I worked my first pediatric code (aka “Code Pink”) today, and the baby died. He was only seven months old and had been sick since birth, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more upset about losing a patient. It’s so much easier to justify or at least accept the death of an adult. If I never have to look another mother in the face and tell her that her child is dead it will be waaaaay too soon. Our code team did everything they could (and here’s a heartfelt “Good work” to all my precious coworkers) but there was simply nothing we could do to change the outcome. Somehow knowing that isn’t making me feel a whole lot better right now.
Sorry to post about such an awful topic, but I need to vent a little. I love being an ER nurse, but on days like today it can really suck, y’know?
All you Doper parents give your kids a kiss for me tonight, and remind yourselves how very blessed you are to have them.
My son John would have turned eighteen last March. Is very difficult delivery wsbadly mishandled and he was left with severe brain damage. He was respirater-dependant an completely unresponsive, but he held on for six months±two hundred days, exactly.
During Johnny’s short life, his dad and I serarated, and the buses went on strike. Since the hospital was way too far to walk and most of my friends didn’t drive, I only got to see him when I got up the courage to hitchike.
The nurses out at Childrens were simply fantastic. They cared for him, washed his own sleepers and tried their best to make up for my absense. When I was able to get there, they went out of there way to explain things and always made sure I got a chance to hold him -a task that required to people to accomplish because of his many tubes.
When Johnny died, it was very early in the morning, and fairly unexpected. The nurse kept him wrapped in a blanket on his warming be until his dad and I got there, so we could say goodbye to him without having to hold a cold child. They even cut a lock of his hair for us to keep.
God bless pediatric nurses. Whatever you do, keep at it. You sound as caring as they were.
Ps, Johnny’s dad and I reconciled and have two more son’s. Dan is fifteen-almost-sixteen and Josh is thirteen.
Nightingale I can’t tell you any more than what you already know. A life taken away is sad, but I hope you can recover and carry on. You’re doing much needed work.
Sorry to hear it, Nightingale. That has to be the hardest thing about working ER.
And zoogirl, I’ve heard the same thing about the staff at Children’s, from a couple of different people. Help from nurses who care really makes a difference. We’re lucky to have them
I want to work in Peds when I graduate but I don’t know if I’m brave enough. The children I work with right now are more or less stable. I don’t know if I could handle seeing kids that could die in my care.
Thanks for the support, everyone. zoogirl, I am so sorry for your loss. It sounds like you and your family were blessed with a wonderful nursing staff. It takes a truly special person to work with very sick children; I am lucky in that most of the kids I see are not seroiusly ill.
Rysdad and benson, best of luck to both of you in your studies. You’re entering one of the most heartbreaking and beautiful and frustrating and wonderful professions in the world. Even after a day like yesterday I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
I’m studying respiratory therapy and hope to eventually work in the NICU. I hope that I’m strong enough to deal with the inevitable bad outcome. I also hope that they are few and far between.
My mother works in OB, mostly she does LDRP’s (that’s a single room where they Labor, Deliver, Recover, and Postartum, mother baby couples), but she specializes in NICU. She’s a very strong lady and I’ve seen her cooing and playing with trisemi-13 babies that are missing vital organs, can’t see, can’t hear, can’t relate to the world in general and aren’t expected to live for more than a couple of weeks. I could never do what she does.
There’s one morning I’ll never forget though. Mom came home a wreck. They’d lost a mother during birth. She had a heart attack and they couldn’t figure out what was going on in time. Mom said the lady kept saying that she had pain, but couldn’t tell them where it hurt. The baby was delivered post humously.
The reason I didn’t do pediatrics (aside from the fact that I don’t relate to children very well) is that just about everything is either really routine (ear infections) or really tragic, like this. I have the utmost respect for anyone who can do it.
Pedatric codes are horrible, because as badly as adults tend to do after a code situation (the statistic used to be that 8% of adults would leave the hospital alive after a code; I think it’s better now, but not much), kids do far worse. You’re right, though–that bit of knowledge doesn’t make it any easier.
I just wanted to say thanks to you all. I posted with the idea of giving my own example of why pediatric nurses are so great. I honestly hadn’t thought about people posting condolances to me. I should have known better. You guys are the best!
I want you to know, John’s life and death were a long time ago now. It does get better. His picture is right there on the TV and our boy’s know all about him. He will never be forgotten, but we can remember him now without it being unbearable.
Like WV_Woman, I’d do/give anything to meet the dedicated professionals who took care of me at the Lions Gate hospital in North Vancouver when I was about three months premature. (at least nine or ten weeks premature… I weighed two pounds, two ounces when I was born)
My mom constantly reminds me (usually as part of the old “You never appreciate what your parents do for you” argument) that she was by my side all the time during the day, and that my dad drove her to the hospital before work. (and visited afterwards)
It’s not that I don’t or can’t appreciate it, but sometimes that seems so far away. Is there a statute of limitations on that sort of thing? (appreciating what parents do for you, that is… if someone saves your life, there are no limits)
Sorry for the semi-hijack. I’ll be reasonable now.
Nightingale, you’re doing a very important job, and there are bad times, unfortunately. I have a lot of repsect for doctors and nurses who take care of babies, especially premature ones. (heck, I was one myself!) Telling someone that their baby is dead is probably not easy at all, and I wish I had hald the courage that you show in working with these babies and others in the ER.
zoogirl, you have my most sincere condolences on the loss of your son. I was at Children’s myself many times during my childhood, mostly (as I recall) for eye doctor appointments, but once for an operation in December 1990. As for your spelling in that post, I would hope that nobody called you on it!
I guess I should make clear that I’m not a peds nurse; that’s one job I don’t think I could do exclulsivly. I work in the ER, and the little fellow I mentioned in this thread is the first seriously ill child I’ve ever worked on, which is why his death was so difficlut for me. I think the worst part of the whole thing was the parents’ grief, because I knew there was nothing I could do or say to make it any better.
Hubby took me out for brunch yesterday, and we sat next to a young woman who was holding the sweetest, rosiest, healthiest looking baby girl. Seeing them did me a world of good.
Nurses are (if a skeptical agnostic can be allowed to use this word) angels. My daughter was almost three months premature (weighed 2 lbs. 9 oz.) and spent 7 weeks in the NICU. The nurses there were wonderful. One day when Doe was much better – well enough to feed and for me to hold her – I was talking to one of these amazing women about Doe’s progress and the fact that we would soon be able to take her home. I made a comment along the lines of, “It must be wonderful to work here and help all the babies get well…” She smiled at me so sadly, squeezed my hand and said, “Some days are better than others.” After she walked away, I noticed that 3 of the isolettes that had held very sick babies the day before were empty… So heartbreaking – it still makes me cry and Doe is 15 years old this summer. I can think of few higher callings than that of the nurse. Nurses are heros.
