All is not quite right

Thu, 07 Dec 2000 20:37:00 +0000

The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit showed no signs of tragedy. Nurses moved about efficiently; a doctor of some sort consulted a reference book; a cleaning lady made big, lazy circles on the floor with her mop. The young couple was nowhere to be seen. Their sorrow must have been centered in another room, out on the "floor," beyond the big double doors of the "unit." Maureen, looking somewhat more rested and less disheveled than I, was already back with Aidan, who was still asleep, flat on his back, head turned to the left, arms bent up at the elbow at either side and tiny fists clenched.

Time unfolded into test upon test and doctors with long faces and few answers. The seizures that were stealing Aidan's breath had gradually diminished and disappeared overnight, thanks to the phenobarbital they had given him. But the cause of the convulsions was still unknown. Blood would have to be drawn to check for a bacterial or viral infection, meningitis perhaps, or encephalitis. Brain waves would be measured by EEG, electroencephalogram. A CT scan was ordered, which would penetrate inside his skull and produce an X-ray of his brain. Other tests would be done as well, a bewildering array of procedures, a plethora of strange new words and acronyms.

I was ready for a child

Wed, 06 Dec 2000 20:30:00 +0000

An oddly syncopated rhythm pulsed through the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit: beeps of heart monitors counterpointing boops of intravenous infusers and the low, steady hiss of a respirator marking time. The various beats often worked against one another in grating dissonance, but they sometimes came together in near-perfect meter, almost a melody. On occasion a piercing alarm shattered the quirky cadence. This did not faze the nonchalant nurses, who knew it was merely a technical glitch, not a medical crisis. One of the white-clad women, stethoscope dangling around her neck, would amble over to adjust a misplaced electrode on a tiny body and the strange tune would resume again.

It was hardly music to our ears. Our first child, Aidan, was at the center of these electronic impulses, the sounds of his new and delicate life filtered through high-tech medical gadgetry.

Salon.com > Sam Crane

All is not quite right

I was ready for a child