The Children’s Ward
Gail reappeared. “Dr. Klied arranged for Dr. Glazer to do the heart catheterization today,” she told them. “Last night’s emergency case is already coming down here to the children‘s ward, so the space will be available again in PICU for Yisroel Meir to recuperate there afterwards. Then he can come back down here when he’s ready. Dr. Klied wants this done now, before something else comes up. Oh, and Yisroel Meir has to be on a fast.”
Life seemed to be taking on an unreal quality, with events moving too fast to be taken in: months in PICU, surrounded constantly by staff, then being plied with an avalanche of instructions on life-saving techniques — then, sudden as a lightning bolt, to be transferred and alone in totally foreign territory. And now they were to move again.
Gail explained the details of the catheterization procedure. “An anesthesiologist will be down soon,” she added. (Translation: The term “soon” can refer to any time period ranging from five minutes to five hours. There’s no predicting — don’t even try.)
In this case, “soon” entailed a five-hour wait — by which time the entire staff, doctors and nurses, had changed shifts. Once again, Yona was confronted with unfamiliar faces. The new doctor on call was indeed new — not only to Yona and her son, but to the ward, as well. A new resident. (Coincidentally, he too eventually went to work in Alyn’s pediatric department when Yissie started school there.)
Lois was reluctant to leave Yona alone, but she had a doctor appointment that she couldn’t break. The new doctor checked Yissie’s chart, consulted with the anesthesiologist, and said he’d be back in a few minutes to accompany them to the tenth floor — to the state-of-the-art cardiology ward.
Yona whispered some encouraging words into the ear of the fasting baby. There was no time, and neither was there a cell phone, to let anyone know that this procedure was imminent, to ask for prayers and tehillim to be said on his behalf. The new doctor was back, with a portable oxygen tank, a pulse oximeter, a portable suctioning machine, and the anesthetic injection. Yona, with catheters, added the ever-present ambu. After the doctor gave Yissie the sleep-inducing drugs and attached him to the monitor, they were off. He and Yona wheeled the crib together, walking rapidly, with Yona wheeling the oxygen tank and the suctioning machine and keeping a watchful eye on her son. A mask was attached around the trache, and an oxygen hose from the tank. Yona carefully maneuvered the hose through the bars of the crib. As they emerged from the elevator on the tenth floor, Yona met up with a friend of hers who happened to be standing there.
“Oh, Yona!” the friend exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you! This is Yisroel Meir? I’ve been davening for him. I wish him a refuah sheleimah!”
“So come, take a good look at him,” Yona invited. Then suddenly, she saw that Yisroel Meir wasn’t breathing — not at all.
“He’s not breathing!” she shouted to the doctor. Having just graduated from the CPR course, she knew there wasn’t a minute to spare. She grabbed the ambu and thrust it into the doctor’s hands.
At which point, he asked blankly, “Where do I put it?”
There was no time for the luxury of being shocked at his response. Yona just grabbed the ambu back and put it on the baby’s trache. “Oh,” said the doctor, and then took over, continuing to resuscitate, while Yona attached the ambu to the oxygen tank.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yona’s friend volunteered.
“Yes! Run down to PICU! It’s on the eighth floor! Tell them that Yacobowicz needs emergency help on the tenth floor!”
Seconds later, Nurse Michal arrived, having dashed up two flights of stairs. (“Two flights?” she later remarked. “For that baby, I would have run up all ten flights!”) “What happened?” she asked, taking over the ambu with smooth, matter-of-fact efficiency.
By this time, the nurses from the ward had gathered around to help. “Wheel him into the catheterization room!” they urged. “We can hook him up to a respirator there!”
The entire entourage pushed the small patient into the catheterization room. “Please wait outside now, Yona,” Nurse Michal said. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave his side until he’s hooked up and everything is 100 percent.”
Because it was Michal whom Hashem had sent at that moment, Yona felt calm and confident of the outcome. A few minutes later, Michal emerged to find an exhausted Yona sitting on the floor, Tishah B’Av-style. No chairs. To say that she was “out of it” would have been an understatement.
“Yisroel Meir is okay, Yona,” Nurse Michal told her at once. “He’s on a respirator, and he’s stable.” She helped Yona get up, brought her to a chair, and got her a glass of water. “What probably happened was that too much anesthetic was administered,” she explained. “When they checked his weight to decide how much was needed, did they take into consideration the fact that he’s wearing casts?”
“I…I don’t think so,” Yona answered, trying to recall. “They could have, but come to think of it…they just read his chart and didn’t ask me anything. And I just assumed they knew what they were doing.” (Nurse Michal’s theory of what had gone wrong did indeed later prove to have been the case.)
“Yona,” Michal told her gently, “you are your baby’s real doctor. You’re going to have to be on top of everything.”
“Yes…yes, I see that. But I just don’t believe it….”
First Time Saving Your Life
Did I just take part in
saving your life?
Did I?
Did I, incapable of so much,
learn a way to be capable?
Did I?
Was it someone hiding
underneath the layers of uncertainty?
Is there really more of me
to uncover?
Did I discover…?
I did.
Y. Y.
Buy The Miracle Next Door by Malka Adler and Yona T. Yacobowicz at a special online price at www.targum.com
