Kids, children, rug rats, pediatrics, infants, neonates, preemies, whatever you want to call them, they're the part of our population that happens to be one of the most defenseless bunch. They rely on us, the adults, to take care of them, to defend them, to protect them and keep them safe from harm. WE are their security blanket.
Seemingly every day I see in the local news how some poor child has been injured as a result of domestic abuse. They've been smacked, burned, smacked, or whatever. I opened the website of one of the local TV stations today and saw where one child had actually been "stomped" on. Another had been burned. Yet a third had broken arms and brain damage. Seeing these types of stories hurts. I guess one would think that certain areas of the world may be immune to these types of problems yet they aren't. They're everywhere. Abuse is everywhere. Every time I go through a PALS or NALS class I always think about using some of these skills and knowledge on one of my kids. Would I? Could I? How could I block out the fact that I'm working on my own child? How will I react? Will I freeze up and keep mumbling over and over that this is my child? God forbid it ever happen but to others, it has. It does happen. People every day see their children or ones that they know hurt, injured, or even killed at the hands of others or some other medical problem.
My first true pediatric emergency happened on Christmas morning shortly before I was to finish Paramedic class. I was low man so I got stuck with working the holiday. Obviously not where I wanted to be as I've always been a family person and spending those times with them meant a lot to me.
I remember it was a gorgeous Christmas morning. I walked in the ER with my partner to see the entire ER was decorated with lights, tinsel hanging from the desk and counter areas, not a single patient was in any of the rooms, and the back counter facing the patient rooms was filled with tray after tray of holiday goodies brought in by the ER staff who, like me, got stuck working that day. A couple of the nurses had on Christmas - themed scrubs and tops on. Someone had a radio on in one of the back rooms playing Christmas carols and we had picked up and decorated a small 3' tree in the corner of the ER by the ambulance entrance. Hell, if we had to be there on this gorgeous holiday morning we were going to do our best to make it bearable. We were having fun all sitting down behind the counter telling stories, catching up, talking about family and what we were going to do when we left there that afternoon, and how quickly we could come back in the next day and show off our new presents.
0904 A local volunteer ambulance service about 10 miles south gets dispatched on an unresponsive infant. As was our area's SOP we were dispatched shortly after as the nearest ALS unit. My partner and I hopped in our truck to head south. Pediatric runs are never fun, regardless of the call. They induce a lot more stress since thankfully we don't deal with a lot of them. But the possibility is always there, every day, every night, all the time.
0906 We mark enroute just ahead of the BLS unit from the southern department. We're told by dispatch the infant is not breathing and CPR is in progress. Both our hearts sank. We looked at each other with a quick glance that said, "Shit. This is Christmas. This isn't supposed to happen on Christmas Day!" I got out of the passenger seat and went to the back of the truck to get things ready for my partner.
0913 We met up with the BLS truck heading north towards the hospital. We both pile out of the truck to see what was going on. One of their crew members met us halfway with a lifeless baby girl, not yet 6 months old, in his arms, coming to meet us. We had a big modular bus so we simply went in our truck; more room, easier to move around. We sat on scene for a couple minutes as two of the volunteers got in, continued CPR and were bagging this little girl. I intubated the little girl without problem and secured the tube as best I could. My partner started an IV and got on the radio to alert the ER what we were bringing in as well as telling them to get our doc ready. We got so busy doing that that we actually asked one of the volunteers to drive our truck back to the hospital with us as passengers. This was one of those "extenuating circumstances."
We arrived in the ER bay with CPR being done. No breathing, no pulse, nothing. We'd done all we could do and now it was time for the ER staff to put down their cookies that we were all enjoying less than 30 minutes earlier and work their asses off. We remained out of service as we stayed in the trauma room to help out; whatever needed to be done, we did it. We started another IV. I did compressions for another 30 minutes while an RRT ventilated. The doc barked out some orders to one of the barrage of nurses in the room. Somewhere in the middle of it we were told to stop. "Let's do a pulse check." The monitor showed something that resembled a faint sinus tach. We'd been working on her for about an hour.
Holy shit there was a pulse! A faint brachial pulse was felt. Someone else felt the other side to make sure I wasn't nuts. They too felt it. Instantly a huge smile crossed my down turned face. I heard a couple whoops and hollers in the background and in the hallway outside the trauma room. We all knew this little girl had a long way to go but we'd done our part in helping her. This was our Christmas miracle.
Everyone went around patting each other on the back, hugs were exchanged, and "good job, well done" seemed to be the phrases said to everyone by everyone else. A true team effort by all of us; all of us, who none of us wanted to be there that morning, THIS morning, Christmas morning, at work. We wanted to be at home enjoying the holiday with our families. About an hour later we flew that little girl down to a children's hospital for definitive care. As the helicopter took off from the pad outside the ambulance bay I stood there watching, wondering, hoping that things would get better. I played the scene over and over wondering what I could have done differently. What could I have done better? Was there anything we forgot? Anything we did wrong? All I cared about was that was did our part. We helped out. We gave this little girl a fighting chance to live on this morning of December 25th. As they rose up in the air I cried. I was spent. Here I was 20 years old and emotionally worn out. I'd gone from one extreme to the other that morning; it wasn't even noon yet and all this had happened.
That was the first and last patient I've ever cried over.
She wasn't the victim of abuse or violence like the ones in today's news. But I think of her every time I see stories like these in the papers. How can people treat kids, let alone their own, with such hatred and malice? Thy can't talk back. They can't defend themselves. They can't protect themselves. They NEED us to do it for them. We are their shields. I often ask myself if there was this much abuse when I was younger. Have families changed that much over the years? Have attitudes changed? Have personalities evolved so much to bring out this much violence towards children? It sickens me. It hurts. It makes me want to find these people and beat the shit out of them. How can they do what they do? How can they hurt a child?
Children are our future. They are what we raise them to be. They emulate us as adults, mentors, and parents. We are to be here for them. We educate them, protect them, and love them. The three pictures here are of my three kids. I adore each of them and will lay my life on the line for each of them. They are what I live for each and every day. The hugs, the kisses, the "daddy, I missed you today" words, and the "I love you" that I get several times each day from all three of them. Love your children or those close to you. Protect them. Be there for them. Educate and mentor them. The greatest form of love I've ever felt comes from my kids. They mean it when they hug me. They love to be around me and me them. There's no greater form of happiness than a smile, kiss, and hug from a child that all say, "I love you."
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