An Empty Room

In my world, an empty room has so many meanings.  My assignment at work generally consists of 13-17 patient rooms, filled to capacity approximately 95% of the time.  These rooms are filled with patients who’s age and diagnosis vary, with some needing more of my time and intervention than others.  I joke with parents of the patients with little or no respiratory support that “it’s always good if you don’t get to know me.”  Getting to “know me” means that I’m providing a lot of intervention, respiratory support, and your child is usually critically ill.

Some babies just arrived a little early, and need to work on growing and feeding.  While others are much more complex and can be here for up to 9 months or more.  So when I arrive in the morning, look at my assignment, and see empty rooms my first hope is that a little “grower and feeder” has gone home with their parents.  Sometimes in my world “babies drop out of the ceiling” (Labor & Delivery is on the floor above), which means an empty room is going to fill with a new patient.  Empty rooms are filled with patients transported from other hospitals, and as a Level 4 NICU we get a lot, we see a lot, and hopefully we help a lot.  There are awful days where after doing our best for hours, days or months, we lose a patient and the empty room is a stark reminder of the loss and pain felt by all.

But today I feel joy, mixed with a little sadness, because the empty room I’m looking at now was previously filled by a patient that literally stole my heart.  A patient who beat incredible odds.  A beautiful girl who has a brother for a guardian angel.  She not only survived, she is thriving.  A patient that I will dearly miss – her face, her smile, and even her little stinker moments.  But my tears today for this empty room are tears of joy.  This empty room reminds me why I come to work everyday.  It reminds me that we can make a difference.  And for all the empty rooms filled with pain and loss, my heart does not forget.  But today……today is a good day.