Endings

I wasn’t really in the mood to write tonight.  I just sat down to check email.  And then, just a few words from a friend triggered a reflective, sentimental, and peaceful feeling in me.  And of all things, that feeling is about endings.

It’s the start of back-to- school time around here and that is a beginning.  New beginnings, or even repetitive beginnings, can trigger those butterflies in the tummy, those sweaty palms, and the uncertain anxiety.  After that initial response, however, beginnings are generally regarded as good stress.  It’s how we move forward, how we grow.  Beginnings leave us with a positive image and connotation.  I think of new friends, new challenges, new opportunities, of firsts with my loving hubby and my kids, of all the places I would have never been without a beginning.

Tonight’s email was from a friend facing an ending.  A loved one is in hospice care and will not be with us on this earth much longer.  And aware of that, they struggle.  They struggle with how to balance the joy of a long, fruitful life with the reality of the infant this man is now.  The face the cold, hard job of taking care of someone that by nature, and position as father and grandfather and his other roles, was here to take care of them.

And I grieve for them.  For their upcoming loss, for the difficulty involved in watching it, for the logistics of trying to be many places at once, for the hesitation we all feel in knowing what to say or do or how to talk about this all.  I share my thoughts and prayers as support for them, as they support each other and complete the basic challenge of getting through another day like this and another, and another…And then enters guilt!  Just because we humans get tired and stressed and exhausted from the struggle – it doesn’t mean we wish that loved one wasn’t here.  No God, please don’t misunderstand – that’s not what we meant at all.  In an eyes-half-open moment while changing an adult’s diaper at 3 am and seeing him in pain – our reluctance wasn’t a wish for it to be over!  It’s just human nature.  The most fundamental and basic of human feelings and emotions – and a reminder that the only way to survive times such as these are by the Grace of God.

I have fortunately lost very few people that I had a close relationship with.  But fortunately (oddly enough I mean that), my work has put me in a place to have many experiences with death and dying.  I’ve come to find a beauty in it – a rhythm, or a peace if you will.  I’ve had the privilege of sitting vigil with families in the midst of saying good bye.  I really do mean privilege.  They’ve shared their most private, most difficult, and most hurtful moments with me, as a nurse, as a caregiver.  My position brought me into those situations.  The connection I felt in my heart has left me with a huge respect for endings and for assisting people, as I am able, to experience that ending in the most helpful and most healthy way possible.

I’ve watched cancer kids rejoice that one more vacation was accomplished before the disease took over – or a graduation, or the start of kindergarten.  I’ve seen families start to process their time with their children as a GIFT – a gift of all the days and hours they’ve had – instead of having life stolen from them.  I’ve wrapped up babies who’s little hearts have stopped beating and let mommies and daddies hold them until they can feel their goodbye are complete enough to make the next step.  I’ve been present when we tell parents a baby so young, born so early,  just couldn’t survive, and we are amazed it survived those first 48 hours – and it must have been because he knew what wonderful parents he had.  I can still hear a deep, strong voice reading the Bible to his 24 week gestation son in his last hours.  We all drew strength from that voice – especially the baby.  His vital signs changed when his Daddy read to him, and hung on a little longer while they had that time together.

On a personal note, those experiences like the ones above, prepared me for a couple of my own.  I’ve talked to a Youth Group on the night of the death of one of their own, about how we will still celebrate graduation – and Adam’s life – and how we will celebrate those last great moments with him and for him as we move ahead and keep him alive in us.  And, most preciously, I’ve bent down and kissed my grandmother while she took her last breaths.  As I kissed her, and hugged her, I told her that I owed so much of what I had become to her and the wonderful, beautiful things she had taught me to do and to be.  I put my tiny baby son up next to her and let him lay in the hospital bed with her.  I had watched my daughters just hours before bring her a photo for Mother’s Day and sing a song they had learned at preschool for her.  She told them she loved them, and they, having the honor of knowing their Mamaw Jackson, told her and loved her also.  She was buried with that photo.

I will never say I enjoy the experience of death – but I cannot say that I fear it.  I revel in it’s beauty and in the peace that comes after we fully love and fully engage ourselves and fully connect.  And in that most primitive of connections, we, God’s people, share also the ending, with help and strength from Him and through those he has placed with us.

Baby Steps

Knowing I’m a mom, one might imagine this post is about some sweet little memory of my precious kiddos learning to take their first steps.  Think again.  This post is about mental health – a topic that in my lifetime has become more accepted and easier to talk about over the years.  Specifically, this post is about our attempts to acheive and sustain good, stable mental health in the hectic chaos in which we live. 

One of my oldie-but-goodie favorite movies is What About Bob? starring Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss.  In a nutshell (please pardon the pun) , it’s about a crazy psych patient who turns the tables and drives his succesful and arrogant psychiatrist right off the deep end.  One of the basic parts of the plot is Dr. Leo Marvin’s (Dreyfuss) new best-seller entitled Baby Steps, which he “gives” to the obsessive-compulsive barely functional Bob (Murray) for guidance.  He, of course, gives it to him at the billable charge of $29.95, which I’m positive that insurance didn’t cover even then. 

It’s a comedy and it’s hilarious.  Bob Wiley grasps at any attempt for therapy that he can and hangs on for dear life.  Therefore, he begins “baby stepping” through life.  He baby steps out the office door, down the elevator, and even on a bus to chase the good doctor on his family vacation.  The storyline is made to be laughable, but the over-simplistic concept of baby steps has offered me some personal assistance this week. 

I shared recently with hubby that the key to a healthy mental outlook for me seems to be staying caught up.  That is, keeping up with deadlines, housework, appointments, dinner, baths, and other basic life functions.  Once I get a little behind, I’m prone to let it bother me.  A little further behind and I start shutting down.  Instead of thinking “Yikes!  I better not let things pile up anymore,” I start attempting to ignore them.  I walk around rooms that have laundry piled up.  I close the door to the dirty bathroom.  I just become kind of incapable of jumping in there to fix it.  So, I get overwhelmed, depressed, and in a bit of the funk I’ve been recently exploring. 

That’s how I get there.  Now…how do I get out?  On Friday, I was awake and functional for a total of about 4-5 hours that day.  The entire day!  That’s from about 7am until 8am Saturday morning.  Simply not acceptable.  I don’t have the luxury of enough time to get it all done in a regular day, and definitely not to sit and wallow in it.  I’ve been open about it.  I’ve shared with my hubby and my friends/support network.  I’ve blogged about it and really, I’ve faced it.  Next step – change it – freaking do something about it, girl!  Okay, so I’ve kicked my ownself in the butt now. 

It was early, early Saturday morning that I thought about the Bob movie.  It made me chuckle.  Then, it made me think.  Why couldn’t something that simple help?  It was certainly worth a try. 

While lying on the couch watching TV Land reruns, I started thinking of what baby steps would work for me.  Trying not to avoid the obvious, the giant (and I do mean giant) stack of laundry literally facing me was probably a good starting point.  I had asked Steve to move it all to one place so we could at least see what we were facing.  A trip to the dining room to add to those loads to those in the den, plus a fresh one from the dryer, suddenly yielded a mound of somewhere between 7-10 loads of clean clothes.  CLEAN!  I know it sounds crazy.  I should rejoice at clean clothes, but the scoop is that if they aren’t folded almost immediately, then they pile up also and they really aren’t much good even if clean in a big mountain.  Digging to the bottom of a mountain for clean underwear is not healthy functioning and does not support sound mental health. 

I remembered a quality comment to my recent post from my blogging buddy Joni , which I’ve quoted before, but is good enough to quote again:

 ”I would have days where I’d literally wake up and negotiate myself out of bed. I’d think, “ok, in the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is put my feet on the floor. For the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is get up and go to the bathroom.” And step by step I could get going.” 

Putting Joni and Dr. Leo Marvin’s advice together, I took on the character of Bob and came up with a baby step to get me off that couch.  10 pieces of laundry folded would be a baby step.  Just 10 pieces.  It was a start, a baby step.  I actually folded 12.  It became kind of a game.  Socks, if matched, did, in fact, count as 2 pieces.  Washclothes and little items counted, too.  If I just pulled the 10 off the top of the stack, I’d get a random enough sample that plenty of little tiny “freebies” were included.  I did that first 12 and had a Diet Coke.  I came back and did 15 more pieces.  10 was my goal, again, but 15 was exceeding expectations.  The adrenaline was starting to move a little.  Now the stack of clean laundry actually looked like a stack.  I decided to focus on that clean stack and only pull from the mound, not dwell on or analyze it.  Baby steps.  I even used that corny phrase Bob Wiley did and repeated “baby stepping through the laundry” as my sort of mantra for this project.  I took a rest, I did some computer time, and in between each I made myself fold 10 or more pieces of laundry.  Three-fourths of the laundry got completed with my baby-stepping.  When Steve awakened to find that much done, his eagerness to help out increased and it was soon all folded.  We have yet to put it away, but we did get all the kids packed and off to see the grandparents with CLEAN laundry.  We’ll baby step through putting it away later tonight. 

Former youth-groupers and dear, dear friends (read:family) Kate, visitor from the North (Boston), and Ariel, my writing advisor, came for dinner last night.  We all talked a little about our own mental health and what we do when we are down.  We shared awesome chuckles about my Bob baby-stepping method and then we all proceeded to try it the rest of the night, until we put the actual movie on for viewing.  We baby-stepped those dishes to the kitchen, baby-stepped the food into the fridge, and planned our baby-steps for this week.  While it may be true that misery loves company, I think it’s more true that people just long for the companionship of good friends.  Figuring out how we can embrace, share, and conquer our own individual struggles is an end result of that kind of friendship. 

And I continue baby-stepping through today with my regards to Bob Wiley and my good friends.  I just baby-stepped turning on the dryer and unloading the dishwasher before I allowed myself this blog time.  When the dryer goes off, I’ll have 10 new pieces to fold and yet another baby step will hopefully keep me going. 

 

Where Have I Been?

Where have I been?  What an interesting question.  This was the question posed to me by a newly-found blogging buddy,  Mamadoggylove, when leaving a comment on my site.  And for that comment, I owe her a thank you.  She made me think, and I appreciate it.  She was kind enough to say she missed reading about my family.  Quite frankly, I’ve missed writing about them. 

So, where have I been? 

Tired?  Yes, but that’s usual. 

Overwhelmed?  Maybe. 

A bit depressed?  Perhaps. 

Back in 1996, during my several year stint in nursing management, I attended a fantastic seminar on leadership.  The speaker referred to a scenario in which, with the million things at any one time occupying one’s mind, the individual just “zones out”, so to speak.  He alluded to this happening during significant conversations, meetings, and other such times that were utterly inconvenient.  He advocated an approach of being very straightforward and basically stating, “I was gone there for a moment.  Here’s where I’ve been (if known), and now I’m back.”  Small world, I just did a quick search and found him on the internet.  He’s a pretty big speaker  it seems.  His name is Ben Bissell and I have never forgotten the above and all other kinds of leadership advice he presented.  Check him out if ever you should have the chance.   If anyone knows anyone that wants to offer me even a fraction of what he makes to come and present, you can bet I’d be all over it. 

So, heeding his advice, I’m here to say “I’ve been gone. ” Not really sure where.  In some sort of vague fog.  It’s the fog where wonderful, happy, beautiful things in life are going on all around, but there’s still this gnawing going on in me.  It’s the irony of watching my kids and the joy and energy they hold, and knowing I should be nothing short of thrilled, yet all the while, still bothered.  It reminds me of the post partum blues. 

Steve’s job search is weighing heavy on all of us.  Probably, most significantly on him, but certainly on me as well.  A friend at work said the other night, “I’m sure you could use a break.”  That may be true, but I don’t have any complaints.  I’m not really working extra.  I still love my job.  I’m right now on my 7 days in a row off that constitute my normal schedule.  But maybe it’s just the pressure, the knowing, the understanding that the money’s gone before it ever even arrives. 

Steve’s job currently is finding a job.  It could be a full-time job — too bad it doesn’t pay.  It seems that most companies now have a minimum of a 2-3 tiered interview process – some 4!  Add in between that online or written assessments, intelligence and personality tests, and the 1/2 day type “retreats” where they put him through various or group interviews, scenarios, and learning experiences.  It feels like you have to promise them a first-born child just to get an entry level job.  And although my first-born is a sassy adolescent right now, we’ve decided to keep them all.  🙂 

A few weeks ago, we were certain he had the perfect job.  He was through 3 interviews, a written assessment, a test resembling the SAT, and an hour’s worth of some test revolving around arranging “I’d rather…” statements.  They had even given him a start date.  We were gearing up to send him to Atlanta for training.  I was ready for it.  Even energized.  I had a plan mentally put together and I was all ready to put it into place.  And then, the call didn’t come.  And then the letter came.  Something about “selecting other candidates.”  In several weeks of interviewing, this job was the one he and I both felt the best about.  It was the best fit, and one I could see him excelling at.  Receiving that rejection was a blow.  It wasn’t just the job, it was the fact that our gut instincts seemed to be askew.  It really kind of messed with our reality and made us re-think our ability to accurately judge situations.  It took a chunk of our optimism. 

So, I find myself sitting here at home doing nothing.  Or worrying, or sleeping when I should be awake and vice-versa, or some combination of the above.  I find myself getting high scores on Webkinz World.  And while my kids appreciate the Webkinz cash, it’s a real sign something is off when your kids are fighting with you for computer time with their game.  The only real cooking I’ve done in a couple of weeks is that same salad I posted about last.  And I LOVE cooking. 

 In the past, if Steve and I were at home together, it was rare, and usually could be some sort of enjoyable day.  Now, we are in each other’s way.  Sharing one computer.  Micro-managing the extreme lack of funds we have.  We are tired of bumping into each other in the hallway.  It’s not quality time.  It’s frustrating time.  It’s “We’re aware that something is amiss” time.  Okay, who will change that next yucky diaper and did you move the load of laundry over, etc, etc, etc?  Routine, monotony, basic function.  Survival. 

I obsess about the phone ringing and it being a yes or no about the next interview.  I just answered 3 calls while typing this post.  One was from a potential employer.  I turned around to call Steve on his cell phone and couldn’t remember his cell phone number.  Did I mention another red flag that my functioning might not be up to par?  I wrote a post a few weeks ago about getting it together and I’m a little scared to go back and evaluate how many of the signs I meet right now to prove that life is a tad (if not more) out of balance. 

And so, here’s where I am.  Right here.  I’m right here trying really hard to keep my chin up.  I looking around and knowing I should feel blessed and feeling guilty when I give in to it and feel overcome with it all.  I’m tired of robbing Peter to pay Paul from the bank account and wondering when we can afford discount haircuts and prescription co-pays.  (If you happen to be one of my family members reading this – NO we aren’t going to lose the house or have to sell the kids and we don’t want to borrow money, yada, yada.)  I’m just venting. 

Today, I’ve decided to come out fighting, at least a little.  I at least decided to deal with my writer’s block.  It wasn’t really writer’s block, though, it was more like Function Block.  There was plenty to write about.  I just didn’t want to do it.  And so sitting here right now typing is a start.  I found a few other “starts” to which I wish to pay tribute:

• Once again thanks to mamdoggylove, whose concern through a comment kicked my butt right back into wanting to write something.
• My little Brady has been the little man rising to the occasion, taking care of us all, but especially his Mommy.  The kisses I have gotten have been too numerous to count.
• Stampin’ – ah, stampin.  Everyone needs a good hobby and a stress relief.  Thanks Andi for having a Stamp Camp I could attend.  And thanks to Kaytee, Deb, and Pam – some stampin’ buddies who always make me smile.  We all need time away and friends that make us smile.  These stampin’ projects are about the most productive thing I’ve done in a few weeks!  (oh yeah, and that damn green salad that is the only thing I’ve seemed to turn out of my kitchen 🙂 .  If you don’t know stampin’, just click and visit.  If you are local, we can stamp together – just let me know.  And if not, find a demonstrator in your area. 
• An odd, mixed blessing.  A recent interaction with a former employer attempted to open up some old wounds.  I was hurt deeply and the stability of my family threatened by this person.  The good news:  I only thought about picking the scab off this injury. I refused to let that wound re-open and instead, used it as a needed confirmation that I have the power to make decisions in my life that work best to support my faith and my family and my functioning.  I didn’t enjoy the interaction, but do appreciate the reminder.  It’s also a validation that my current place is much happier and that good friends are there to support you when needed.  TR, JB, and KC, plus all my new-found friends in my new unit – thanks simply for your presence in my life.
• Sunshine and warmer weather – oh how I’ve needed you! 
• My kids love me no matter how dysfunctional I am or how much time I take away from their computer.  Their ability to step-up when needed is amazing.
• And hubby.  Hubby who is making every effort and working so hard to get things settled so he can support his family.  It must be hard to have your biggest fan be such a pain in the butt sometimes.  I have un-dying faith in you – I just need to get myself together.  I wish I had more strength to offer right now, but I still would pick this life with you over and over again.  God could give me no greater gift on this earth than you and our children.

I’d love to hear from some of you all what kinds of things work for you when you are fighting the depression with all you’ve got.  Maybe something we share can benefit one another, so please, do tell. 

I’ll close today with a quote that continues to hang by my computer and a hope and prayer that we can all remember this when needed. 

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens;  but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. “

       — Helen Keller

The Art of Caring

Many of the blogs I’ve visited in the last few days and comments I have made have all related to healthcare in some way.  Following suit, my post today is pieces from an article I wrote several years ago describing what I do and why I do it in the nursing world.  It was designed for a “Teen Room” section on a promotional web page, giving teens the opportunity to explore different careers.  It still applies and speaks to the things I love about nursing.

Using talents to care for children
 I have always known I wanted to work with children. Some of my first memories are playing “mommy” and “daycare.” At first, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, but over the years I explored other careers in child care. I was strong in math and science, so I started to explore careers that would use these talents. I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician, but after two years of college, I realized this was not the right path for me.

I still wanted a career that would combine science, math and my love of children. Nursing seemed like a natural choice, so on a leap of faith I dropped all my other classes. Two years later, I graduated from the University of Tennessee with a degree in nursing.

While I was in school, part of my training included rotations, which allowed me to experience nursing in different environments. I was able to do my pediatric rotation in a children’s hospital, and I fell in love with the children, the organization, the place and the philosophy of care. I can honestly say I have used part of the mission statement, “Because children are special,” as a personal theme for the past 13 years.

After receiving my degree, I began a job as a graduate nurse in pediatrics. I am so grateful for that opportunity to fulfill my dream of working with children. The pediatric hospital is a cheerful and pleasant environment, even though many of our patients are very sick. We have a philosophy of specialized care for children, and we create a special environment where children get unique physical and emotional care.

A typical day for a pediatric nurse might consist of caring for four to five patients ranging from infants to teens. A nurse will make sure patients and their families understand the care they are receiving and any procedures they may have. It is important to continually educate patients to make sure they feel comfortable while visiting the hospital. A good nurse is a figure of trust, knowledge and communication for patients and families.

I love the relationships I am able to form with the children and the great trust they have in those caring for them. I firmly believe in maintaining a respect for how much control patients and their families give to us. I always try to think of what might be scary, confusing or unknown. My patients challenge me, and I enjoy my time with them.

One of my favorite groups of patients to work with is the pediatric cancer patient. I have come to love their little bald heads, their big shining eyes, and the great strength and hope they show in fighting their battle. I find a measure of beauty in how these patients and families “dance” through the difficult and confusing situation of cancer. I say dance because that’s how I think of it. You never know what song is next – is it a sick day or a well day? Or what beat or tempo you will have – is the chemo going to make me sick or not? Or what steps your partner will take to lead – what decisions will my parents and doctors make? And they dance it beautifully. The steps they choose are the right ones for them. I have the privilege of being involved in their care and watching, assisting and at times, “dancing” with them.

Nursing as a career has great benefits. It is enriching, challenging, uses your brain and heart and leaves an impression on you forever. I encourage anyone interested in working in health care to explore the field of nursing. It is a job that will both stretch you and make you smile. Most importantly, nursing will allow you to help others in need.

Pass the Baby

“This one time…at band camp.”  Actually, it goes more like, “This one time, at work…” 

Just the other night a nursing colleague brought over a sweet little wide-eyed baby to her good friend to feed.  Common practice.  

 “I’ve got two feedings at the same time.  Can you feed her?” 

And then the transfer of cute little baby girl in the lavender sleeper takes place.  From one friend’s arms, to another friend’s lap.  The buddy system.  We do it all the time.  You can’t feed two babies at once, after all.  

  “She has wet burps.” 

And then nurse friend number one vanishes, quickly. 

“What does that mean?  Every time I get a “wet burp” baby, it ralphs all over me!”  

Cute little brown eyed baby eagerly begins to eat.  Nurse friend notices wet sensation on her scrub pants.  She seeks assistance of yet another nurse friend.  I, fortunately, am still a by-stander. 

“Here take this baby for a second.  I’ve gotten something on me.” 

Baby handed off.  She did not wait for approval.  Nurse friend now holding baby had little choice.    

“Well, if she got something on you, why are you handing her to me?” 

“Ahhhhhh” (small scream from the sink area)  “It’s poop!  It’s poop!  She’s pooped all over me!  It’s running down my scrubs!” 

“And you handed her to me?”  

 Nurse lifts up baby and discovers, that she, also, is now covered in poop.  Two nurses and one baby covered in poop.  Original “friend” who requested assistance and warned only of “wet burps” is nowhere in sight. 

The two nurses now involved in this situation and sharing the common bond of body fluids, begin the decontamination process.  Wipes are flying.  I went only near the situation to double check a medicine.  Somehow, I had a trace of poop on my hand.  I scrubbed again.  My water bottle was on a table nearby the scene.  I took it home for sterilization.  The poop was spreading quickly.   The cleanest of the two goes to retrieve the nurse who has apparently fled the scene.   

“She’s a crazy crack whore!”

That and other terms of affection fly.  It’s the way we show love in an NICU.   

From the outside looking in

I have one of those jobs that makes people often say, “Oh, I could never do that…”  I work with sick children and have now for almost 16 years.  My first years as a nurse were spent working with pediatric cancer patients.  It even makes me have an awestruck response every now and then, but more about that later.  Now, I work with sick babies in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  Most folks associate this with preemies, and while that’s true, we get critically ill babies, early or not.  Sometimes it’s a full term baby that just had a rough delivery, or sometimes, it’s a 24 week pregnancy with a baby just over a pound, teetering on the edge of life.  It has its variety and it has its challenges.   I continue to say that “Real Nursing” is the kind where it’s not so much about the paycheck, but much more about real life.  Dealing with genuine people in true crisis and having empathy and respect for them.  Trying to see if from their side of the bed, or isolette (incubator to most of you), if you will.  That’s the part I really love – trying in some small way to help other humans through this craziness.    Moms start motherhood with concern for everyone else.  They’ve been pregnant for up to 9 months, with many rough days.  They’ve just contracted, pushed, delivered and are completely worn out.  They are still bleeding, often in the process of being sewn up and they are instantly worried about everyone else, baby first.  I have the privilege of working with Moms and babies in a couple of different roles.  In one, I assist midwives with healthy baby deliveries in an alternative birth-center setting.  Those moms are all low-risk and are on the really healthy end of deliveries.  They’ve had to endure very few medical interventions and as a result, recover quickly.  Actually, they go home as soon as 6 hours later.  They are amazing!  They start telling Dad their sorry he’s been standing so long or that he had his hand squeezed too tight.  They tell the midwife they appreciate how long she’s been laboring with them.  They inquire if friends and family need food, drink.  They say things like “it’s been a long day for all of us.”  The experience that woman has just been through and there she is, nurturing everyone around her.  She shows very little concern for herself, other than a shower and a trip to the bathroom, and now it is all about taking care of baby.  It’s beautiful.  I cry a lot!   The downside here is that when anything goes different than planned or expected – who does the mother blame?  Herself.  It’s a really flawed system, but it’s inborn.  Moms have the gift of guilt and it is the gift that, unfortunately, keeps on giving.  I’ve been trying for a number of years to figure out how to take it away from them, but that’s the cruel irony, no one can take guilt away from another.  It’s an individual process and the only person who can free you from guilt is…you.  I’ve come to accept that and to understand that I cannot remove guilt.  My role is to help them process and work through it and hopefully increase their own strength enough to overcome their own guilt.  It’s complicated.   Just a few days ago, I watched a mom weep at her infant’s bedside.  He was born at almost 32 weeks, with full-term being 40.  He will likely do well, we just have to help him grow outside of her for several more weeks.  He’s around 4 pounds.  He can’t yet breathe well enough on his own to maintain oxygen for his little body.  We have a tube down his airway to help and he’s hooked to a machine, the ventilator, that breathes for him.  We control how fast, the amount of oxygen, how long a breath lasts and how much pressure each breath provides.  His tummy and intestines aren’t developed enough yet to eat.  We have mom save her valuable breastmilk in the freezer while we feed him with fluids into his bloodstream.  We use the vessels in his umbilical cord as IV’s.  There are tubes coming out of his belly button and that’s where the fluids and nutrients go in.  We also draw blood out of those lines, so we can accurately measure oxygen and other lab values from his blood.  While pretty standard for a neonatal unit, it can be scary to see.  I imagine that as a parent, it’s terrifying.  I’m fortunate to have only experienced it from the nurse side.    His mommy, the one who took such good care of him, agonizes and cries over what she’s done to him.  Her heart hurts and it hurts mine to watch her.  As tears roll down her cheeks, she keeps one hand on him.  She can touch him gently, but she won’t be able to hold him for days.  She talks about her blood pressure and that she tried to keep it down.  She did everything they told her to – bedrest, diet changes, frequent visits, restricted activity.  So why?  Why must her son now struggle so?  Could she have done something different?  How could I do this to him? – she asks herself and she says it aloud.  She talks about the two healthy babies she’s had previously.  She’s trying to prove she’s done it right before.  And now she’s trapped herself…if she’s done it so well before – why this, why now?  It’s painful to watch and more painful to imagine her misery.   I take a deep breath and say a silent prayer for her and one for me, that I might have some words that provide some bit of comfort.  That I might be a part of her healing process.  And then, I reassure.  I listen and let her get it out.  I hug her or touch her hand.  I congratulate her on a beautiful baby that is working very hard to get healthy.  I talk a bit about guilt and tell her I would take it away if I could.  I share with her that most moms, including me, are prone to guilt.  I offer her support and re-affirm for her that she did everything she could for him, and most importantly, it’s not her fault.  They are, true, just words.  But I mean them.  And maybe between she and I and all those others that support her, and this little baby that is working hard to get well, and God up above – those words will help a little in that process of removing her guilt.