A young patient showed up in our paediatric ICU from a periphery hospital. We were told that she had diarrhea and fever that was refractory to treatment, but the x-ray images which were supposed to accompany the patient were lost. Usually this was a hindrance to care but in this case, it meant that we were able to discover what was happening much sooner.
Looking at the abdo x-rays with fresh eyes, we realised that our patient likely had lymphoma which was causing the lymphatics in her abdomen to become so enlarged it was impeding her ability to pass stool, causing overflow diarrhea. Her decreased appetite noted in her transfer file was caused by an obstruction, not as a side effect of the suspected infection. A biopsy confirmed our suspicions and also let us know that this was not going to be curable. It was horrible.
Our patient was an adorable young girl, curly hair, puffy face, fever for months and clearly unwell. She played in her hospital crib while she could, but mostly she slept.
These conversations are never easy to have with patient’s families. They are especially hard to have when the family knew that their child was feeling unwell and the news they were about to receive was horrible.
My consultant took the patient’s family into the quiet room every ICU has. The parents did not want to leave their daughter alone but I was happy to miss this particular conversation. I stayed with the little girl, playing in her crib, then holding her in my lap and rocking her while we watched Dora. She eventually fell asleep there, I am known for being soothing and tend to make children fall asleep quickly. I’m proud of this super power.
When the family came back. obviously distraught, they stood around their daughter and I. These poor folks were so much in shock from the news that they had just received that they didn’t know what to do next. I ended up gently standing up and asking her father to sit down and take her, which he did, sobbing.
My consultant thanked me for caring for the patient, said that it seemed to comfort the parents while they were in their meeting. She really wanted me to go into paediatrics because I’m able to insert myself quietly where I’m needed and so few med students/docs seem to do this well. To me, it just makes sense to snuggle a sick child when she needs it, to hug a family who has just lost their husband, to cry with the woman diagnosed with breast cancer metastasis and to joke with the families under so much stress they don’t know what else to do. I try to do it in a way that isn’t “too familiar” but makes the patients and family feel cared for. I step out again as soon as I can.
When I got home the night after my snuggle, and expected to be more upset than I was. I felt good with the choices I made that day and how we had been able to do what we could.
With the sick kiddos I met in the ICU, I decided to squish as much love and care into their teeny bodies as I could in the time I had with them. If I’m able to maintain this outlook, I really think that I may be comfortable with paediatric palliative care.
Looking at the abdo x-rays with fresh eyes, we realised that our patient likely had lymphoma which was causing the lymphatics in her abdomen to become so enlarged it was impeding her ability to pass stool, causing overflow diarrhea. Her decreased appetite noted in her transfer file was caused by an obstruction, not as a side effect of the suspected infection. A biopsy confirmed our suspicions and also let us know that this was not going to be curable. It was horrible.
Our patient was an adorable young girl, curly hair, puffy face, fever for months and clearly unwell. She played in her hospital crib while she could, but mostly she slept.
These conversations are never easy to have with patient’s families. They are especially hard to have when the family knew that their child was feeling unwell and the news they were about to receive was horrible.
My consultant took the patient’s family into the quiet room every ICU has. The parents did not want to leave their daughter alone but I was happy to miss this particular conversation. I stayed with the little girl, playing in her crib, then holding her in my lap and rocking her while we watched Dora. She eventually fell asleep there, I am known for being soothing and tend to make children fall asleep quickly. I’m proud of this super power.
When the family came back. obviously distraught, they stood around their daughter and I. These poor folks were so much in shock from the news that they had just received that they didn’t know what to do next. I ended up gently standing up and asking her father to sit down and take her, which he did, sobbing.
My consultant thanked me for caring for the patient, said that it seemed to comfort the parents while they were in their meeting. She really wanted me to go into paediatrics because I’m able to insert myself quietly where I’m needed and so few med students/docs seem to do this well. To me, it just makes sense to snuggle a sick child when she needs it, to hug a family who has just lost their husband, to cry with the woman diagnosed with breast cancer metastasis and to joke with the families under so much stress they don’t know what else to do. I try to do it in a way that isn’t “too familiar” but makes the patients and family feel cared for. I step out again as soon as I can.
When I got home the night after my snuggle, and expected to be more upset than I was. I felt good with the choices I made that day and how we had been able to do what we could.
With the sick kiddos I met in the ICU, I decided to squish as much love and care into their teeny bodies as I could in the time I had with them. If I’m able to maintain this outlook, I really think that I may be comfortable with paediatric palliative care.
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