I hope beyond measure that I never have to plan or attend the funeral of either of my children. I don't know what I would do; the grief would be too immense.
When I heard about the shooting in Tucson and the nine-year-old girl who died, I was lying a hospital bed, recovering from pneumonia and two pulmonary emboli. I wasn't well, and I was hopped up on meds, but I lost it. I absolutely lost it. I couldn't imagine holding the lifeless body of my child, the loss of the hopes and dreams, the potential, the sweet words, future.
I work at a job where there is death. Not all the time, but more than you'd probably think. Many people say, "Oh! You're a labor and delivery nurse! How fun and happy." Well, most of the time it is. But when it's bad, it's really, really bad. I have had both moms and babies die while in my care. Both are terrible. Usually the moms pass away up in the ICU, so I don't have to do postmortem care for the mothers' bodies. I do, however, have to perform postmortem care for the babies who don't make it.
I wash the infants, measure and weigh them, get a set of footprints and locks of hair for the parents, dress them, and try to take tasteful pictures of the wrapped babies, with and without their parents, depending on the parents' wishes. I usually cry and talk to the dead infants while I bathe them, tell them what I'm doing and why, just as if I were talking to a baby who was alive. It's partially an issue of respect for me: this was a person. Partly I am probably trying to suppress what I see before me.
I have done postmortem care for babies born as early as 21 weeks of gestation, and sadly on term infants who almost made it, but not quite. But death is monumentally difficult, no matter what.
I simply cannot imagine how gut-wrenching it would be to lose your own child. Callum, my elder son, somehow pulled through with a true knot in his umbilical cord. The MD at the birth told me that Callum was lucky to be born when he was because in another day or two, he would likely have died from lack of oxygen. Sometimes Mark and I talk about that and cry with relief that it didn't happen. I cannot imagine not knowing my strong-headed, often very annoying, but very fabulous Callum.
My heart aches for parents who have lost their children. It must be a tremendously awful burden to carry.
3 comments:
I know...I feel the exact same way, and I don't work in the same field as you do, not even close.
The tragedy in Tucson just reminds us all to hold our babies (no matter their age) a little tighter.
Love you K..
Love you too, Christina. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have such a stalwart community of support.
My youngest knocked herself out once and stopped breathing for about 15-20 seconds. It was the most frightening 15-20 seconds of my entire life. I could not stop hugging her all evening.
My heart aches for all the families in Tucson affected by this tragedy. Everyone killed was someone's baby. Life is so fragile. Another reminder to treasure each moment we have together... no matter how annoying.
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