[AliRae]

I was just reminded of this story ...

I was caring for a 9-year old paraplegic in with pneumonia. She had been in a terrible MVA the year before which had left her paralyzed and with a big scar running across her cheek, forehead, and up into her hair. I was bending over her to listen to her lungs, and I felt a small finger reach up and touch my forehead, right where I have a scar (not very noticeable, unless you're up close to me). "Where'd you get that?" she asked me, her eyes wide with the kind of unhesitating curiosity peculiar to the very young. I told her I had been in a sledding accident. "Where'd you get yours?" I asked. "I was in an accident too. A car accident." She was so matter-of-fact.

She looked thoughtful for a minute and then leaned towards me, like a sage imparting some age-old piece of wisdom. "You know what?" she asked me, almost whispering. "What?" (I found that I was whispering too, like we were sharing a secret.) "You and me, we both have scars." She reached out again and touched first my forehead, and then her own. "But even though we have scars, we're still beautiful."

She leaned back on her pillows, and I had to excuse myself so she wouldn't see me cry.

I'd love to hear your stories of moments that touched you. We're so often understaffed, overworked and tired to the bone. Why not take a minute out and remember why it is we got into this business in the first place.

[janfrn]

There have been a few. One recent one involved a preschooler who was admitted in respiratory failure following a diagnosis of juvenile mono-myelocytic leukemia. The mortality rate for that type of leukemia is very high and a PICU admission for an oncology patient is usually a very bad turn of events. All of us totally fell for this beautiful little girl. I only cared for her for two night shifts out of the three months she was with us, and those two nights were two months apart. The second night I had her, she had been to Heaven's Gate and back and had been trached. She was in about the best condition that we'd seen her, and was alert, interactive and cheerful. I decided that we'd get out the baby bathtub and give her a real bath that night. My friend and coworker Karen came to help me and the little girl had a wonderful time splashing and swishing the water around. Her parents couldn't be there that night; one of her siblings was having an awards night at school. So I took some pictures of her in the tub using my Palm Pilot. They weren't the clearest most Pulitzer-prize deserving but they captured her delight at being normal for a little while. The next time I worked I took prints of the pictures in and gave them to her mom; she loved them. Six weeks later, the little girl passed away. Several of my coworkers went to the funeral; the family had created a slide show of special moments in her life, and there for all to see was one of the pictures I had taken that night.

I have stopped taking Palm Pilot pictures of my favourite kids. Another little kiddie who was a real ham was captured on Saturday afternoon trying to eat Timbits (donut holes) through the side of the box. He looked SO cute, I asked his mom if she'd like a picture... four months later he died suddenly in his sleep. Call me superstitious, but I just don't want to see pattern develop, know what I mean?

[km5v6r]

I was doing acute dialysis at the time. I regularly did the hemodialysis treatments on the youngest to date pt. We had started him in the NICU and finally discharged him home at 6 months of age. He was an extremely fussy baby and could and would scream for the entire 3 hour treatment. The parents lived over an hour's drive from the hospital and had to bring him in by 0800 4 days a week. Mom told me once she had to get up at 0400 to leave the house by 0630 to make it to dialysis on time. Because of the difficulties with doing hemo on a baby we did the treatments in the PICU. The pair of them would arrive and I would send Mom to eat breakfast and sleep in the waiting room. Mom told me once that those few hours were the best sleep she got because she didn't have to worry about or listen for the baby. She trusted me. When I did the dialysis treatments both of them were able to sleep and leave happy and rested. The baby died of a massive infection at 9 months old. At the funeral both parents thanked me for giving them the chance to enjoy their son.

[isel4u]

I think there is a time when we all forget why we do what we do and need a little reminder! Here is my reminder.
Christmas 2003, PICU, recieved two easy pt's when I came on. At 11:00 I was told that I was moving both of my pt's to peds and getting a 13 y.o. codeing pt from outlieing hosp. She roled through the door with the parametic riding on top of her performing CPR. This code lasted until 1530. I came out and said that I was going to get something to eat and would record my code when I returned. While I was eating in the break room, the charge nurse enters and tells me that I am getting a 13 y.o. male HEAD INJURY from the E.R. JUST GREAT, i thought. What a Christmas! Well the 13 Y.O. head injury arrived from the E.R. accompanied by mother, the Neurologiest, and the E.R. nurse. I get a short report and hear the Neuro tell the mother that he was going to put in a central line, art line and a ICP Bolt, she would need to sign the consents and wait in the waiting room. Well needless to say, I did not get home to have Christmas dinner with my wife and kids. By the time that I got the lines and bolt in and recorded the 4 hr code, it was 2200. As I was walking out I was muttering to myself, "What a @#*$ day I have had, and on Christmas day to top it off!!!" As I passed the waiting room I see the mother of the 13 y.o. boy head injury pt sitting in the waiting room crying. I realize that no one had even gone out to tell her if her son was alive or dead. And then it happened, A lightning bolt of guilt hit me! How arrogent I am to think that this day was about me. I did not loose a child! I did not have a child laying in the PICU fighting for his life. What a schmuck I am! I promised myself then and there that I would never, repeat, never complain about how hard my day was. I was weak with sorrow as to how self absorbed I had been. I walked into the waiting room and talked to that mother for two hours. When I left I reflected on my life and how good I have it. So now, if I am not in charge and I hear the charge nurse say, "Sorry about your assignment!" I just reply, " It's only 12 hrs out of my perfect life, that is not my child laying there. This is going to be a good day."