Loss

Today hurts. Yesterday was terrible. This job can be so difficult.

"Liz, Liz" I hear her yell, "Get Alison!"

I walk to Alison's desk and find her on the phone. I return "she is on the phone."

"I need her right now, I am walking a Dad through CPR on his kid, get her now!"

This time I run, explain it to Alison, and she hangs up the phone. We run back. The phone is put on speaker. We all stand around listening to this poor father giving CPR to his child, you can hear the scuffle as the EMTs enter the room. Click, the phone goes dead.

"Liz, get everyone to the Emergency Department, tell them to meet us there. This little boy is down and being brought to us."

The frantic rush begins. I start paging our transplant doctors, our social worker, our coordinators. I'm at the helm of the control center, making sure everyone knows this poor 6-year-old has arrested and is on his way in.

Everyone finally knows, my storm is over and their storm begins. When the child and his father finally arrive, it is clear the child is DOA. After continuing to work with on the child, time of death is called. Our Transplant doc has to go inform the father, who clearly falls apart. His wife has yet to arrive, on her way from Colorado Springs. Dad sits and waits, alone. Knowing he just lost his son. He doesn't call his wife because he doesn't want to tell her while she is driving.

I have the utmost respect for the people I work with on a daily basis. Our jobs are hard, hell, sometimes they are next to impossible. It is our job. We do it well. But we can't save everyone. It is a hard reality and an even harder reality to think what his family is going through. How does someone survive the loss of their child. I don't even have kids and I cannot imagine it.

Today is a somber day, with thoughts of the boy, his family, and the collective experience we all went through together. I wish him peace.