Holding on Impossible Things

When I switched to  the ward service in January, I met a precious little 7 month old girl who had been on our service for 2 weeks. She was tiny and feisty, full of life, and hated having her nasal cannula in her nose. She had come in in heart failure with fever and stayed with us the entire month as we tried to get her off oxygen. She was the last patient we rounded on everyday and she was always wide eyed in her rainbow dress and the countless sweaters that her mom insisted on keeping on her.  . .

She’s the first patient I became really attached to, pouring over her chart and her echos, bouncing her on my lap, lingering in their room to talk, loving her family through the the long days as we tried to wean her off of oxygen.

I came back on service last Wednesday and she was back, now 10 months old, admitted because of dehydration and vomiting. Thursday, she spiked a fever and then crashed. . .becoming sicker and sicker as the day and night progressed. Friday night, she was dying. Her blood pressure was low. Her lungs were sick. Her constant protest to the oxygen in her nose had melted into exhaustion and she looked at me, eyes wide open. Her body was failing her and  tears slowly pooled in the inner corners of her eyes.

I talked to the family. We all prepared to say good bye to this little girl. Her mom and dad kissed her. Then mom looked at me, held my hand and said, “Watch and see, daktari, we have placed her in God’s hands. . .” I wept, leaning on my friend and colleague as the family walked out of the room.

On call that night, I watched that night as her oxygen drifted from the 60s to the 30s and back up again, as her blood pressure wouldn’t register on our machines. But her heart kept beating, she started responding to the antibiotics and the heart medicines, and slowly, slowly her numbers improved.

And then, I sat in wonder. Watching impossibility become reality. Watching  her get better when I knew I had nothing left to offer – watching healing beyond the power of my medicine. By Monday morning, her oxygen monitor read 100% with help from the bubbled oxygen in her nose.  Her heart squeeze was better, and her pressures had improved.  Mom gave me a hug, and we sat in silence and stared at this precious girl and the monitor that gave good news above her.

And then, while writing this post I got a text from the doctor on call today. . .”she coded while getting an x-ray, but she is still alive. . . she is so fragile. . .”

I don’t know what the future here holds for this precious girl. She is still in the ICU fighting and we are still walking with the family.   This precious one  has spent 3 of the last 5 months ion the pediatric ward, and even if her body fights through this illness, she will be back again.  The decisions of what to do and what not to do will be agonizing.

But, her mama’s words are echoing in my mind. . .”watch and see Daktari, we have placed her in God’s hands”.  These perfect, scarred  hands hold her – and they are big and good and familiar with impossible things.

They hold her. They hold her mom and dad. They hold me.