2003 Journal Links

Mom and dad, grandmother and grandfather got up extra early Saturday morning to visit with Archie before the transport team arrived to take him to Charleston. When we got to the hospital, we were excited to see that the little man was sharing his bed with several new friends: a snuggle blanket from respiratory therapist Julie and a snowman puppet from nurse Janice. Nurses and doctors stopped by to wish Archie well. The Greenville NICU was sending our son off in style.

James woke Archie up as soon as we got to the hospital, making sure that we had an opportunity to hold and interact with the baby. I held him first, my mother cuddling him second. John and my father listened as James spoke on the phone, coordinating the details of Archie’s transfer. “Mom, do you want to fly with him?” he asked.

“Seriously? Yeah! I’d love to!” I replied. My spirits were lifted knowing that I wouldn’t have to send my son off with strangers. We watched the clock in anxious anticipation.

Mimi saw the transport team first. “They’re here!” she called into Archie’s room. “Get a picture of them coming down the hall!”

The MUSC transport team was comprised of a pediatric nurse and respiratory therapist who looked very professional in their blue flight suits. They introduced themselves to us immediately, trying to put us at ease. Two women forming a ground transportation team accompanied the team from MUSC. One needed John and I to sign transport papers. “Who are Mom and Dad?” she asked, permission slips in hand.

“Mom, are you flying with us?” The pediatric nurse spoke with me as the respiratory therapist performed his initial assessment of Archie. After she completed her conversation with me, the nurse joined the respiratory therapist and the two worked quickly and efficiently to prepare Archie for flight. The NICU staff gathered around to hug John and me and wish us well as the transport team lifted our little man and placed him inside the transportation unit.

“Thank you for saving Archie,” John said to James, referring to the day Archie got very ill and was transferred to James’ care. I hugged James. “Thanks for taking such good care of him,” I offered.

The transport team began wheeling Archie down the hall, toward the staff corridor, somewhere I had not been since the morning of Archie’s birth when my labor nurse had brought me from the delivery room to see my son. I walked behind the transportation unit, keeping time with the professionals moving my son from one hospital to another. As I passed through the door into the corridor, I looked over my shoulder at John. We shared a teary-eyed glance as the doors shut between us.

The pediatric nurse talked to me as I followed my son through the bowels of the hospital. When our conversation lulled, I could hear the shush, shush of oxygen tanks pumping air to my son’s lungs. Doctors wearing scrubs passed in front of our parade, some smiling at me as we passed. The respiratory therapist opened one final large door at the end of one final long hallway and sunlight and cold air hit my face. One of the women from the ground transportation team showed me where I was permitted to sit as Archie was loaded into the back of the ambulance. The driver picked up her radio. “Patient secured. We’re in transit at 11:18. Confirm.” When a time confirmation was made, the driver called out the official time to the transportation team.

When we arrived at the downtown Greenville airport, a pilot met the ambulance and introduced himself to me. I stood aside as everyone made quick work of loading Archie onto the airplane. The strong December wind blew a folded paper from someone’s pocket. I chased it across the take off and landing strip, but gave up when I realized it had been lost to the wind.

Inside the airplane I was buckled into a seat in front of Archie. Turbulence made for a very bumpy take off, but the baby slept through the altitude drops oblivious to everything happening around him. I watched Archie’s heart and respiratory and blood oxygen saturation monitors. The nurse explained to me that Archie’s numbers were exactly where they should be in accordance with the altitude.

My ears began popping as we made our descent. I noticed that Archie had started sucking on his ventilator tube and yawning. The nurse explained to me that the little man’s ears were popping, too, and that he was doing a very good job at relieving the pressure. As we neared the runway, I opened one of the doors on Archie’s carrier and slipped my hand in to comfort him. I held his little hand in mine as we touched down. Archie awoke, his eyes open wide with curiosity and his arms moving about his head. I was escorted from the plane to the ambulance where I watched the pilots and transport team unload my son from the airplane. I could see Archie’s hand waving through the tiny window in his carrier and tried to capture the moment on film.

When we arrived at MUSC, I followed the transport team as we snaked our way through the hallways of the hospital. Two men standing outside a waiting room watched us pass. I heard one comment to the other, “It’s amazing what they can do nowadays.” A receptionist met us outside the PCICU. She ushered me to a waiting room. The same receptionist eventually came back to accompany me to my son’s bedside where Archie lay, his eyes scanning the space around him. I imagine he was looking for something familiar, wondering where he was.

The PCICU is unlike the NICU. There are new monitors to learn. No one shares information with us regarding Archie’s condition freely. We are told what we need to know. Babies are brought from surgery back to the unit. “Heart and lung machine” is a common phrase. Archie is examined by attendings, fellows and other specialists who are constantly telling us that things are done differently here in the cardiac unit. When the surgeon makes his rounds, we are asked to leave the unit. Archie is constantly being sedated in an effort to conserve his strength. “We don’t want him to use his strength to fight us,” Dan, Archie’s nurse, explained. “We’d rather he save it to heal after his surgery.”

A surgery date hasn’t been set yet. “We are getting to know Archie and he is getting to know us,” the doctors have explained. “If we can get him off the vent this week, then we’ll give him a chance to grow. If not, then we’ll recommend him for surgery probably sometime next week.”

John is leaving tonight for Greenville. He needs to go back to work so that he can conserve his remaining vacation time. I’ll miss my husband. The “newness” of MUSC is very intimidating. But I’ll tough it out without him. My baby needs me.

“I understand you’ve never taken this baby home?” one of the doctors asked me yesterday.

“Yes,” I responded.

“We’ll see if we can’t do something about that,” he offered, smiling.