I look across at MikePara, and in his eyes are reflected the same thoughts as in mine. The scars on his tiny body tell us that this boy has spent his short life suffering, and that the cardiac arrest we are called to is just the final chapter in his story. As I pass a tiny tube into his trachea, as I thread a miniscule needle into a vein, I think how futile this is. And then I look across at the mother, sitting in the ambulance with us, watching our every move, silent tears running down her face, I realise who we are treating.
So we continue our last, futile battle to save this poor boy's life, a life that has only just begun, yet has seen him go through far more than any of us. We we give him drugs, we give him fluids, we massage his heart and ventilate his lungs, for his mother.
This battle is lost, the war is over.
1 year ago