Called to the Garden

Palm Sunday I was required to work. It was a beautiful day outside and not a bad day at work. After lunch we got called that we were going to receive a trauma soon. The case is now public but I don't care to share many details. I will of what I need to in order to keep my thoughts.

The initial story is that a man ran over this child, not once, but twice in anger. There were other people involved, some survived, some did not. We were pretty upset about this, who in their right mind can understand when this happens.

The child was 4 years old, the outside hospital and helicopter crew had done quite a bit in order to somewhat stabilize her for transport to a trauma center. She had a chest tube on the right, intubated - she was not responsive at the scene and therefore unable to maintain her airway, they had established IV access but that was later lost, she had a urinary catheter, and received multiple units of blood enroute. All of this follows established protocol for multi system trauma. She also was splinted on three limbs with a c-collar.

We received word that they lost her heartrate enroute and were doing chest compressions, they also ran out of some of the drugs you use. On arrival to the ED we began working on her before she ever was off the stretcher. We had a trauma surgeon, OR staff to assist him, other surgeons, critical care attendings plus ER staff. Our IV was lost and the attending was never able to get an IO, even though he is good at that, I thought at one point we were putting in a chest tube and when I looked up (my orientee, her first trauma, says, "I think I see lung.") realized they had cracked her chest and were doing compressions directly on her heart. Some things I just wasn't sure of until later, the most interesting (medically) was that they used a urinary catheter and placed it to the RA (inside the heart) to give blood and medications through.

My job was to document everything, every order, every medicine, vital signs or the lack thereof, every person, times, all of it. It actually took two of us to keep up with everything, my orientee was wonderful. We worked on her for over 20 minutes, maybe 30, then when it was obvious that we were not going to be able to save her, the doctor stopped all efforts. We agree this was right.

At this point the patient is mine, and I do the remainder of her care. I quietly prayed for her. We began to clean the room, I to check my documentation, finalize everything, see the coroner, and do what little final care I can for her. This is when the emotions began to come.

I've cared for a lot of people after death. In the adult world I wash them, pray for them, and care for their loved ones as well. Many of them I had sat with or assisted in them in death. I always had closure. So it wasn't the death. And I've been with a few children, not as many. And I remember the first well, she was also killed by a parent. But the last hands that touched her cared for her, and I think she knew it.

So I did as much as I could. My hands slipping in her blood as I tied the name tags on her. I pulled the papers from the other hospital out and heard a rattle coming from the envelope. I dumped it out and there was a heart shaped necklace that fell out. I lurched in my shock at knowing that someone put that on her, someone gave it to her in love. And now here it is, to be bagged up with her.

The coroner came and the full extent of her injuries, the visible ones, were seen. We had never fully exposed her because we never got past "C" in the protocols. Her backside had a large laceration, her legs limp in the splints.

Some family came, but no one close enough to be able to be in the room. All for the best, she was a "crime scene" and they could not have touched her. Then it was time to place her in the body bag. I lifted her up and gently placed her there. Closing her necklace up with her. And she was taken away.

Since then I've had many days with tears. The next day, Monday, I went to the church to pray. The scripture for the day was Matthew 26, Jesus in the garden. I sat at the alter and read and reread the words. Jesus calling them to pray with him, to just stay awake and bear the burden. And they couldn't. I haven't done well with that before, but I think I felt a new level of calling. I can't imagine what the cross was like with the sin of the world on him. Just the burden I felt was overwhelming, how did he bear it all? I take communion, His body broken for us, and I remember her legs, broken. He was resurrected, and I am in Him. I

'm a mess of emotions. One day I think, she's better off, surely she is with Jesus. And I think about what heaven must be like, joy unspeakable for lack of words, and seeing his face. Then I remember her body, broken by her father. We hear talk of the father's love, and I was a daddy's girl. How did he do it? I could understand if he just did it once and said, I was overcome with hated of the mother and just lost it. But no, he drove around and did it again.

And the father. I think if I just hate him enough,then I will feel better. But I can't. Because murder is no different than my sin. They are all in the top ten. I should be hated as well. And I want forgiveness.

I don't want to forget, I don't want to not be tender. I'm sure this will pass, the crying will anyway. I can't stand crying.

Is she in heaven? Is she with Jesus? Tell me that.