We returned to the ward on the second floor of the hospital where we had left our daughter the night before. Once inside, a quick glance revealed there were babies everywhere…and I mean everywhere. Some babies were in small cribs like Lindsay’s, a few in incubators, and still others in slightly larger beds. While children were everywhere, there seemed to be no mandate or organization to this disorder.
There were about forty nurses running is what seemed senseless circles, going everywhere and anywhere. There were babies with tubes and wires connecting them to various machines. There were monitors and IV poles of some sort strewn all about the place. There were four larger hospital style beds that appeared to be stationed permanently against a wall on the other side of the room. A quick glance toward the floor revealed those beds did not come equipped with wheels, and they seemed somewhat exempt from the blast of anarchy that existed everywhere else in the room.
The noise was simply disturbing. Babies were crying, monitors screaming, cribs and assorted machines being moved about. There were nurses yelling above all the noise while barking instructions to one another.
There had to be over forty little kids in that ward varying in age from one day to two years, or as most parents referred to it, day-1, to day-whatever number you needed, and all were in different states of health. We learned early on that the parents of children residing in this room counted intervals one day at a time. You learned very quickly not to look past the day you were restricted to. There was no past or future, only this day.
I know I just said it, but it bears repeating, since we had to deal with it constantly, “I have never witnessed this much mayhem, especially in a hospital.” Somehow it seemed to work, even amidst all the craziness and turmoil. I just couldn’t see through it. The only thing I could think was, “Someone must have set off the fire alarm and absolutely no one knows what to do!”