Being far away from home, there is a prayer I say each day.
Lord, I pray that you keep me busy and focused, and I thank you Lord for giving me these challenges and yet rewarding me the strength and peace of mind to deal with them.
Working in intensive care here has certainly tested my limits. It is not only the endless sleepless hours (especially when on call...one has to stay in-hospital for about 26 hours), but also the consuming process of piecing together a patient's multitude of signs and symptoms and then giving the timely care and treatment. The responsibility does not end there. As fellows, we have to talk to parents and tell them in the simplest terms possible about their baby's most complicated problem which we ourselves have only began to fathom. English is not my first language. Imagine the struggle I have at times for words in order to explain things. Having said this, I have learned that communication, in whatever form, is key.
Once, having been on call and with a baby who was surely dying, I talked his parents through the whole process..medical gibberish flowing from my mouth.
I felt pain for his parents but at the same time felt release for him. Enough of his suffering. It was quiet at the end. I felt all talked out, literally drained. But I stood by them, my arms out to his mother who I felt needed no more words. The silence more powerful in relating empathy and compassion, providing a cloak of solidarity with them. I muttered a quick prayer as we comforted them for their dead.
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