I'll sit with the baby

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Reminiscent of these lines from the classic poem by George McDonald, a tiny baby, with no family to call its own, came into the “here” of the neonatal intensive care unit at PeaceHealth’s Sacred Heart Medical Center 34 years ago. Mark Houston recalls it like it was yesterday.

Houston, a cardiac sonographer who now works in the echocardiography laboratory at Oregon Heart and Vascular Institute, was working at that time with Dr. Leonard Christie, cardiologist and chief echo cardiographer (now retired), and Sharon Liberty, lead sonographer (also retired), to take his adult cardiac sonography skills to the pediatric cardiac sonography arena. He thought he’d stepped into the big league, but little did he realize on his first on-call shift that it would be a little someone who would leave a big impact on his heart and memory decades later.

That memorable weekend, Houston was asked to assess a premature and cyanotic newborn, also known as a “blue baby.” The baby’s bluish color was due to lack of oxygen in the blood and is usually a sign of a series congenital birth defect.

Fairly new to imaging babies, he was nervous and anxious to do a good job. As he imaged the baby’s tiny heart, Houston recognized all of the sonographic features of Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, a lethal condition where the heart’s main pumping chamber fails to develop properly resulting in lingering hours of distress and then death. 

He was so pleased to be able to identify the disorder and report the preliminary results to the neonatologist even before submitting the study for the cardiologist to read, the seriousness didn’t immediately hit Houston. When the gravity of the baby’s situation and imminent demise dawned on him, he was mortified.

Usually when a baby has a scan, the parents are right next to the incubator, hanging on every word, motion or procedure. Houston noticed this baby had no one. Only the nurse and the respiratory therapist were around, professional and efficient in their tasks to assist the baby. This didn’t feel right. Parents should be near. They should be with their dying baby. So Houston asked the nurse, ‘Where are the parents?” The nurse shared the special circumstances surrounding the birth and said the parents simply could not be present.

Sitting there, trying to comprehend it all, Houston was overwhelmed by the enormity of the experience. The respiratory therapist, also overwhelmed, quietly stated, “I will sit with the baby and hold her.” And she did.

Over the next few hours, each time Houston had occasion to visit the NICU—once for follow up and other times because he could not tear himself away—he witnessed the therapist hovering over and tending the tiny baby. And she was there. She was there when the baby slipped away into eternity.

This therapist, by the baby’s side to the end, may have had thoughts like the close of the poem . . .

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.

We can only ponder her thoughts and the peace a tiny baby may have experienced because this compassionate therapist was there to honor her little life right to the end.