Complex Congenital Heart Defects, officially. His heart was smaller than the size of his little newborn fist, and it had five serious things wrong within that tiny space. His survival was not assured. And on some days not likely. Gave me a whole new appreciation for the pain my own heart could endure.
Not endure well, but endure none the less.
He was transported directly to Children's Hospital from his birth hospital. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. We spent almost three months there, that initial 'visit' and I received a reluctant education in a few areas, during our time.
- I learned (and used) medical terminology I hoped never to need.
- I learned (and performed) minor but practical medical procedures that my son would require if I ever hoped to take him home.
- I learned that in any given situation, one of three things will happen. Things will get worse, they will get better or they will stay the same. I've yet to find an exception to this.
- I also learned that I never want to hold a job that my heart is not called to. This may be the greatest lesson I learned.
It was one of those "don't try this at home" type lessons. As we lived day-in, day-out in the midst of sick children, parents sick at heart and the staff of a hospital designed specifically to support the well-being of these first two groups, it slowly became apparent that not every one working within the walls of Children's hospital was necessarily 'called' to work there.
Upon hearing of our stay at Children's, people most often remarked "Aren't they wonderful people there?" And the answer is Yes, absolutely. There are indeed some incredible individuals at Children's. People most amazing. Talented, motivated, exceptional, gentle of hand and kind of heart. And my family & I were fortunate to know each one. These were people who literally saved the life of my son. They are extensions of the hands of God, as far as I am concerned. For these people, their work with the lives of these children, broken in one way or another, was their calling.
There were also people working at Children's for whom, it seemed, it was just a job. Their hearts were not in their work. We were there for months the first time and for weeks during subsequent visits; I'm not referring to people who were having a random bad day. They were not happy in their jobs, and it showed day after day.
I know I could never do it. I am not made of the right stuff for such a job, so wouldn't you rather I work somewhere else? Isn't it better for all concerned if I find a profession I'm made for? Maybe it grows to be too much, taking care of babies, children, teens who sometimes die before your eyes. Growing attached to children and families who eventually leave, one way or another. Maybe these people didn't begin their work discouraged and disheartened, but over time it couldn't be helped? I don't know.
What I do know is that when this becomes the case, it might be best for everyone to decide to move on. Go to work at a place where there is less at stake. Where parents aren't clinging to your every word for some flicker of hope, where your snide mood left over from I-don't-care-what, doesn't have the power to add to the burden of a suffering family. The staff of such facilities have the honor of working with sick children. I held the hands of two mothers whose children died at Children's, it was my privilege to know these women and their two infant sons. I'm a better person for having been part of the months of life those little boys had.
It was the best feeling, being in contact with staff that lived and loved their chosen profession. It was inspiring, it was reassuring and it was calming to my soul.
And it was the worst feeling being on the receiving end of someone who hated their job, someone who did not want to be there. And in this we agreed, I didn't want them there either.
If you're going to be miserable in your work, do it at the IRS or as a lighthouse keeper or a news reporter or a bounty hunter. Somewhere else, please.
As a new mother sits next to the bed of a gravely ill baby, wondering if she is going to have to plan a funeral soon, she should not also have to be exposed to and have to contend with a disgruntled, ill-tempered, unsatisfied, prickly person sharing the same intimate space.
In the rest of life, we may have the understanding that we have to exist with such people, we work beside them, live with them, order food from them, (we may even be these people at times) but parents in this most vulnerable of situations should get a temporary 'Get Out of Jail Free' card.
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