It Was Me, I’m the One Who Ended Your Baby’s Life
It was part of the job description, but that didn’t lessen the heartbreak.
Trigger warning: this story is about newborn loss. It discusses personal experience from the healthcare perspective but involves details of end-of-life care.
I am a proud Respiratory Therapist (RT).
I worked in the largest Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) in our province (I’m Canadian). The sickest newborn babies from up to 1000 kilometers (700 miles) away were flown to our center for our expert care. And it is the sickest of the sick and the smallest of the small who require a Respiratory Therapist.
On a daily basis, my job was to breathe life into these tiny, helpless beings. Though I spent my time perfecting each breath, there were days I also provided their last.
For some parents, it is anticipated ahead of time. A prenatal scan revealed something out of the ordinary, specialists confirmed, and a plan was put in place to relocate to our hospital for the birth. For others, it is a heartbreaking shock when their baby is born. Regardless, everyone knows that if a baby requires that level of care, it is not good.
Congenital heart defects, congenital diaphragmatic hernias, intrauterine growth restriction…
