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Archive for the ‘Morning Shift’ Category

“Baby out 1:50pm. It’s a girl,” echoed by the obstetrician who delivered you via C-section. I let out a sigh of relief when the last part of your body was pulled out gently by our medical team. But wait, maybe I was wrong in relinquishing that sigh sooner because I heard no cry and saw no movement from your body.

 And then there’s another problem. You are missing two of your limbs, Aryana. Perhaps a congenital anomaly uncommon to full term babies like you. But first things first, and that is your airway. I kept in mind that your breathing is my priority and the rest, we’ll just have to deal with later. Together with your neonatologist, we rushed you to the cord dressing area and established a clear airway for you. I rubbed your back, an intervention used to stimulate a cry from newborns. I wasn’t very successful with that. All I heard was grunting…but that was better than no cry at all.

“Ready for intubation,” said Dr. Tin. She was about to place the laryngoscope in your mouth when suddenly, you let out a laborious cry. It wasn’t blatant, but any cry from you would be very much acknowledged. Be proud Aryana, you just saved yourself from manual ventilation.

But the battle isn’t done yet. I now have to face the dilemma of your absent limbs. Yet what can I do? I am a  nurse, not a miracle worker. But rather than focus on what I am  incapable of doing, I turned to what I am empowered to do. I spoke with your father and shared with him your brief and honest situation. Of course it’s your doctor’s job on filling your family with pathologic explanation. The technicalities of your case are left to her, while my job is to provide your family with words of comfort. For me, that is an even harder task because anyone can explain the physiologic deficiency of your body, but to say “it’s going to be alright” to a family who’s already dismayed by the outurn of events is a crucial toil. Giving words of encouragement to them is like watering an already dead plant. Useless and disappointing.

But you are my priority Aryana, your family comes second. And as I am writing you this letter, you were already discharged from the hospital. I wish to tell you a lot of things,  but know that you are much too young to understand. I’ll say it anyway for I don’t want to let time pass with words left unsaid.

Baby Aryana, you are a gift from God. You are His masterpiece regardless of how you look like. What you lack doesn’t define who you are. You may not become a famous runway model, but maybe in time you’ll discover some talents with your hands. Perhaps become a painter, or a writer like me. The world is harsh, so be strong. Remember, you have to be brave with your life so others can be brave with theirs. Be an inspiration.

You are a blessing, Aryana. Please never forget that.

Sincerely yours,

Your NICU nurse.

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