the library.

the library.
typically, I can be found here. usually somewhere on the second floor. sometimes accompanied by a friend, sometimes with headphones and coffee. I sometimes fantasize about how wonderful it would be to have a spontaneous opportunity - like in the movies how it just so happens that all your friends congregate at the same place at the same time and end up doing something really fun and exciting. The library is not the place for that - even though every time I hear footsteps on the stairs, the creaking door open, I can't help but hope for a familiar smile, something to distract me (even temporarily) or someone with a far-fetched idea that would justify leaving this place and forgetting my homework for a while.

sometimes the library is my escape. sometimes i sneak away to the quiet solace, hoping for peace within my heart and a calm to the constant worry of my mind. even if studying is what occupies me and creates stress, at least i'm not thinking about my future, missing the past, or regretting not doing enough in the present. the library provides a place to completely be absorbed in school. sure, there are lots of nerdy engineers here with tables full of paperwork sprawled out and highlighted, the occasional female engineer student, and of course - the infamous wheelie backpacks.

tonight, the library is a chance to spend time meeting God. tonight on the second floor, i have indulged in scripture not out of nightly tradition, or out of guilty obligation, but pure delight. soaking up the words like a dry sponge, anxious to absorbing every word. tonight i am thankfully and undeservingly resting on the promise that my heart is being ferociously protected, nothing will allow separation from my Jesus. not even the library.

I feel refreshed. now its time to get back to the homework i suppose.

medicine...

The other night my desire to work in medicine was challenged. When patients stop breathing, its my time to shine. Normally, I thrive on the energy and adrenaline that comes with the sirens backing in and the paramedics rushing a patient to our ER bed. I quickly and accurately get the patient on our monitors and start chest compressions. Now when you do CPR classes and you are pushing on that little accordion-like piece of plastic tucked in a blue bodied top half of a person who has a mouth stuck open and nostrils so big your finger could fit in, lots of people don't take the course seriously. I remember learning CPR for the first time and thinking "wow... am I really going to have to use this?" How many compressions? Then how many breaths? Am I pushing too fast or too hard? Well the challenge that was rushed into the ER was something I could have never prepared for. When the radio goes off "Regional Hospital, Medic __(insert station # here)___" and we hear no sirens (meaning they are not "running hot") we know its non-emergent and we have time to prepare appropriately, and maybe even have the patient go to the front window and check themselves in. When the sirens are blaring in the background while they are calling report, we sort of buzz around and congregate around the physician listening for our next move. The other night, the call went something like this... "In route to your facility with a 3 week old found unresponsive, we've administered Epi......" I don't even remember the rest. I looked at the ambulance sheet again. 3 weeks? 3 WEEKS old? unresponsive? How is that possible? While we got things ready, I had no idea what I would be in for. The firefighters scooped this precious, innocent, tiny little person struggling for life onto my ER bed.

I took over chest compressions, and we intubated. Immediately we pushed meds. While the ventilator (the machine that breathes for the baby) slowly pushed equal and quick breaths into the lungs of this precious gift from God, I pushed quickly and equally. I remember thinking "2 fingers? or 3?" and "Am I going to quick? Should I speed up?" The doctor said, "Hold compressions, lets look at the rhythm" which repeatedly left us with little to no activity. I started compressions again. The ventilator kept pumping and I could see the baby's chest rise and fall beneath my fingers. His eyes were closed, he was basically lifeless. We stopped to analyze again. Still no real rhythm. I started pushing again. Every time I've had to do compressions, after this amount of time my patients are moving, responding, even if its only minimal. The physician asked the mother for even a hint of explanation. The nurse pushed more meds into this baby who looked like he was completely out of place amongst the giant equipment cords and machines. I kept pushing on the baby. We stopped again. Still no rhythm. I could see tears welling up in the doctor's eyes. Maybe if I pushed with extra meaning? I prayed constantly. "Please God. Pull through for this family. Just a little movement." I heard the physician say to the mother "He has made no effort to breathe on his own in the last 45 minutes." I thought, "gosh has it been 45 minutes already?" Then the doctor continued "the medicine that we have given him is strong, and it works. For some reason, he is not responding to it." I watched the tiny lifeless body being pumped with air and the heart failing to circulate blood even with my fingers trying to do its job for it. Then I heard the doctor say, "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." The mother continued to cry, the doctor was crying, the nurse in the room was tearing up a little, and I was a mess. I wrapped the baby in a warm blanket and removed the patches from his tiny chest that were unable to find any remaining source of life. I closed the door to the room, and hung a rose (which is the symbol to notify other staff that the patient in that room has died). I walked into the staff lounge and lost it.

Why am I choosing a career that will challenge me like this? Am I going to spend thousands of dollars on counseling in order to sleep at night after work? Why does God take such innocent, harmless lives with no apparent reason? My heart hurt, and I felt like I got hit by a train. Medicine can do so much. I have seen so many patients who are writhing in pain walk out of the ER with a smile on their face. I have the pleasure to transport patients who are being admitted overnight to their rooms. Yes, sadly, people do die in the ER. And yes, I have been in the room more than once. For some reason, that precious baby boy tugged at my heart. I wanted so badly to be carrying him down the hall with his parents following to a pediatric room for the night. I wanted to hear him cry, see his chubby legs wiggle around, and watch his eyes scan the room.

I was reminded though, that even though losing this baby in the ER was a loss. It was a victory in heaven. That tiny child was taken to the arms of his Eternal Father. I'm sure that I will experience more questions and challenges in medicine, I guess I just never really comprehended how many moments I would face that would make it so hard. Infant CPR is something I never wanted to have to do, especially with the end result that happened that night. I am thankful that the life I count as loss is a gain to Christ's Kingdom.