Tiny Tim was gasping, and his little chest was heaving as if a truck was sitting on it. I took my stethoscope and listened to his tin, pounding heart. At the moment it seemed easier to focus on physiology rather than to be with this baby as a dying human being.
The baby wet. And with that action, my mind took off again. Here was Tiny Tim with a whole set of kidneys, a bladder and connecting tubes that functioned with a very complex system of chemistry. It was all working! He was an amazing little person! I turned the overhead light up, and Tim turned from it, in spite of eyelids that were fused together to protect his two precious little eyes. I thought about his eyes. They would never see the sunset, the trees, a mother’s smile, or the wagging tail of a dog.
I took his temperature again. It was dropping. He was gasping for air and continued to fight for his life. I stroked him gently and began to sing to him. Tiny Tim moved and caught hold of my baby finger again, and I just let him hang onto it. I didn’t want him to die without being touched and cared for. As I saw him struggling for air, I said, “It’s okay, Tim. You can let go. You can go back to God.”
His gasping started to slow down, along with his other vitals, but he still clung onto my finger. Nurses stopped in to check his progress, and another call came from the doctor. He too found it upsetting that this whole thing was taking too long. I know the doctor was living with the same agony I was experiencing. I tried to remember why I chose this profession, and couldn’t.
I stroked the baby every so slowly, and he gently curled around my last finger in the foetal position. I watched him take his last breath and then said softly, “Good-bye, Tiny Tim. You did matter to someone.”