Four Babies...Four Pennies

Arriving early at the hospital one morning, I stopped by the cafeteria to have some milk and a doughnut. The total came to $1.46. I got four pennies change. After finishing breakfast, I proceeded to the newborn intensive care which is an adjacent unit to the normal nursery area. It's still early for my time so i scanned the newborn babies' charts and studied each cases. I would have four different infants entrusted to my care, four precious infants from heaven. Upon entering the unit, two nurses stood halfway down the left aisle. One of them the latina i knew from way, wayback at the same unit rushed towards me, seemed happy to see me working closely to her again. We greeted each other by planting a kiss cheek to cheek.

"Hola, como estas?" she asked me. "Estoy bien. Y tu?" I replied back

"Muy bien gracias, oh cuantos meses?" with a wide smile on her face she eyed my belly.

"Nineteen weeks and three days para ser exactos," I told her. "Usted conoce el genero ya?" her endless questions. "Es un nino, ok let's get working," I smiled to her. "Si, si. Que cidar siempre aqui darling," she reminded me. "Gracias," I replied back.

The other nurse started to give me reports although my shift has not yet begun. Looking on the whole unit, the advances and changes in technology, medications and procedures were overwhelming. At the back of my mind i silently prayed hoping that my shift will run smooth as i have a lot of pressures left at home and i'm afraid my presence of mind will be affected somehow. I looked down upon the warming bed against the far wall on the right aisle. On it lay a tiny, sickly, gray-colored infant hooked to a high frequency ventilator. One thing surprised me, she kicked like there was no tomorrow. My eyes moved up to the monitor screen overhead. Heart rate normal. Blood pressure borderline. Then i saw the oxygen saturation reading. It read 30 percent. Normal is above 90 percent. I stared at the tracing for several seconds, wondering if it was a mistake. It held steady at 30 percent. Thirty usually means you are dead, no kickings anymore. Suddenly i felt my stomach rumbling, i feel nauseated. I don't know if it's heartburn again or what. OR maybe just the thought of this tiny little thing laying, looking ghastly. Good Lord have mercy on this tiny little thing. Being in the profession for so many years, i still can't figured out the grueling pains that some people may suffer, especially this tiny little thing. My heart breaks just a mere look at the infant. My eyes caught the neonatologist. Busy writing down orders to be carried out by us as usual. If anything happens i want him to be always there.

The outgoing nurse turned to me and said, "You want to sign up for this baby? You'll be taking her to the morgue." The latina nurse approached us, "You have to, there's no more chance for the baby to survive." I nodded. "You know me. I'll take my patients wherever they need to go. Baby Pamela was a twenty-five-week-gestation infant. A transport from an outlying hospital. She was delivered by emergency ceasarian section the previous night after her mother became seriously ill with an infection. Throughout the night doctors and nurses had tried everything for Baby Pamela, but her lungs were simply too immature to function. Now, we were just waiting to see if the father could come to see her before we removed her from the ventilator and allowed her to die. Euthanasia, mercy killing. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick. What i felt awhile ago, the heartburn...now i feel like i am going to vomit. I looked down at Baby Pamela again. Still gray...but still kicking. I whispered to her vent, "You were just a month older to my baby Pam." I glanced back at the monitor. The oxygen saturation now read 28 percent. The attending neonatologist came over just off the phone. "That's it. The father's on the way, but he doesn't want us to wait. Take her off the vent and stop the IV's," he told us. I silently offered a quick prayer for Baby Pamela before i reached up to turn off the monitor as well. The latina nurse asked me if i wanted to hold Baby Pamela as she died. It was just minutes after 7 AM and the baby is now my responsibility. I deferred to the outgoing nurse, who readily agreed. We brought over a rocking chair and and wrapped Baby Pamela in a pink blanket with a knitted cap. The outgoing nurse held her in her arms. Off the ventilator, Baby Pamela died quickly.

Upon the arrival of the father, he was taken to the bereavement room where he held his daughter, his first born. The doctor talked to him and the father thanked the staff. He thanked the outgoing nurse personally for she was the one who took charge mostly of his baby. I went to introduce myself and asked the father what i could do to help. He said he just wanted time to be with his firstborn child. I left him to grieve but i showed him where he can find me in case he wanted someone to be with him. I promised him that i'll be back as i need to check the other three infants entrusted in my care. I knew he felt guilty, having stayed with his wife while having to let his infant daughter be taken away alone. What a choice!

I took charge of the three infants. And thank Heavens they were doing quite well. I returned to the bereavement room. I sat infront of the father and talked to him. I told him my first vision of his daughter. "She looked awful," I said, "but she was kicking...she fought till the end"

"That's how she was after the delivery," he told me with a sad, proud smile. "She was always kicking. I know everyone did their best, but some things are not meant to be," he said as he wiped away his tears. Then his family came, he asked me to take one picture while he held his daughter.

My shift had ended with nothing very serious as what i had with Baby Pamela. I walked out the doors to leave. I walked along a small street beside the hospital. By a wooded area, I stood and looked into the trees and there's the bench am using when i feel the urge to smoke then. At the back of my mind, what if i smoke now? Just a stick wouldn't hurt...perhaps. Just as i thought about it, i quickly denounced the idea, not now...after giving birth perhaps. As i walked back down the side street, sad thoughts of Baby Pamela returned. I slid my hands into the pocket of my scrub suit as i walked, absently fingering the pennies which was my change when i ate breakfast at the cafeteria. Four babies. My four pennies from heaven. I tossed the pennies into the woods, as though sowing seeds...of hope...of love...of life.

For Baby Pamela