For the first time, the busy nurse actually stopped and listened to his chest with her stethoscope. It seemed for just a moment that all the sounds in the room stopped as the frightened mother watched helplessly, clenching her mother-in-law’s hand. Then it happened. The nurse heard the same sounds his mother had described. Alarmed, the nurse began calling for help. A flurry of white uniforms whirled around the room, each tending to something different. The ventilator was removed. A new tube was carefully inserted.
The highly skilled team of nurses swarmed around the crib. In minutes (that felt like hours) they managed to extract a blob from his tiny, paper-thin lungs. Immediately, he began to breathe easier, and his heart rate, that was hovering around fifteen beats a minute, began to rise.
Relieved and furious all at once, Dylan’s grandma turned to his mother and said, “If you ever think something is wrong with your baby, don’t you let ANYONE shrug you off. This is your baby.”
Only problem is that those most likely to respond to this are the least in need of it.