Of wooden boards and misplaced vessels

When I had my Internal Medicine out-post in another hospital, I had to pass the children’s ward on my way to the rooms. It was a country hospital, surrounded by tall trees; they make a rather picturesque view during the day, but becomes increasingly spooky when it gets dark.

Outside the children’s ward there were little white benches where some kids usually sit during the day, talking nonsense to their parents or showing off their IV-lines to visiting siblings and friends. When you first pass by you won’t notice it, but at a closer look you’ll see that some of the more younger children has their hand that’s hooked up to an IV laid flat upon and loosely bound to pretty little wooden boards. One would wonder at it, but then you’d realize that it’s so that they won’t flex their hands (or more - kids) and accidentally pull out the catheter. You’d then think, why the effort? You can just put in another on the other hand.

Well, you can.

But at the prize of the kid wailing in pain calling for their mother (or father, of course), as I’ve heard plenty of times during my passing the ward. Which breaks you just that little bit each time you hear it.

An 18-days old patient passed away yesterday due to transposition of the great arteries. You’d think the cries of someone older would not pain you as much as a child’s, but to hear it from one slumped on the CVCU floor as they call out the baby’s name…well, you’d be having a difficult time deciding which one you’d rather hear.