. A Father's arms.

Tears down my face. Down our doctor's face, holding the woman's hand as she likely feels her own 20 week old life kicking inside. Trying to be strong, but not hiding our grief for them. This is empathy and this is our job and sometimes it touches the very soul.

I come out of the room to get some warm blankets. Then the tears flow. The charge nurse sees me come out and leads me away and puts her arm round my shoulder. I stand stunned at the desk.

Meanwhile the 45 year old woman in 19 has no idea that her 6 week gradually increasing, now excruciating headache is from an ever growing tumour. Simple outport Newfoundlanders... she is stomach-sick, not nauseous, and she just takes the tyl'nol and hopes it will go away. But it didn't. And now, it likely won't. More death.

I leave the hospital and I walk through the snow and go find my husband and hug him as tight as I can. And cry. "I'm here".

Death and tears... love and life.

What a day.


I have tried to leave out any identifying details for the sake of patient confidentiality. But it is all true. And it all happened very recently. This is a job like no other.