Pediatric ICU drowns you into a cocktail of emotions. The sweetest children, gasping for their breaths, screaming in pain. What did they do to deserve this predicament? Only theists would know. As the parent, you stay beside your child, hoping that those beautiful eyes will gleam again one day. How does one remain by the side of their dying child? Seconds take a lifetime to pass, and every second that passes by, these parents would introspect if things could have turned out differently. Shattered, terrified, they look around. Perhaps thinking, "Am I handling this grief correctly? How do the others manage to do this?" Turns out everyone else is just as terrified. An eerie silence lurks around the room, only to be broken by the ghastly sound of monitors. They have cried enough. They too, wished that maybe their cries would pull their child out. Failed miserably, each time.
"What happened to your child?", the mother of the child on bed number 3 finally gathered the courage to ask the mother beside bed number 4. I could hear them from the other end of the room. "Pneumonia. He has a hole in her heart too. What happened to your child?"
"She has an infection in her brain. That's what the doctors have been saying."
At this point, they both know that these strangers understand their state of mind better than anyone else. They have so much to say to their dear children, things they wish they could have said earlier. Now, they just can't. These strangers won't mind listening to their woes. They need it just as much, right? As days pass by, these broken parents become a sort of an extended family for each other. They know they can rely on them. "Will you look after my child while I sleep for an hour? I have hardly slept in the past 2 days." Imagine trusting your beloved child's life to a stranger. Ah, no, wait. Why do I keep referring to them as strangers? Their pain has led to a very intriguing kind of bond, one that gets stronger the weaker you get. A grief bond. A bond birthed by helplessness.
The girl on bed number 3 is much sicker today. Her mother is breaking apart on the inside as she continues sponging her. She came all this way alone from a small town as her last resort. The father of the boy on bed number 4 was kind enough to bring all the required medicines for her. I remember asking her what she does for a living. A labourer. She's been wearing the same shabby clothes for the past week, can barely afford a proper meal. She wouldn't let her child die just because she is poor. The other parents understand this. Another grief bond. Poverty. Despite this, they can't help each other financially. They need every penny for their own child, right?
A few days later, when I returned for my shift, the girl had been shifted out of the PICU. Apparently, her recovery was much better than we expected. Every time I would go to her bed, her mother would almost shout, asking her daughter to greet me. How lovely. Her mother still talks to the boy's parents on bed number 4. Every day she would strengthen their hope. Her words mean a lot to them. Oh wait, the boy seems to be gasping. The residents rush to his bed to resuscitate him. I could hear his mother crying as I helped the residents with the CPR. The boy seems to be a fighter. He survived. His mother was beside him, holding his hand after that. I saw his father in the hallway while transporting some urgent samples. He was sitting on the floor beside a pillar. Crying. His life was crumbling in front of his eyes. I wish I could have comforted him somehow, but I don't have a grief bond with him, yet.
By the time I returned to the ICU, that boy was being resuscitated again. His parents stood there like lifeless beings. They could see that the residents had now stopped their efforts. "He's no more." His mother kept asking me to recheck. His father was pressing his son's chest. Doctors have given up on his son; how can he? Maybe his efforts will bring him back, despite all odds. As an intern, I have to counsel them. How? I don't know. Let me gather myself. I will help them with this pain. Oh no, another child is being transferred to the PICU. "Keep her on bed number 4.", the residents told the parents.
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