One of the most heartbreaking cases I've ever experienced during my career as a nurse happened two years ago at our hospital.  I happened to be one of the nurses on duty during that time.

The patient I was assigned to was a handsome seven-year-old boy with liver failure brought on by hepatitis.  When he first came to the hospital by his anxious parents, it was clear that he was already quite sick. 

Usually, hepatitis can be treated with medication or frequent checkups/blood tests every month; however, in this case, by t he time Ronnie* was brought in to our E.R., we became very concerned. 

The boy was very sick:  he seemed confused, lethargic, incoherent at times; when lights were shined into his eyes, he didn't even try to turn his head away or cry.  He seemed jaundiced in appearance (yellow cast to skin, whites of eyes, a clear cut indicator of liver disease or failure), and his liver could easily be felt when the doctor examined him.

Blood samples were taken.  What the results showed was most alarming.  Ronnie's numbers were abnormally high (acidicity); toxins were rapidly building up inside his body.  His mental state was deterioating, and he was heading towards possible unconsciousness or coma.  We knew we had to do something fast, or he would surely die.

We quickly placed Ronnie into our Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU); here he could be treated aggressively, especially if any problems unexpectedly cropped up, in which, in the case of the PICU, they often did.  A doctor intubated him, placed him on a ventilator, as the child was starting to show signs of increasingly difficult breathing, and gave him powerful, coma-inducing drugs, so he could rest and not pull out the tubes. 

He would, in addition, surely need transfusions.

Because his liver was not functioning, Ronnie was in danger of developing serious complications including hemorrhaging, brain damage, or the most feared complication, cerebral edema, which usually killed patients in total liver failure.

The only other option we had was a liver transplant--that is, if a liver for a child could be located in time.  If not, the child would, more than likely, die.

For over a week, we sweated, prayed, cried over that child as we battled to save his life.  It was not to be, for the boy was already far too gone when he'd been brought in.  Finally, on the 11th day of his hospital stay, Ronnie died.  He died of cerebral edema:  his brain had ruptured, and he bled to death internally.  His liver had also ruptured, causing massive bleeding and blood loss.

It was a grisly way to die.  I will never forget it as long as I shall live.

Every so often, I think of young Ronnie Galvez, wonder what life would have been like had he not gotten so sick.  I think about what his future aspirations may have entailed, if he would have gotten married or have a family, gotten a good, high-paying job, or even become President of the United States.

Now he will never be any of these things:  he died way too young in life; he would always be seven years old, a little boy.

Ronnie's death made a huge impact on me because I have a little boy myself, Torino, who his now the same age as Ronnie.  I don't know what I would do if my own child would suddenly end up in the predicament Ronnie Galvez did:  I don't think I could ever cope with it. 

I guess this is why I decided long ago to become a nurse:  maybe I could make a difference in a sick or hurting child's life.  Now, I know that death is as much a part of life as is life itself, but I hope that Ronnie's family knows that I tried my best to make a small difference in their son's life, that all I could do then was try my best.

*not child's real name.