Powerful

Yesterday, I received an email from a woman named Brooke. Brooke is a nurse in the NICU that Joshua was in.

 When I opened the email, I never expected to read the words that I read. We emailed back and forth, and this is the most powerful part of our series of emails.

If you haven't done so, please read this first to better understand this email- but be warned, the link and this post below will be emotional and hard to read.



Jill,

I just read your blog post about when Joshua died.

It was me. I was the nurse you were referring to.

I need you to know something about that day. I pray that it will not bring you any more pain than you have been through, but it might be information that you want.

I heard the commotion. We run towards the noise. That is what we do. We are trained to deal with it and we are carefully trained with what to do.

I saw some of my hero's of the unit working on your baby. There were many of them. In a code the newer girls come and hang out around the edges to act as runner for supplies and to make phone calls. The seasoned vets take over and instruct. I am somewhere in the middle of that good and useful pecking order.

 But, when I saw the calibur and number of nurses working on your son I knew that my hand on nursing skill was not needed, so I began to look around for how else I could help.

And I saw your face.

You were collapsed side ways in a chair outside the window. You were pure panic and you had your phone in your hand like a weapon.

 My mothers heart felt your mother heart.

 I have to say that I had stopped by your room before to admire the pictures. I am a hobby photographer and I adored the images you have from Joshua's hospital stay.

 I knew when I saw your face that some one needed to take care of you. Watching a code is very traumatic. Something I would never want to see on my own children.

So I lead you to the quiet room.

You didn't want to leave the window area of Joshua's room, but the shear number of medical staff kind of forced you to.

You sat on the couch and you talked to your husband.

 I watched numbers go up for a little while, I had a little hope. But then the nurses eyes told me it was not going to work.

 I came back and forth several times.

At one point you said one of the bravest things I have ever heard.

Later, when the staff was reviewing what had happened I said that you were one of the truest mothers I have ever seen. You were talking to your husband and you said, "When do we stop?" Before we (as a staff) begged you to.

You are such a true and selfless mother that you knew Joshua was ready to go. I have seen lots of families say good bye, but never seen it done so... well/right/selflessly. At that point the "runners" came and told me to get you in there to hold your baby.

What I do as a nurse is part of my identity as a person. My job can have lots of immediate saddness related to it. I cry. With my whole soul.

When your son died that whole entire unit was a mess. I saw 30 year vets cry. We were all just so sad for you and your family.

I am so sorry. But know that your little man and your family is still remembered in our unit.



Thanks,


Brooke