“You sure? You don’t look so good,” she says and places her hand on my arm.
“Yup,” I force out my breath, regaining my composure.
“Are you ladies ready?” Dr. Hagan enters the room. The overnight nurses, Becky and Marcie follow close behind her, detailing the stats for the five babies in the NICU. Cassie and I listen intently, quietly cataloguing the precious details. I watch Olivia closely when we near baby Benjamin’s incubator. She stares at him with fear in her eyes. She’s too young to be dealing with the hardships in front of her and what may lie ahead with her son. A grade two bleed is bad, but a grade three bleed is worse. Ben could have permanent damage or worse.
Dr. Hagan makes arrangements for another scan for Ben and signs discharge papers for little Hope. Her family is going to be thrilled, and I’m happy that I get to tell them during my shift.
Becky and Marcie stop and say goodbye to Olivia, Marcie’s hand lingering on her shoulder. My heart grabs again as Ben’s monitors sound loudly. Marcie opens the incubator and softly presses his chest with her gloved hand. It takes a few moments, but his heart rhythm begins to normalize. Dr. Hagan nods toward the ventilator and Becky moves away to scrub her hands again. They’re going to put him back on the vent. “Mrs. Gibson, can you move out to the hallway for a few minutes? We’re going to examine Ben.” Dr. Hagan doesn’t tell her what we’re about to do, and I’m glad. Intubating an infant looks scary, but under her delicate hands, it will be effortless.
“Okay,” Olivia says feebly. She stands up, and her sterile gown practically slides off of her slight frame. Her dark, hollow eyes are sad and scared.
Once she leaves the room, Dr. Hagan gently places her stethoscope on Ben’s fragile chest. He’s so tiny; you can see his heart beating underneath his frail ribcage. Becky moves to her side, and soon he’s on the ventilator, the breathing tube safely inserted. My pulse races as I watch his chest move up and down mechanically. He’s sedated now but doesn’t look peaceful. My heart is breaking for this little guy.
“I’m going to get Hope ready to go.” I turn away and grab her chart. I don’t know why, but watching Ben struggle is excruciating. I’ve seen so much worse. Watched babies take their last breath and their families’ lives shattered. But Ben…
I attempt to smile at the little girl I’m washing up. Her tiny legs are kicking and her arms are flailing in the air. She moved into a bassinet last week and was able to drink from a bottle yesterday. She graduated from ‘feed and grow’ to ‘feed and thrive,’ and her parents were ecstatic. I hear Cassie on the phone with them right now, telling them to bring her car seat. Before they leave the NICU, they have to watch a video, explaining all that they need to look out for. Baby Hope is going home with a heart and lung monitor, so her parents have to meet with the vendor and get a tutorial on how to operate it and transmit the daily readings. She’s so tiny, only four pounds. But she’s eating on her own and has consistently gained weight every day this week. She’s the perfect NICU graduate.