Disclaimer: I'm writing this post with a heavy heart. It's not a fun read.
"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains" -C.S. Lewis
It's 7:57am and my coworker is giving a baby breaths. The room is strewn with materials from the code cart. I walk in and take a turn so she can see her other patients. She tells me that the doctor already explained to the family that we've done everything possible, but he wasn't breathing on his own. We're going to continue breaths until 8:05, but then we're going to stop. For 8 minutes I pray. It's 8:05, but I keep giving one more breath, one more breath... Stopping hurts.
It's 8:30 and I hear the rattle of the code cart. It's a different child, but the same scenario. Malaria season is rampant and leaves so many young children vulnerable to high fevers, severe anemia, hypoglycemia, and seizures. For half an hour, we try everything. Everyone knows what to do because we do it almost every day, but it's not enough. I look up through teary eyes after a round of compressions and see the faces of the family. I've seen that look over a hundred times, but it continues to pierce my heart nonetheless. We stop, but I can't stop because I have 8 other patients who need me.
It's just after 9:30 and another baby won't breathe. We take turns giving breaths and giving care to our other patients. We knew his chances of survival were low, but we try. The doctor comes in and calls it. Three deep, shaky breaths and a prayer in the utility room. Back to work.
It's 11:15. The fourth one. Lord, please give us strength. We get her sugar up and a heart rate back, so we keep giving breaths. Nurses, aides, and parents all take turns. We pray and hope. 3 hours later her heart finally stops. I think of the moms who loved those babies.
It's the same afternoon and I sit in the room as my friend hears the news that her cancer is back, and this time it's in her lungs. I remember a year ago when she finished treatment and we did 'the final chemo dance' together. Now we're starting chemo all over again.
It's the end of the shift. Our hearts and our feet ache, but we can come back tomorrow and do it again because there is Someone who came to heal the brokenhearted. Because of that Someone, grief and joy can exist in the same place. We can go home and smile and joke and play a game because it's not our own strength that sustains us. There are four empty beds, but we've been promised a day when there is no more death and no more infants who only live a couple days. We wait and trust and carry on in that hope.
