rhan101277
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Yeah it is, on the bright side 20 weekers don't make it. Guess they live a few minutes.WOW, that is just horrifying.
P.S. I was a 24 weeker back in 1977.
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Yeah it is, on the bright side 20 weekers don't make it. Guess they live a few minutes.WOW, that is just horrifying.
I hope the parents fell down some stairs and bumped into some doorways and no police or jailers have any idea what happened.
Yes, the 20 week fetuses normally don't. A friend of mine works in a Level III NICU... the youngest she's ever seen survive is about 21-22 weeks and just over 500 grams. The smallest ones that I've seen was about 24 weeks and about 620g, IIRC. Where she works, they call them "Million Dollar Babies".Yeah it is, on the bright side 20 weekers don't make it. Guess they live a few minutes.
P.S. I was a 24 weeker back in 1977.
Whether it be a child, peer, or relative, the hardest cases to handle are the ones that get close to home. Each of us has a particular scenario that will rock us off our very foundations and get us staggering for weeks, months, even the rest of our lives. We have choices in how we deal, of course, and I would hope that facing what we experienced is included in them.
And that's the hardest part.
But you know what happens? Taking the time to look at the particulars of how you were affected (and reacted to it) opens more doors than it shuts. Avoiding facing your experience narrows it into an unknowable nagging itch that really doesn't go away. But facing it (incrementally, one aspect at a time in proportion to how deep it got in and shook you) actually helps you to BROADEN your perspective and better understand what the role you played was in the LIFE of the incident.
There's evidence of medics doing this all over this web site, and I think that's one of its major services because we don't often talk to each other in person about stuff that rocks us. It's part of the Johnny and Roy culture we inherited. This truly is a safe space, and I'm always happy to see so many here willing to listen and support each other.
Here's what I came up with after facing countless of my own assaults in the field:
#1) I'm going to die.
The evidence is inescapable. Sure, maybe some lucky thing will materialize last minute (as I ALWAYS believe it will; and the fact that I'm alive today to write about it confirms its truth!), but really, after about 12 years doing the work I really get the concept.
#2) NONE of us will be around very long. In the larger scope of things, our lives are mere sparks. Stand beside a mountain.
#3) I'm here (and in the past, it was in the back of an ambulance) doing what I can in the moments that intersect with the lives of others. In a lot of those moments, I'm doing everything I can do to keep them present in this life, but ultimately, I may very well be the last face they see.
#4) Whoever "dies" on me was no less a part of this miracle than myself. The fact that any of us live at all is incredible! Therefore, bottom line, I am PARTICIPATING in the lives of others, in a sense, getting to understand my own through that participation. As a medic, I just happened to spend a lot of time with people who were leaving a bit earlier than myself.
#5) Ultimately, I'm not far behind, and in that I found some comfort. When the times came to really see that child/friend/relative/mentor's life pass before me, I had the privilege of being there, to honor and try and nourish whatever spark was left, and if it faded, to wish it well on its journey; the journey we're all taking. Ultimately, we're here to witness life, and death appears to be a part of it.
#6) If there's somewhere else to go, we'll all get there.
This is just my personal guiding philosophy. I learned it in the back of an ambulance maybe six years into the work and it has informed every aspect of my life in the 30 years since.
I offer it not as a form to follow but as encouragement for YOU to find one that works for you.
Thanks for reading!
Whether it be a child, peer, or relative, the hardest cases to handle are the ones that get close to home. Each of us has a particular scenario that will rock us off our very foundations and get us staggering for weeks, months, even the rest of our lives. We have choices in how we deal, of course, and I would hope that facing what we experienced is included in them.
And that's the hardest part.
But you know what happens? Taking the time to look at the particulars of how you were affected (and reacted to it) opens more doors than it shuts. Avoiding facing your experience narrows it into an unknowable nagging itch that really doesn't go away. But facing it (incrementally, one aspect at a time in proportion to how deep it got in and shook you) actually helps you to BROADEN your perspective and better understand what the role you played was in the LIFE of the incident.
There's evidence of medics doing this all over this web site, and I think that's one of its major services because we don't often talk to each other in person about stuff that rocks us. It's part of the Johnny and Roy culture we inherited. This truly is a safe space, and I'm always happy to see so many here willing to listen and support each other.
Here's what I came up with after facing countless of my own assaults in the field:
#1) I'm going to die.
The evidence is inescapable. Sure, maybe some lucky thing will materialize last minute (as I ALWAYS believe it will; and the fact that I'm alive today to write about it confirms its truth!), but really, after about 12 years doing the work I really get the concept.
#2) NONE of us will be around very long. In the larger scope of things, our lives are mere sparks. Stand beside a mountain.
#3) I'm here (and in the past, it was in the back of an ambulance) doing what I can in the moments that intersect with the lives of others. In a lot of those moments, I'm doing everything I can do to keep them present in this life, but ultimately, I may very well be the last face they see.
#4) Whoever "dies" on me was no less a part of this miracle than myself. The fact that any of us live at all is incredible! Therefore, bottom line, I am PARTICIPATING in the lives of others, in a sense, getting to understand my own through that participation. As a medic, I just happened to spend a lot of time with people who were leaving a bit earlier than myself.
#5) Ultimately, I'm not far behind, and in that I found some comfort. When the times came to really see that child/friend/relative/mentor's life pass before me, I had the privilege of being there, to honor and try and nourish whatever spark was left, and if it faded, to wish it well on its journey; the journey we're all taking. Ultimately, we're here to witness life, and death appears to be a part of it.
#6) If there's somewhere else to go, we'll all get there.
This is just my personal guiding philosophy. I learned it in the back of an ambulance maybe six years into the work and it has informed every aspect of my life in the 30 years since.
I offer it not as a form to follow but as encouragement for YOU to find one that works for you.
Thanks for reading!
All I have to say is that was beautifully written. Well said. I'm honestly tempted to pass this on to many of the medics, EMTs and even ff's I know.
She'd been dead for hours but we just couldnt bring ourselves to give up with mom right there screaming at us to do something.