A sucker punch to the soul

Work in the PICU is hard. I mean, it's really growing on me (and I have a ways to grow), but there are a few things I'm struggling with. Most notably, those would be abuse/neglect and death. Kids are a tough transition in many ways, but easier in others. One of the things looming large in my mind on our orientation checklist is "end of life care." I mostly tolerate it with adults, but I don't know how well I'll tolerate it with the kiddos.

I acknowledged going into this job that I also don't know how well I'll handle abuse cases. It's one thing to abuse your body, and I've more or less come to terms with abuse among adults, but I don't know where to start with kids. Within the past few months, I had to deal with one particular case in the role of primary nurse. It was awful. There are just no words. Normally I would try to understand the situation, but to put yourself in the frame of mind where that sort of thing is even conceivable is just... no.

I can't laugh anymore about that joke, "I'm not having kids because I believe in child abuse." Even in my lighter moments I see that broken little body. As for pediatric death? It's gut wrenching.

However, despite the depressing nature of this post, I'm happy where I am. Gazza is consistently at two hours alone now and halfway off her Prozac, so I think she's happy where she is too. She might be happier if she could just catch one of those elusive squirrels, but you can't have it all now, can you?

And even though it doesn't always seem right, I do believe that God has a plan for us all.