Mortality.

She is 4 months old and she is dying. Born premature with severe neurological deficits, this little peanut will not likely not survive much longer. I held her today for 2 hours while she cried and then rested, and then cried again. Her voice is weak and where most other infants would have a lusty cry at being poked and prodded, she doesn't even open her eyes. When you assess her, you notice things that just should not be: her toes are always spread apart and her arms unfurl only grudgingly.

I have a bruise on the back of my hand from where my watch was digging in... I just didn't have the heart to move her when she finally settled.

I'm not talking about this to glorify what I do, or even to seek sympathy. Almost everyone I know would have done just exactly what I did today. I'm talking about this experience because I need an outlet.

Can you imagine what her family must be going through? I am privileged to know more details then most people would and I can not begin to fathom it. The grief must be unbearable. I guess I just can't wrap my mind around what that must be like.

I think that what surprises me the most about this experience is that I have nothing profound to say (not that I am a particularly profound person!). Before you go into a day like today you think that when you experience something like this that you will have this great epiphany; that you will somehow come to understand your own mortality in a different way. But you know, as I sat there watching her little face...all I could think was...was "what a sweet little girl" and "this is so unbelievably awfully sad". I came out of this experience with no new insight or life changing revelation. I think I came away with a simple form of love. It's really the only way I can describe this feeling. I feel privileged to have been part of this little one's life and yah, I do have love for her and her family. It's an odd feeling to love a complete stranger, but I really think that's the only way you can describe it.

I am well aware that this sounds very "virtue script-esque" or "stereotypical" for someone in my profession. My question for those who are skeptics is: how else can you deal with someone else's mortality, but through love?

Peanut.

Wow, the first post of 2009. I feel privileged to be alive today. The snow is falling gently and the sandwich being eaten by the anonymous person beside me smells delicious. Really, if those are the two things on my mind at this moment, I am indeed privileged.

I should not say that those are the only two things on my mind. Truthfully there is a lot more then that going on. I had my second pediatric/maternity course today and I believe that my love of mental health is about to be superseded by a love for moms and babies. "Peanut" seems to be a term of endearment that several instructors have used when they refer to a little one they are/or have been caring for. I like that. I also like that this morning my prof encouraged all of us in the class to be the HCP that takes the time to bring water to a new mom while breast feeding, to take the 3 year old sibling to the play room or to be the one to cry or laugh with the family. That appeals to me in every possible way. You see, so far I have been pretty nervous about letting my own personality infuse into my practice. I am so concerned with being politically correct and culturally sensitive that I do not allow mySELF to come through. Living like this is extremely fatiguing and feels unnatural so this semester I will try something different. I will maintain my professionalism and all that accompanies this, but I will also allow mySELF to come through. I will laugh, I will cry, I will love and I will likely be a bit of a goof (hey, I can't help it!). But I will NOT be anyone but mySELF.

I learned yesterday that the motto for the first nursing school in St. Catherines, ON was "I see and am silent". Well, not anymore. I am meeting Peanut tomorrow and I can hardly wait.