Too Close to Home.

I am a health care recruiter.  Most of my work is as a nurse recruiter and for the past six months I have been working on positions like: Director of Home Health, Director of Hospice and CNAs.  With my experience of the past year, I take a new understanding of how hospitals work and what nurses really do day to day.  I watched it and lived it.  I really like what I do and I love talking with nurses and connecting them to new opportunities.

And then yesterday my client asked me to partner with them on a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit Nurse.

I could hardly get through the call without breaking down.  I wanted to some how share with them how close this project is to my heart.  But I can't tell them what happened.  There are professional boundaries that should not be crossed.  It would be awkward to share Jack's story with a stranger over the phone.  And then what would I expect them to say?  Most people cry when I tell them what happened   I don't really like making people cry, so I don't talk about it as much as I wish I could.

At one point on our call, it was mentioned that they need a nurse who can stay calm as "things go down the tubes fast" with a patient.  It took every thing I had not to start sobbing.  Things went "down the tubes fast" for my baby.  Even typing this I am shaking and crying.  How am I going to spend the next 30 days thinking about this and looking at it every single day?

As I work on my strategy for this position,  I need to watch their employment video and read their website.  I just cannot do it.  I started and there are pictures of children with NG tubes everywhere.  Children like Jack.  I wonder if they are at home with their families now.  I wonder what Jack would look like if he was with us.  What would he be learning and doing?  In the picture below, I caught him as he was learning to bring his hands to his mouth with a purpose.  This was taken they day before what would be his fatal injury.  He would have been 11 months tomorrow.  Instead, Saturday marked 6 months that he has been gone from us.

I spent the day sobbing intermittently   My pain is palpable and intense. We were away visiting friends and I cried my way though the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and at a Braves game.  Thoughts hung in my mind like: "Six months ago right now we were called into the 'bad news room' outside of the PICU and got the news that we had to say goodbye...Jack would not live through the afternoon."  I looked out at 40,000 people at the Braves game and thought: "None of these people are Jack.  Jack will never see a baseball game.  We will never watch Jack play baseball."  And then my eyes would well up and I would be shaking and crying sitting in the upper deck of Turner Field.

I want to nuzzle my face against his so badly.  That sweet smelling peach fuzz face that I miss so desperately.   When Jack was upset or scared, all I had to do was rub my face against his and mummer "Mamma loves you.  Mamma loves you." over and over again.  It was like magic. He would soften and the tears would dry up as his stiff little baby body melted into my arms.  He just needed that reassurance that I was there.

Now, I turn down the radio every day when I drive past Jack's cemetery and remind him "Mamma loves you."  And then I cry the rest of the way home.

I think I need to put some of my Jack framed photos away for a while.  Just looking with his sweet face ignites another round of sobbing.  As I sit at my desk, I can count at least 5 Jack faces in my line of sight.  These colorful reminders are more painful than anything now.  This morning I even had to make my dog the background photo on my phone  because any picture of Jack triggers more tears.  I feel terrible for having to hide him away but I need to, at least for today.

Recruiting for this PICU RN is bringing up so many memories.  The nurses who cared for Jack were absolute angels.  They were confident, skilled and kind.  They meticulously managed his medications and the machines that kept him alive during the darkest days. They offered hugs and hope each and every day.  The night nurses held his little hand for hours while we got some much needed sleep.  They cried right along with us when we said goodbye. A few even came to his visiting hours and funeral.  I know they loved Jack too.

I wish I could see them and get some big hugs from the nurses and doctors who loved my baby boy and worked so hard to save him.  I almost picked up the phone at lunch today to call the intensitivist who became like another mother to me during those terrible last weeks.   I know we were only one of many families they treat over the year but they were the only team of health care professionals who loved Jack and supported us.  There is an event this month to honor all of the babies like Jack.  I just am not ready to return to the hospital.  My wounds are still too raw.