The first call in a new hospital or country is often memorable and my first call here was no exception. Actually, it began with one of my most dreaded scenarios. The phone rang and the voice on the other end shared: ”Hello, I am calling from the pediatric ward”--uh oh, I thought--“We have a 5 day old patient who is intubated and now having oxygen desaturations. Can you come?” My heart skipped. I hung up the phone, grabbed my headlamp & stethoscope and ran to the hospital.
As I entered the peds ward, I saw a tiny baby girl being manually ventilated through a tube down her trachea. The nurse was sitting at her bedside squeezing the ambu bag rhythmically (if you intubate you have to manually ventilate for as long as the patient is intubated- the only ventilator machine is in the OR). She was very sick, not oxygenating well, had a low heart rate and was likely septic. She was on all the appropriate medications that are currently in stock at the hospital. Her lungs rattled, I could barely hear her heart sounds, her feet and hands were cool to the touch. As I re-intubated her, fluid rose out of the trachea. Despite assuring proper ET tube placement several times, her oxygen saturation continued to drop. Shortly thereafter her little body became too weak to continue fighting. Her name was Diana.
As I prayed and grieved with Diana’s mother (who had been abandoned by her husband a month ago) and grandmother (who’s husband died a couple of weeks ago) I was reminded once again of God’s sovereignty, the limitations of medicine and the similarities that bind people together everywhere--we all love, hurt, laugh, cry and have hopes & dreams for the future.
“We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” --Mother Teresa
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