Life Goes On?
While living life in the PICU is different in many ways than living life in the NICU the experience of run-ins with other families struggling with their child's mortality is common ground.
I announced in this post that Baby D died in the NICU back in early January. Baby D was born a preemie and a few days away from her first birthday when she passed. I ran into the dad on the elevator a couple of days ago. He was at the hospital to pick up the autopsy report. Despite our socio-economic, racial and religious differences, we hugged each other in a way that was more than a casual embrace.
I've connected with another dad here on the PICU floor. His daughter is 15. She got sick a little over a year ago. The unknown sickness consumed her. She now needs a double lung transplant. The entire family is here spending night after night in uncomfortable lobby room chairs. Despite our age difference, the difference in the stages of life that we live in and our probable difference in outlook on life, this dad and I were able to see into each other's souls and connect in a way that transcends anything I've ever known.
I know that life does go on. I know that Baby D's dad and mom will get back up again and that their journey will continue. I know this family of the 15 year old will eventually leave this hospital and resume life. And I know that my family is already redefining what normal is so that we can press forward but in this moment, at this specific time, it's hard to understand how life can go on.
Life in the PICU and NICU is different but both share this common experience that for a time, life does in fact, not go on.
I announced in this post that Baby D died in the NICU back in early January. Baby D was born a preemie and a few days away from her first birthday when she passed. I ran into the dad on the elevator a couple of days ago. He was at the hospital to pick up the autopsy report. Despite our socio-economic, racial and religious differences, we hugged each other in a way that was more than a casual embrace.
I've connected with another dad here on the PICU floor. His daughter is 15. She got sick a little over a year ago. The unknown sickness consumed her. She now needs a double lung transplant. The entire family is here spending night after night in uncomfortable lobby room chairs. Despite our age difference, the difference in the stages of life that we live in and our probable difference in outlook on life, this dad and I were able to see into each other's souls and connect in a way that transcends anything I've ever known.
I know that life does go on. I know that Baby D's dad and mom will get back up again and that their journey will continue. I know this family of the 15 year old will eventually leave this hospital and resume life. And I know that my family is already redefining what normal is so that we can press forward but in this moment, at this specific time, it's hard to understand how life can go on.
Life in the PICU and NICU is different but both share this common experience that for a time, life does in fact, not go on.
posted by jch at
9:07 AM
3 Comments:
Joe, thank you for sharing this. I have recently spent a short amount of time in the PICU at Children's Healthcare here in Atlanta, and there IS something about the connection of suffering and comfort for that suffering that is different than all other kinds of connections. A family here (loosely connected with our church) is struggling for the life of their 2-yr-old who nearly drowned two weeks ago. Jake is awake now, but has severe brain damage. They have been living in PICU for three weeks--the whole family. They are not church members and have little support system to lean on. We are doing what we can, but there is so little to offer in kind words and prayers that are unfamiliar ground for them. Please pray the special kind of prayer you and Laura can only know for being in a similar situation. We are at a loss as to what we can do beyond that.
Thanks again for sharing those touching moments. My constant prayers are with Ira and your family and those who come into contact with--that healing continues to come and that every life you touch feels brushed with God's presence. So that as you look back on these days from further down the road, you know His plans were accomplished.
Your's is a journey that takes you beyond your years.
Joe: Those of us living "normal" lives usually don't appreciate the beauty of such a life. My hope and prayer is that sometime soon, your family (including Ira!) will experience normalcy.
Tim Perkins
Rockwall, TX
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