We did all that we could....

I have been reading pieces of "A Bed for my Heart" off and on for some time now.  I can't read all of it at once as it is so emotionally excruciating for me and brings so many memories and so many realities of my own situation that I have to do it in small pieces, every so often.

She is really good at posting on Facebook, but not so often that I have to stay off of Facebook for weeks at a time.  Sometimes I have to skip over her posts too - it just isn't always that kind of day for me.

Recently she posted a piece about the doctors and medical staff who work to save our children.  How they grieve with us, and how they never forget our children.  You can read it here.  The article talks about a cancer ward and how she felt when she treated and lost the first little cancer patient she had.  It reminded me of the Doctor and nurse who treated Rye in the Emergency Room and were not able to save him.

I will never forget the look on the Doctors face when he came in and saw me, saw that I knew why he was in the "quiet room", and when he clasped my hands and said, looking straight into my eyes "We did all that we could do."  I looked him back in the face and said "I know you did.

He seemed surprised by my reaction, and Im sure its because he usually sees mothers fall apart maybe right then, or scream and shout and hit him, or worse.  Maybe they blame him and the rest of the staff, I'm not sure, but that is not who I am.  I might have still been in shock.  Maybe.  I think it's more likely that my "mothers heart" knew.  I knew on the drive over to the emergency room, when Reed had said that he had done CPR for 15 minutes or more waiting for the ambulance, then the ambulance staff worked on him for another 15 minutes, and then the ER staff for at least another 30 minutes after we all were at the hospital.  So I knew when I saw that doctor come into the room that all hope was lost.  But my "mother heart" had known anyway.

There is another reason I knew.  My friend Kristen, who was also our school nurse at the time, worked in the ER on the weekends and she was there with the doctor, working her ass off to try to save my child.  She came into the room before the doctor did and we both looked at each other and said "Oh my God!"  She had hoped it wasn't really me, and wasn't really Rye - she had met him at the school just the week before he died, fooling around and filling out paperwork so he could sub on his weeks off from the slope.  She knew him and she knows me.

She told me at some point afterwards, (sorry it's a little bit of a blur - okay - a lot of a blur), that when she recognized Rye and knew he was mine that when the doctor wanted to "call it", that she had said " I know him and I know his mother" and the doctor said "Then we will keep trying".  And they did.  Until it had to be finished.  Until there were no more things to try and no more energy in the room to let them know that there was even a spark of him left there.  They had done all they could.

I cannot even imagine the every day that is their lives.  Working so hard to save a life, of someone they know or a stranger.  A child.  Someones child.  I have to deal with only one every day, all day for as long as I live.  I know the death of my son weighs still on their minds.  What could they have done differently?  Anything?  Why did a healthy, robust, active, in-shape, non-drug addicted 23 year old die on their table for no apparent reason at all.  It boggles my mind, as I know it does theirs.

I still can't easily go to the hospital.  I tried to have a mammogram there last year and I had to go throw up and go home.  I get them done at another place now.  Those smells, and sounds and sights put me right into a panic attack and I can't hardly go past the doors.  Our doctors and nurses have to go back every day.  Try to save another life.  Doing all that they can..... may they be blessed.