The truck was checked off and I had my coffee in hand. An EMT-Basic student had been assigned to me and I was showing him around the truck and showing him where everything was stored. He was asking a lot of good questions and I found myself very impressed with him and his initiative. Then the radio crackled.
“Control to Medic 51. Respond to Section 8 Apartments, apartment 22. Have a 7 month old female not breathing.”
“Oh SHIT!”
My partner ran to the truck and I told the student to go ahead and glove up, as Section 8 Apartments is close to our station. I’m praying the entire way over there as was my partner I found out later. Medic 16 went en route to assist and I was very glad since this was the first “kiddie code” I had ever gotten in my EMS career and a big part of me was scared to death.
We go on scene and the fire department is already there. Before I could approach the apartment I see one of the firefighters running out with the baby in his arms. “Bring her to the truck!” I yell out.
Mom is hysterical. “Please help my baby!”
“We’re going to do everything we can ma’am.”
The other medic who responded was already in the captain’s chair ready to tube so I grabed the IO gear.
“She’s in trismus.”
“Oh damn.”
I grab the leg and it’s stiff. To no one’s surprise, asystole is present on the monitor.
We were too late.
Needless to say we called it. Of course I knew that there was absolutely nothing we or anyone else could do for her but I still hated it. I kept my emotions together, though, and called for the coroner. I got out of the truck and mom is standing right outside.
“Is she going to be OK?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you…”
Mom lost it. I almost lost it. I’ve seen lots of dead adults but I had never had to call a baby. However, I kept my wits about me and went about gathering information, looking at the crib, asking about history, etc. The M.E. arrived and asked us to transport the baby to the county morgue. The whole way over I don’t say much besides checking on the welfare of my partner and our student. We all said we were OK but I know that we probably just don’t know what to say in the moment. A part of me was honestly glad that I don’t have any kids because I could only imagine how much worse this call would be on me.
As it was, I just wanted to go home.
When we arrived back at base no one said a word to me for a while other than asking me if I was alright, etc. I finished my report, ran a couple more emergency calls, caught a long distance transfer and didn’t run another call after we went to bed (and for that I was grateful). When I went home I took an extra long nap because my night on shift was spent mostly tossing, turning and thinking too much. By the next day I was better but I still hated what happened.
This was a first in my career. I’d love to never work another one of those calls again but I know that there’s no way to guarantee that I’ll never get that call again. I talked some of my EMS friends and they all agreed that this is a call that no one in EMS ever wants to get but one that we must learn to handle. Most I’ve talked to have told me that you never completely get over a call like that. I fully understand why.
The day I stop being affected by something like this is the day I rip the patch off my shirt and do something else.
I’ve pressed on but I still think about it sometimes. To see what the family went through when we had to tell them that their precious baby was dead left a mark on me that will never completely go away. This is one of those call in EMS that never gets easy, at least it shouldn’t. I was able to learn from this experience so I suppose I can say that nugget of good came out of it.
I think it’s important to recognize two things in these situations.
1) There is absolutely nothing you can say or do that can make this sort of situation better for the parents. It’s important not to try to relate to them when you can’t, but to both acknowledge their grief and assure them that they are not alone in either the moment, or sadly the situation.
2) As much as people ask and you may start to believe, no, you’re not alright. And that’s absolutely normal. If you were alright, then yeah, I’d be concerned.
Thanks for sharing this tough call that, a little too often, we don’t talk about enough.
“The day I stop being affected by something like this is the day I rip the patch off my shirt and do something else.”
Yep, that’s (to me) precisely the way you should be. If you were so callous that such a situation didn’t affect you, you’d not be very good or in the least committed to the vital job you’re doing. If/when I need treatment, I want a paramedic who damn well cares about me. Trying to save the life of a young kid like that will ramp up the emotions 10,000% more.
If you didn’t feel for people you’d not be doing the job you are.
Yes, what Dave said.
Your story here reminded me of that morning along time ago.
I remember Christmas week almost fourteen years ago…..my partner and I got the ”3 week old not breathing” call at about 0720…20 minutes into our shift….It was my first pedi code. I had a drowned 4 y/o a few months prior to that andI though I had prepared myself for the ”what ifs to come in my future. I wasnt prepared, not by a long shot!
We got to the clapboard house and arrived to chaos. The young father frantically waving in the middle of the street..”My baby is not breathing, hurry!”.
The mother was in the hallway screaming ”HERE! HERE!” Pointing to a bedroom….my partner grabbed the baby…telling me in hushed tones ” Babys cold and blue”! My mind screamed ”Oh my God”!!!
While exiting to the unit I encountered the father, a Latin King with 2 teardrops tattooed on his cheek……”What are you doing to my baby? Why arent you saving him? What THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HIM!!”. Where are you taking HIM! ?You bitch, save his life!”.
In the unit, we found that the baby boy had a warm feel to the right side of his chest and shoulder, it was where the mother had been holding her son prior to our arrival. The poor boys pupils were fixed and dilated,mottled and blue the poor baby had probably passed hours and hours ago.
But……we loaded and went anyway…gave report enroute with a 5 minute eta, the physician knew it was a cosmetic code…and advised us to ER Pod 4, the trauma room.
I never heard a human being howl and wail as I heard that poor mother when she was told of the babys death.
I can never forget it either…..it still gives me goose bumps remembering that awful day. In some ways I dont want to forget it, it made me know without a doubt that life is precious!
I still see that babys sock, dropped, crumpled on the floor of the trauma room….I stooped to pick it up, folding it..the baby being attended to behind me….time stood still…a tiny blue and white sock. It felt wrong for it to be on the floor, it should’ve been on his foot, keeping him warm……and the howls came, fierce, heart wrenching, guttural.
I wanted to go home and check on my sons, to make sure they were still warm, still here.
i dont think anyone with a human soul can ever forget a call like that…Sometimes the human condition grounds us, sometimes we need grounding. Sometimes we need to remember that we ”cant save the world” no matter how much training we have or how hard we try,or what patch we were or in what city. We do what we can, all we can.
I was lucky enough to never have another pedi-code.