The Death of Innocents

I first posted this about eight months ago. I have written a lot of blogs since then.....I wanted to revisit this event because it was a very poignant moment in my nursing career.....

When I read in the paper that a small child has died, I am sad. My thoughts and prayers go out to that Tiny Innocent’s family. Let me tell you what it is like for The Forgotten Ones:

The call came through mid-morning: “truck vs. toddler, major internal injuries, prepare for emergent surgery.” As charge nurse in the operating room, this type of call was the hardest to handle. I found a room that was just finishing up a surgery, put them on standby, and raced off to the ER.

In the ER, inside the crowd of nurses and doctors, was a Tiny Innocent: wispy brown hair, pink cheeks, pouty pink mouth, pink overalls, ruffled shirt, and one pink sock. Her eyes were closed; she wasn’t moving. The surgeon interrupted my observations with a curt order to “set up for an exploratory laparotomy, NOW!”

I called back to the OR, spoke to the circulating nurse for the room I had already commandeered, and was told: “we’re ready!” The surgeon and I transported the Tiny Innocent, on her great big gurney, to the operating room.

We worked feverishly, nearly silently, preparing her for surgery. The silence was interrupted only by the surgeon’s orders; those orders were carried out immediately. In what seemed like an eternity, the surgeon asked me to call the ICU and make sure a room was ready for us: “tell them to have the family all gathered together, and get the Chaplain in there, too.”

As I spoke to the ICU charge nurse, my voice broke, and I couldn’t help crying. “I’m sorry” I said. “It’s okay, I understand” she replied. The surgeon couldn’t repair the damage to this Tiny Innocent; we were going to take her upstairs, to ICU, on a ventilator, and let her family say goodbye. I asked the ICU charge nurse to call me when they were ready.

The ringing of the phone momentarily startled me: “we’re ready” she said. “We’re on our way” I replied. Although our “load” was light, four of us clung to the gurney as we made our way upstairs to ICU; it was as if we couldn’t “let go” of our precious passenger; we needed to stay connected to her.

When we reached ICU, the anesthesiologist said he would go into the room alone—all of us might overwhelm the family. The anesthesiologist would be monitoring the ventilator during the family’s goodbyes, and then would turn it off and let the Tiny Innocent stop breathing on her own.

We rode the elevator back to the operating room in comforting silence. What words could possibly help? Our hearts were broken: we are supposed to FIX people, especially Tiny Innocents, not let them die!! We were the Forgotten Ones: touched deeply by the tragedy but forgotten by those who would offer comfort and understanding at such times.

We went back to the room to clean it up, removing all traces of the tragedy that had just occurred in there. And then we went on with the work at hand……

May God keep you in His arms, Tiny Innocent....you touched my life and the lives of many good people you never knew.