Life is beautiful.
Friday, May 1, 2009
It seems that sometimes in the hectic world we need to find relaxation when we can. Sometimes that relaxation comes at the strangest times or in odd places.
A few weeks ago during pre-SQuIRT disOrientation, I had a most enjoyable lunch. Sitting on the grass, a cool breeze rustling the eucalyptus and dissuading the baking heat. It was out the front of a hospital, on lawn that doubles as a large a roundabout for patient drop-off. It was, summarily, serene.
The same kind of serenity seems to attach itself to early morning drives to the hospital. There's a sugar-cane plain between my digs and Coastal Hospital and, just as the sun rises behind me and the dew melts away, the road ticks along awindingly, and my music plays something fresh to start the day.
One of the strangest places I've had that relaxed feeling was at the Hanoi Maternity Hospital. I'd been across the road at the surgical hospital for a few weeks and was well into the swing of things. I'd transferred to the Maternity Hospital for a week to see what it was like. I'd shown up and been quickly befriended by the anesthetist, who was showing me around. I'd been in scrubs for about 30sec. We turned a corner, and the guy does a wee jump and says "Follow me. A baby soon." And we're inside the OR. The mother on the table is quiet, her abdomen stretched wide. She's the only one in the room who's not speaking. The surgeon is digging doggedly into her distended abdomen. There's blood on the drapes. And the floor. And the surgeon. The nurses are toey. One is holding the cloths for the newborn. She's hopping from foot to foot. We stand in the corner of the room. It is a hive, nurses rushing around, surgeon speaking calmly but firmly. Suction going. Some more liquid oozes out. The mother gasps. The nurses eyes bug out of their heads, and "POP!", the baby emerges, suspended upside down from the surgeon's gloves.
Everyone waits for what seems an eternity.
The baby cries. The baby screams. The nurse reaches forward with the swaddle. the surgeon leans back on his heels and breathes deep. The mother is shown her baby. "Let's go." says the anesthetist quickly and quietly, and we step outside. Under my mask, I can't stop smiling.
A few weeks ago during pre-SQuIRT disOrientation, I had a most enjoyable lunch. Sitting on the grass, a cool breeze rustling the eucalyptus and dissuading the baking heat. It was out the front of a hospital, on lawn that doubles as a large a roundabout for patient drop-off. It was, summarily, serene.
The same kind of serenity seems to attach itself to early morning drives to the hospital. There's a sugar-cane plain between my digs and Coastal Hospital and, just as the sun rises behind me and the dew melts away, the road ticks along awindingly, and my music plays something fresh to start the day.
One of the strangest places I've had that relaxed feeling was at the Hanoi Maternity Hospital. I'd been across the road at the surgical hospital for a few weeks and was well into the swing of things. I'd transferred to the Maternity Hospital for a week to see what it was like. I'd shown up and been quickly befriended by the anesthetist, who was showing me around. I'd been in scrubs for about 30sec. We turned a corner, and the guy does a wee jump and says "Follow me. A baby soon." And we're inside the OR. The mother on the table is quiet, her abdomen stretched wide. She's the only one in the room who's not speaking. The surgeon is digging doggedly into her distended abdomen. There's blood on the drapes. And the floor. And the surgeon. The nurses are toey. One is holding the cloths for the newborn. She's hopping from foot to foot. We stand in the corner of the room. It is a hive, nurses rushing around, surgeon speaking calmly but firmly. Suction going. Some more liquid oozes out. The mother gasps. The nurses eyes bug out of their heads, and "POP!", the baby emerges, suspended upside down from the surgeon's gloves.
Everyone waits for what seems an eternity.
The baby cries. The baby screams. The nurse reaches forward with the swaddle. the surgeon leans back on his heels and breathes deep. The mother is shown her baby. "Let's go." says the anesthetist quickly and quietly, and we step outside. Under my mask, I can't stop smiling.
That's nice, yes life is beautiful. Working with babies is the most rewarding experience. Kind of makes you think doesn't it,
you know I can just see you with
a little captain atopic in toe, one day, teaching him to ride a bike, play cricket, swim etc, you know, one day, when you're ready for that and chose that in your life.