Pediatrics

Dr. Nguyen and I walked into the little girl’s hospital room, and she greeted

us with an enthusiastic wave from her mother’s lap. I squatted down to her level,

and she immediately tottered her way over to me and leaned her cheek on my

shoulder. While Dr. Nguyen and her mother went through the consent paperwork,

the little babe and I played with her stuffed pig. She was beginning to get loopy from

the sedatives she had already been given, which made her even more snuggly and

sweet. She handed me her stuffed pig and then it was time to get prepped for

surgery. I tucked her plaything under the covers with its head on the pillow, so she

knew it would be safe while she was away.

Walking into the operating room, I was not prepared for how I would feel

when I saw her tiny 2-year-old body strapped to the table. Blame it on post-finals

emotions, pregnancy, or what have you, but tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

Her body looked doll-like and ridiculous in the huge theater. The table was

comically big compared to her little legs and arms. The tube down her throat

seemed wrong and unnatural, and her soft blond curls stood out like yellow corn

against the blue sterile drapes. I kept my tears in check (thank goodness for face

masks and eye protection) and reminded myself that we were here to help her.

My neck cramped and my back ached while I watched Dr. Nguyen guide the

resident through her cleft-palate surgery and assisted with suction and suture

cutting. The surgical technique in itself was fascinating, but I could not stop asking

questions about how her life would change once her palate was formed correctly.

Would she be able to speak now? Yes. Would eating become easier for her?

Exponentially. Would the drooling I had noticed earlier subside somewhat? Almost

completely. I felt so incredibly excited for the new world of opportunities that would

be open to her once she healed from surgery.

Her procedure went well and Dr. Nguyen and I rushed off to another part of

the hospital to do a rhinoplasty. When noon rolled around and it was time for me to

leave, I asked if the little girl from the first surgery was awake yet. She was, and Dr.

Nguyen graciously took me to her post-op room so I could check in on her one more

time. She was awake and cradled in the arms of her mother, her little eyes half lidded as she fought off the remaining anesthetic. She offered us a sleepy smile and I

noticed my eyes getting a little leaky again, I knew she was just beginning a new

phase of her life.

The experience with this little girl made me wonder again in earnest if I

should go into some sort of pediatric field. Any preceptorship or shadowing

experience I have had, I always gravitate toward the little ones and get so excited to

see them. I do not know, though, if I could handle the difficult emotions that come up

when children are gravely ill. I will have to continue shadowing and looking inward

to decide what my path is.