Her body is so swollen that I cannot see the uniquely delicate features of her face that make her Sammie. Sammie is in the third crib and I don’t recognize her.
We walk into the PICU and I see seven cribs lined up in a row with little babies hooked up to tubes and beeping machines. It is this simple.Ī nurse calls our name. The realization of what I had done taught me a valuable lesson. I pray that those parents didn’t see the judgment on my face as they grappled with the most difficult decision of their lives. Strangers who know nothing about my family, judging me so they can feel safe. Over the years I have seen that same face staring back at me. Dave and I are good parents, so that could never happen to us. Their baby will die because they are bad parents. Then I wondered what had they done to put their child at risk, because it must have been their fault. I remember feeling sorry for them and distantly fearful that we could be them. I hear the words “brain dead,” and I know what he is asking, what he is recommending–pull the plug. The physician appears calm and deliberate. I watch as a nurse and physician pull the parents away and speak to them. Down the hall I hear raised voices and see a mom and dad surrounded by extended family.
They are covered with ugly stains and it makes me feel dirty. I can still see the navy blue upholstered chairs set in a semicircle to the left outside the doors of the PICU. Dave and I are led to the 7th floor and told to wait outside the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit until they get Sammie settled.
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