The little things...

It is the worst of circumstances, one that we nurses, try our hardest to forsee and prevent. You are discharging a mother and family after going through a fetal loss and as you bring them out into the hallway or to the car, you run into a mass of celebrating family as they welcome a new little one or you pass tired, new moms walking their babies in cribs through the hallways...
We cringe inwardly and try to quickly maneuver our pt away from such a painful scene, beating ourselves up for not forseeing this happening...
It is the antithesis of labor and delivery, little lives that are cut short before they had a chance to be... great sorrow instead of joy and anticipation.
It is the culmination of all the little things that you never thought about that bring the breakdown moment.
We are so careful to monitor people going into their room, a special, discreet sign is placed on the door to alert all employees that extra consideration and tact is necessary. After delivery we either keep them in the same room on our unit so they can remain with familiar surroundings and personnel or we move them to an adult floor with no crying babies and celebrating families around every corner to remind them of their devastating loss.
But it is the "little" things - - things that we don't even think of because it doesn't mean much to us but to a grieving family is like a slap in the face.
Yesterday it was the poster displayed in the hospital lobby announcing in big, bright pinks and blues, pregnancy classes that were being offered as I wheeled my patient down for discharge. She was in the middle of talking to me about some mundane issue, "filler talk", when the sign appeared and she faltered in her sentence, tried to catch and cover her break and then with a shaky laugh and a short shake of her head, she fell silent dropping her chin to her chest in defeat.
My stomach dropped and I reached to place a hand on her shoulder, quietly offering her my support and acknowledging her grief.
Another time it was as I brought in the little box that we prepare, filled with the only lasting mementos of their lost child or children, tastefully done and tied up with a ribbon in a single bow, placed on top of the hand-knitted blanket that had been lovingly wrapped around their baby as they briefly cradled the little one.
As I opened my mouth to say how sorry we were for their loss and hand them the package, the baby delivery bell, playing brahm's lullaby, went off on the overhead pa system, announcing the arrival of a new life.
The woman, who had been bravely smiling, looked up at me in shock, as understanding dawned and then her face crumpled and she began to cry softly... I laid the package down and gently hugged her as I said quietly, "I am so sorry..." Her husband stood at her side, his head hanging down, hands in his pockets. No longer able to put on a brave face and be the "take charge, answer every question" man.
It is the "little" things that breach the walls we put up to hold in our emotions, when we least expect it.
As a woman, mother, nurse, human being - I want to alleviate pain and suffering. But I know that is impossible and though I hurt for those who are mourning, as we should, as Christ does, I can only try and make the situation as "easy" as possible. Knowing that no matter how well I take care of them, meet their health needs, etc. It will not take away the ache in their hearts when they walk into their quiet homes and see the empty nursery...