life in my palm
and now for a less humorous topic:
life,
the meaning?
ok, we won't go there today( but stop back soon who knows when the mood might strike to discuss it)
rather I'd like to bring up something that I have been feeling that makes me rethink some philosophy.
I am currently taking calls in the Neonatal ICU. "oh, cute babies", you might be thinking...
actually not really,
mostly what we see is babies born as early as 23 weeks gestation( 40 weeks is fully cooked), They are small enough to rest in my palm, they are pink, sticky, with eyelids fused, barely perceptable fingernails, chests heaving by the assistance of breathing machines. Basically, every few hours the nurse draws blood, runs it in the machine, shows me the numbers and I enter some other numbers into the breathing maching and pray to G-d that this algebraic recipe will be the soup of sustaining life.
but sometimes as I watch these very foreign looking creatures in their plastic cases it is truly hard for me to see this as life. There is no way to find out how the patient feels, if they do at all. Is the baby crying from pain? from fear? is there cognition of existence at that age? are we doing the right thing by keeping these babies alive? are neonatologists caring, selfless, lovers of mankind or are they aiming to play G-d with these frankenstein creatures ( spend a day in the NICU being barked at by your superiors and you might have an opinion).
sometimes I wonder is the outcome worth the process, will these children be able to live?
isn't that what pediatrics is about, giving children a head start on life? what have we started here?
life,
the meaning?
ok, we won't go there today( but stop back soon who knows when the mood might strike to discuss it)
rather I'd like to bring up something that I have been feeling that makes me rethink some philosophy.
I am currently taking calls in the Neonatal ICU. "oh, cute babies", you might be thinking...
actually not really,
mostly what we see is babies born as early as 23 weeks gestation( 40 weeks is fully cooked), They are small enough to rest in my palm, they are pink, sticky, with eyelids fused, barely perceptable fingernails, chests heaving by the assistance of breathing machines. Basically, every few hours the nurse draws blood, runs it in the machine, shows me the numbers and I enter some other numbers into the breathing maching and pray to G-d that this algebraic recipe will be the soup of sustaining life.
but sometimes as I watch these very foreign looking creatures in their plastic cases it is truly hard for me to see this as life. There is no way to find out how the patient feels, if they do at all. Is the baby crying from pain? from fear? is there cognition of existence at that age? are we doing the right thing by keeping these babies alive? are neonatologists caring, selfless, lovers of mankind or are they aiming to play G-d with these frankenstein creatures ( spend a day in the NICU being barked at by your superiors and you might have an opinion).
sometimes I wonder is the outcome worth the process, will these children be able to live?
isn't that what pediatrics is about, giving children a head start on life? what have we started here?
posted by 29 and mighy fine at 2:10 PM
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