Tuesday 10.29.2013 A Day

A busy day today--lots of discharges, and admissions.  And the whole smash of people leaving, housekeeping and their equipment to "turn the room over" (clean thoroughly for the next patient), clean beds being to taken to Recovery, new patients coming down the hall in wheelchairs or walking, each with their entourages of varying numbers of participants, often including the baby in the bassinet. Surgical patients coming in by bed with two people moving the bed. Staff--the assortment of physicians, nurses, maintenance, pharmacy, dietary, and others--walking briskly up and down the hall to meet their needs, most often pushing their own equipment; computers on wheels (laptops mounted to a mobile platform), blood pressure machines,  carts, IV pumps mounted on poles, etc. Oh, Yes, and Visitors. Starting about 0830, growing to a crescendo about 2pm. By 4:30, the dust had settled, quieted down, and we had time to breathe.

In fact, we staffed down.

And had a surprisingly quiet last hour and a half. (thank you God)

And within the bustle, in the space of their own rooms, I had the remarkable opportunity to share in the first hours of life.

Skin to skin, the newborn lies on it's mother's chest. Warm, familiar. She pushes herself with her arms and legs, stretches her neck, and with open eyes, looks into her mother's face. I can hardly breathe as I watch these two connect with their eyes, looking into what they have each grown to know. Moms smile, often coo, and most always marvel at how their baby is looking at them.

Dads reach out, touch baby's hand.   He and mom look at each other;  I stay quiet, or speak soft and low to encourage or explain or reposition.  Baby drops her head on mom's chest, sometimes bobbing, with open mouth, tongue exploring.

I may ask about feeding, or if I know, I'll gently guide arms and pillows and bodies and next thing we know--baby is suckling.  Her eyes open again, looking at mom, knowing that this is right, being nourished.

This intimacy, this realization, this most life-changing moment, is my gift from God. That I am able to facilitate this experience for them, to be allowed into this most intimate space, is humbling.

My heart swells, sometimes I have difficulty speaking. Saying "thank you" to my patients often comes out with the difficulty of emotion.

And they "get it".

This is my work day.

Thank you for reading. Hugs.