the heartbreaking side of nursing and the potential of motherhood
This may be disturbing to those with new babies or those who've experienced the devastation of miscarriage. I apologize, I mean no disrespect, and wish you peace.
I'm on call for the family support nurse this week. This is something that I've volunteered for. There is only one nurse that does it for our hospital. This means that I care for and offer support to a mother that has miscarried. We call this case an IUFD. And I don't know whether I've posted about it yet, but I need to now. I need to talk instead of sit hear and cry; soon I will pray.
IUFD stands for Inter Uterine Fetal Demise.
I offer support services to the mother and father and family and friends mourning the loss of the baby. This includes holding up the frail and wailing grandmothers as they beg God why.
I ask the parents if they want to see and hold and rock their baby after it has past. Not in those words.
I am supposed to encourage them to do this to help them heal through the grieving process.
Can you imagine doing this? How would you word that, exactly? I have only been able to say this, "I know you are tired. I know you are in pain. I can't imagine what you are going through. But I am here to help you in any way that I can. If you have any questions, just ask. If I can do anything for you, please tell me. And remember, I can bring your baby up to you at any time. Have you chosen a name for your baby? Ah, that's beautiful. I can bring him to you at any time. Any of the nurses can. All you have to do is ask. He will be here. He will not leave the hospital until after you are discharged so you can see him at any point. Just ask us to bring him to you." Usually the parents are crying too hard to respond. I hand them kleenex and tell them I will be back in the morning. Then I go home and cry. A pathetically poor excuse for the healing I wish I could give them.
I also am the one who has to ask if they want a cremation or a burial.
I have to ask her to give me a check for $150 if she just wants the body cremated, and for me to get out of her sobbing face.
Then I go to take care of the baby- for the Mom. She is the patient. She is resting and on pain medication. And because of the way our detached society works, I am the one to wash and pray over her baby and dress it and take pictures of it and make it's hand and foot prints. I put things that have touched her baby in a little hand painted box and I give it to her along with a tiny gold baby ring, and the softest stuffed animal lamb. It has a tag that says, "I can't take the place of the baby you have lost, but now, when you need something to hold, you can hold onto me." This breaks my heart and makes me cry every time I read it, which I do every time I look at it thinking why do we give these stupid stuffed animals when all these women want are their babies??!
And I remember the tall and gaunt 19 year old girl with the straw yellow hair, overbite and red puffy face, so out of place next to her pale thin frame. They were so sadly undereducated. Her 19 year old boyfriend, also gaunt and pale but with the color of tattoos to beefen him up, surprised me. Nothing is so beautiful as the glimpse of soul when love is shown in tender humanity and this boy took care of his woman like a strong and worldly married man of decades. I've seen those gentle caresses from husbands in their 80's holding their wives, dying from cancer. He laid tightly against her, wrapped around her back, as she rocked and cried and cried and rocked that little lamb when we took away her baby from her side where it laid in bed next to her, back down to the morgue.
She requested it. She wanted to sleep. But there is still that moment when you have to come and take that cold child from it's mother's warming arms. It never goes well. And I can't ever see clearly out of that room through the tears brimming.
A special thanks to mccoyowitz for listening and not judging,
and always, to sdunn711 for sharing in my life's ups and downs like a selfless sister.
In memory of,
J S and S D and the girls.
Any comments welcomed.
I'm on call for the family support nurse this week. This is something that I've volunteered for. There is only one nurse that does it for our hospital. This means that I care for and offer support to a mother that has miscarried. We call this case an IUFD. And I don't know whether I've posted about it yet, but I need to now. I need to talk instead of sit hear and cry; soon I will pray.
IUFD stands for Inter Uterine Fetal Demise.
I offer support services to the mother and father and family and friends mourning the loss of the baby. This includes holding up the frail and wailing grandmothers as they beg God why.
I ask the parents if they want to see and hold and rock their baby after it has past. Not in those words.
I am supposed to encourage them to do this to help them heal through the grieving process.
Can you imagine doing this? How would you word that, exactly? I have only been able to say this, "I know you are tired. I know you are in pain. I can't imagine what you are going through. But I am here to help you in any way that I can. If you have any questions, just ask. If I can do anything for you, please tell me. And remember, I can bring your baby up to you at any time. Have you chosen a name for your baby? Ah, that's beautiful. I can bring him to you at any time. Any of the nurses can. All you have to do is ask. He will be here. He will not leave the hospital until after you are discharged so you can see him at any point. Just ask us to bring him to you." Usually the parents are crying too hard to respond. I hand them kleenex and tell them I will be back in the morning. Then I go home and cry. A pathetically poor excuse for the healing I wish I could give them.
I also am the one who has to ask if they want a cremation or a burial.
I have to ask her to give me a check for $150 if she just wants the body cremated, and for me to get out of her sobbing face.
Then I go to take care of the baby- for the Mom. She is the patient. She is resting and on pain medication. And because of the way our detached society works, I am the one to wash and pray over her baby and dress it and take pictures of it and make it's hand and foot prints. I put things that have touched her baby in a little hand painted box and I give it to her along with a tiny gold baby ring, and the softest stuffed animal lamb. It has a tag that says, "I can't take the place of the baby you have lost, but now, when you need something to hold, you can hold onto me." This breaks my heart and makes me cry every time I read it, which I do every time I look at it thinking why do we give these stupid stuffed animals when all these women want are their babies??!
And I remember the tall and gaunt 19 year old girl with the straw yellow hair, overbite and red puffy face, so out of place next to her pale thin frame. They were so sadly undereducated. Her 19 year old boyfriend, also gaunt and pale but with the color of tattoos to beefen him up, surprised me. Nothing is so beautiful as the glimpse of soul when love is shown in tender humanity and this boy took care of his woman like a strong and worldly married man of decades. I've seen those gentle caresses from husbands in their 80's holding their wives, dying from cancer. He laid tightly against her, wrapped around her back, as she rocked and cried and cried and rocked that little lamb when we took away her baby from her side where it laid in bed next to her, back down to the morgue.
She requested it. She wanted to sleep. But there is still that moment when you have to come and take that cold child from it's mother's warming arms. It never goes well. And I can't ever see clearly out of that room through the tears brimming.
A special thanks to mccoyowitz for listening and not judging,
and always, to sdunn711 for sharing in my life's ups and downs like a selfless sister.
In memory of,
J S and S D and the girls.
Any comments welcomed.