Director's Notes, December 2010

Forgive me if I’ve told this story before.  After more than 10 years of writing Director’s Notes, some stories are likely to resurface.

First, some background:  For those who don’t know, I started my career at RVMC (and in healthcare for that matter) as a Respiratory Therapist.  And my specialty was neonatal.  So I was on the team that would go to other hospitals by ambulance or aircraft to pick up newborns that needed our unique services at RVMC.  For much of that time, I was the supervisor over the neonatal RTs.  And one of the things that went with the job was that if nobody else wanted to take call for a particular shift, I would assign it to myself.  And so it happened that I came to be on call on Christmas Eve.

As luck would have it, I was called at about 10:30 p.m. Christmas Eve to come in to pick up a baby in Yreka.  It was one of those icy-clear nights, almost zero traffic on the road.  The RN, the two ambulance crewmembers and I alternated from traveling in silence to breaking out into Christmas carols on the trip south.  It was magical to be on the interstate at the Siskiyou Summit, seeing ice crystals suspended in the midnight air as the clock moved us into Christmas morning.

The preemie was in a lot of respiratory distress, and was intubated and put on our transport ventilator.  We did what we needed to do to stabilize him, and loaded him into the ambulance for the trip to the NICU.  His name was José, the child of migrant workers who barely spoke any English.  The parents’ names were Maria and Jesús.  The coincidence of the names—Jesus, Mary and Joseph—was not lost on us.  Fortunately the 45 minute trip back was uneventful, but the baby was clearly deteriorating during the ride.

The sad ending to this story is that the baby died soon after the parents arrived at RVMC, about an hour after the baby was admitted.

At the time, and to this day, I’ve wondered about any meaning that that event should have had.  It was so surreal:  the day, the names, and the migrant couple who found a room “at the inn” for their baby’s birth.  In asking myself about meaning, I always come back to my belief that it is not the events themselves that have meaning:  It is what we do about those events that are the real meanings behind the moments.  For José, we simply did all that we could.

I am grateful for the opportunity to serve in a hospital whose mission talks about delivering quality healthcare services in a compassionate manner, valued by our communities.  It’s an absolute privilege to be part of this institution where the people in our community are depending on us for advanced healthcare.

So this season, I’d just ask that you all reflect a bit on what we’re really here for, and what this institution means to the 250,00 people who live in our referral area.  Yes, we have forms and productivities and audits and outcomes and bottom lines and annual evaluations.  But at the end of the day, it’s all about those moments of contact between us and our patients and families, and between each other.  Each one of you can decide what it is that you contribute to the meaning of those moments.

Enjoy the holidays!