Firsts

I walked into his room and was surprised to see how small he was. Severely mentally delayed at three years old he is unable to walk or talk. His body is in a constant state of tension. Hypertonic is what we call it. His eyes are crossed and don't move together. But more than anything else I notice his pain. And his mom. His patient, loving, always present mother who is clearly distressed. She is beyond worried about her son. After two surgeries and a trip to the ER his condition does not seem to be improving in the way we would like it to. He's getting worse, much worse. Several nurses and myself are able to communitcate with this mother through her broken English and our broken Spanish. She is worried that the pain is going to cause the seizures he has a history of. Worse than that, she is worried he is going to stop breathing. We all feel stuck, the doctors want to get him into the OR but can't...it's full and he doesn't quite fall into the "emergency" category. As nurses we feel stuck because it seems as if nothing can touch his pain.

I left work that night feeling sad in a way I had not before. It was the first time I questioned my emotional capability to do this job. It was terrible to see how much pain this child was experiencing. It's very frustrating for doctors and nurses when we do things that do not heal kids like we expect. I heard through the grapevine that after yet another trip to the OR this kid finally left the hospital. I hoped and prayed for nothing but the best for them.

Fast forward two weeks. I'm sitting at a computer charting and I see the same boy roll down the hall in a bed with his mom close behind. My heart drops. I say hi to his mother and ask why they are back. This time it's because he has not been eating well and is very dehydrated. Tears come to my eyes as I see this precious family back in the hospital. My first tears of sorrow at work.

I leave work that night hoping that when I come back in the morning I will not be assigned as the nurse to care for him. I just don't think that I can handle it again. But my wish does not come true, I'll be his nurse for the day. I say a little prayer before I walk into the room. But things seem different when I step inside. Right away I can tell--he is not in any pain. He is just resting comfortably like the rest of us do every single day. His mom steps near his bed and whispers something to him in Spanish and he smiles--a huge, I love my mom, I'm happy kind of smile. Then I smile and then I cry. My first tears of joy at work.