e

His was the face of beauty. In him I saw the only need that make us all feel worthwhile, life. But his was a struggle. Occasionally, the 7-8 month old babe would gasp for air, only to be subdued to silence of his existence. The small, fragile, and wrinkled hands held on to me, his only sign of life. I told him to hold on tight. I will get him through.
My purpose was reduced to clicking my fingers together. In this small gesture, I found myself as his only source of hope. Breathing in and breathing out for him. The ambu bag signified all that I ever could be. Sometimes, he would yawn and his oxygen saturation would drop to dangerous levels. But he understood me. I would stroke him, I would hold his hand and somehow, although he could not breathe for himself, he would grasp my finger tight.
On the average, the meter showed 97% O2 saturation and a pulse rate of 160, where the norm is 94-98% and 140-160, respectively. Then his O2 sat and pulse rate started descending together in a speed I wish I can counter with my efforts. I tried about everything I previously did to raise his levels. His 02 sats would jump between 86 and 90 then the alarm would go on and off. He was not getting enough oxygen. In my hands, I promised to breathe for him. In my hands, I accepted the challenge of making the apneic baby live. In my hands, I did not accept death for him.
I called the staff nurse and she took over. 84%, 150… 82%, 145… 76, 138… the levels were getting dangerously low. In my mind, I told him to hang on like he used to. In my heart, I wanted to cry. “You cannot die just yet…I was too sure you’d be a great gift to the world. Don’t leave us like this. Please….pleaaaaaassssseeeeee…..hold on…” I held his hand, he grasped mine tight. He still wanted to live. His face echoed the blues of the deep seas and his mouth gaped open in protest. Yet he was not in control of his chances. The levels went off to an alarming 50%, 80 bpm--- almost half the norm. Ma’am staff nurse gave him a shot. He gasped once… and incredibly, his levels rose to normal again. His breath was nowhere near reassuring.
With dry tears, I wept in the stillness of the moment. He lived. I calculated the small error, it was of an imbecile nature, so to speak—a tube loosened off; but it made the biggest difference between life and death. In the pacifying moment of that hour, I was humbled down to everything that mattered in my call… saving one life. Morning came, the end of our shift. What happened was just yet one experience. Tomorrow, the day after, and all the tomorrows still promise another orchestra. Surely, the melody would get melancholic sometimes, and then upbeat, but always…will have moments of silence. You seek for a single note, you’d look for noise…any sound at all, but would find none. Because all that is offered is silence.
-----
His lungs were underdeveloped and the lung surfactants were not doing it for him. About 97% of premature babies in the same condition die. He died later that day at 10:59 am. After 7-8 months in his mum’s womb, he lived only for 14 hours.
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hi im just looking for my ancestors
Posted by william alip on 31st Aug 2007
Hi Jedilou,
Thanks for sharing your story. We share many things in common. I've read your story with rapt attention and it is similar to mine entitled 'Unborn Baby'posted in February. While mine is pure artistic using poetic medium, yours is scientific. This is best piece I've ever read in 3four50. The sex of the protagonist in both works is male - baby boy. Both works address the issue of smoking and its attendant problems with foetus. Pregnant women should cease smoking and avoid second hand smoking. Both of us are change agents in our respective countries - Philippines and Nigeria. Your are interested in Psychology and I'm currently a Master's Degree student in Managerial Psychology at the University of Ibadan. You are a graduating student and I'm working with an Education and Health NGO. Please let me invite you to join i-genius. i-genius is for amazing people doing amazing things: www.i-genius.org I want to meet you for cross-country networking and exchange of ideas. I'm curious to read from you. Thanks. Folorunsho Moshood (MOSH)
Posted by MOSHOOD FOLORUNSHO on 10th Jun 2007
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