As of now, I am loving being on research and not being on clinical service. Don't get me wrong. I love dealing with pathology and wracking my brain (and if that falls short, the on-line journals) for the pathophysiologic mechanisms and corresponding treatment. It is simply a thrill to find out what to do for a patient which ultimately impacts on his/her family and also on my own knowledge / experience. The downside to this is the opposite. That is, not knowing what else to offer a patient and inflict on a family a pain so deep that is beyond fathomable. In my current hospital setting, we get the sickest babies in the province. Often, we find ourselves bearers of the bad news.
So, there I was today, quietly passing along the patient rooms' corridors when I saw a familiar figure. I had met this grandma before when I was taking consents for my current study. Her eyes looked sad. I have heard that her grandchild, an ex 24 weeker and now 11 weeks old post natally, is not doing so well. He has never been able to tolerate extubation for more than 6 hours and has had a series of serious infections. It is bad. The level of intensive care support has been escalated. And they have gotten "the talk."
I stopped. "How are you?"
She recognized me. "My grandchild is really sick this time. I just want him to rest. He has been through so much since he was born. You understand? I just want him to rest. Is that so bad?"
What could I say? I understood. I knew her pain. Memories of my mother flood back into my mind.
We sit down.
I let her have her release...if only for this moment.
I quietly said a prayer.
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