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Nurse Stories, Part Twenty Four: Child Down! (By Ericka Flores, R.N.) by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Rated "PG" by the Author.
A nurse recalls the time when a child, a young boy of approximately eight years, came to the hospital emergency room, not breathing, after suffering a severe epileptic seizure.
I try to do my job as best as I possibly can, ready to face any emergency that may come our way, but when the emergency involves a young child, I am just not able to handle it as well as I would like.
I remember one time when a little boy came into the E.R. of our hospital, and to see him in the shape he was in shook me to the core. The little boy, a blond-headed kid, and looking no more than eight years old, lay on the stretcher, looking more dead than alive. His eyes were closed, his skin was a sickly pale blue-grey color, and it was obvious just by looking at him that he was in trouble, serious trouble. We needed to do something fast if he was to have any chance of surviving the crisis that he was now facing.
We quickly got the kid onto the table, and we quickly cut off his clothing until he lay naked and vulnerable; and we soon had him hooked up to all sorts of monitors and lines, and we also had to put an airway down his throat, so we could get oxygen to his lungs. We worked like hell to save him; and as the minutes ticked by, the air only turned more tense, and we were afraid for this little boy's life. We didn't think we could save him: he was asystole, without pulse, without breath, with only the Ambu bag supplying precious oxygen to his lungs and brain; otherwise, he was clinically dead. He looked horrible, and I felt scared, more scared than I had been in my life.
For the child we were treating was the son of our charge nurse during the daytime; and I knew him well. Little Johnathon Sandusky (called "Johnny" by all who knew him and loved him) had a neuromuscular disease and other disabilities; and he also had seizures; he apparently had a seizure prior to his respiratory arrest, and now he was in dire straits. We knew we had to try to get him back if he was to have any chance of surviving his crisis; and we worked hard and long over that little guy, offering prayers of despair to Heaven.
Kids like Johnny aren't supposed to experience things like stoppage of their heart or breathing: they are full of life, and they should be able to enjoy all that life has to offer without worry of becoming sick or injured, or having chronic problems that rule their young lives; unfortunately, life isn't that simple, and there are kids who must struggle day in and day out with their health; and it just breaks your heart. I know it does mine. Still, as a nurse, I am compelled to try to help kids like Johnny (ALL kids, really), and all I can do is hope and pray that he survives whatever crisis that he may face and help him through it if he is there with me or any of my colleagues.
When we finally heard the sounds of life and felt air returning to his lungs, I never was so relieved: here, this kid had been at death's door, and now, just a few minutes later, he was now breathing again, and his heart was now picking up speed; and color was returning to his blue-tinged skin. Soon he opened his eyes and looked about him, and I know I had tears on my face by this time. I knew we had saved this kid's life, let him live another day, and the realization of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. We had managed to defeat death, and we had given life back to a kid who was almost certain to die.
Johnny managed to survive his crisis without any further damage or disability, and he spent a few days in the hospital's ICU, under close observation (in case any problems should happen to creep up, which they, thankfully, never did); afterwards, he was sent home, a clean bill of health attached to him. It was yet another example of quick thinking, lifesaving measures, and God's grace and mercy for a little boy who might have otherwise died.
Such cases do make me feel good and glad that I am doing this for a living; but at the same time, it has aged me ten years, and I look much older than my forty-odd years. I also am scared that a kid will die on me, and I am always afraid that it will be a kid I have come to know and love, such as little Johnny Sandusky.
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I try to do my job as best as I possibly can, ready to face any emergency that may come our way, but when the emergency involves a young child, I am just not able to handle it as well as I would like.
