It Takes a Broken Heart

Last Wednesday night I was on-call. I work as a palliative care and hospice care nurse for Children's, so three other nurses and I share a rotating schedule for taking calls after hours from families with very ill children. Sometimes the calls that come in are from families who are needing guidance in how to keep their children comfortable, when to give what medications, or when to call the doctor. We also happen to be the first call for parents if their child dies.

I was in my pajamas, finishing up a blog entry, actually, when I received a call from the family of an infant with a terminal diagnosis. We are very accustomed to seeing newborns that have some type of chromosomal or development anomaly, many times diagnosed when the mothers are still pregnant. Many times these infants are not expected to survive birth, and if they do, they won't live for more than a few days to weeks. This little 5-day-old was born with a very severe brain defect, and was not expected to survive for much longer. He died one hour before his 6-day birthday, and I headed out to be with the family.

The mother held the infant, who was not more than 3-4 pounds, in her arms as tears streamed down her face. She rocked him, as her husband smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head. Grandparents surrounded the infant, as did cousins, all quietly sobbing and holding each other. They did not take their eyes off of their baby, who had been breathing a mere 45 minutes ago. They kissed his forehead, stroked his tiny fingers, and took turns holding his little body.

I have been told by many that it takes a big heart to do what I do. Which is such an uplifting thing to hear, but I would also add that it takes a broken heart to do what I do. The things that I see in this work are so profoundly sad, and I sincerely hope that while I gather strength to keep going, that I also stop to grieve. I should never get comfortable with seeing parents say goodbye to their children for the rest of this earthy life.

When I am in the room with a grieving family, when I watch parents hold their child whose soul has just left their broken body, I can hold myself together to be what I need to be for the family. Whether it's occasional reassuring words, sitting in a silent presence, or answering questions about what just happened, my energy and adrenaline is focused on how I can best be present for them.

But I am careful to take in and process what I see with that broken heart. The more I can experience what is real, the more I can work on grieving for it myself. Every heartbreak I see has meaning for me as well. It is from these profound moments that I learn a little more about love. When I sat with this particular family on Wednesday night, I allowed myself to identify a horrible irony. Here I sat, pregnant, and as far as I'm aware, our baby boy is healthy. His brain is developing just fine, as evidenced by the ultrasound. The irony suddenly became more poignant as I caught a glimpse of this baby's outfit under the swaddling blankets. He was wearing a red-and-white baseball-themed onesie. I didn't have to look closer to know what it said: "Daddy's Little Slugger." I just bought the same onesie for our son three weeks ago.

And then the weight of the parallels came rushing in. I saw Michael in the tenderness that the husband had for his tearful wife. I watched this new Dad lean over and kiss his baby on the forehead, and an image of Michael leaning over to plant a kiss on my round belly flashed across my mind. Grandparents stroked the baby's cheek, and the tiny body was passed from relative to relative, just as ours would be in a few months.

At 2 am, I left the family, grateful to finally be heading home to bed. My belly ached from the extra weight being carried around for an extra-long time, and my heart ached for the family. For a short while, I felt nearly guilty for carrying a healthy child within me. But the images that stuck with me were not ones of grief, but of love. Though this family had to say goodbye to their long-awaited son after 5 very short days, it did not prevent them from loving him with full hearts. They loved him for the newborn he was, which is giving my broken heart peace tonight.