----- 3 stars ----- ‘Suzanne wears a necklace that reads Mama-To-Be. The rest of her is blood and gore’: notes from the nursing frontline / The Guardian “Crash call for the neonatal, adult and obstetric teams. I repeat: crash call for the neonatal, adult and obstetric teams. Accident and Emergency. Ground floor, Cavell Wing.” There’s only one explanation for why you would need three crash teams at once: a heavily pregnant woman is in trouble. The adult team is to resuscitate her; the obstetrics team is to get the baby out (within five minutes, if either of them is to have any chance of survival); and the neonatal team is to try to resuscitate the newborn. Like all the other resuscitation nurses, I am on all the crash teams – adult, paediatric, neonatal, obstetric and trauma – but this crash call will also bring specialist doctors: an obstetrician, a neonatologist, an anaesthetist. Suzanne is wearing a necklace that reads Mama-To-Be. A leopard-print headscarf is holding her ombre hair back from her face. The rest of her is blood and gore and flesh and insides. There are so many people that it’s hard to know where to start, but the person in charge is a nurse with a military background: Amanda. She is one of the best nurses I have ever worked with, a reservist who has worked in field hospitals in Iraq and Afghanistan. She is always calm, efficient and friendly. “Just because it’s an emergency doesn’t mean you can’t find out the names of the team, and be nice. In fact, it’s even more important in an emergency.” [...] His face is creased with pain. “After 10 failed IVF attempts and two miscarriages, we finally felt as if this one would stick around.” He looks at me, unblinking. “She’ll lose the baby, won’t she? We’ll lose the baby. It’s too early. She was on the phone to me from the car. She was hands-free but still, she’d have been distracted.” He sobs. Covers his mouth with his hand. I don’t say anything. I don’t know yet what he’s been told, but it’s clear that I’m not the right person, and this is not the right time to give significant bad news. I’m terrified that if I open my mouth, the truth will fall out. The terrible truth is that they will probably both die. Not all babies live. Not all mothers live. We stand in silence for a while, before finally I overcome the urge to cry or say nothing at all. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” He shakes his head. Nods at the door. “She’s my everyone.” I nod. “I’ll pop back in and see how things are going.”
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----- 3 stars ----- ‘Suzanne wears a necklace that reads Mama-To-Be. The rest of her is blood and gore’: notes from the nursing frontline / The Guardian “Crash call for the neonatal, adult and obstetric teams. I repeat: crash call for the neonatal, adult and obstetric teams. Accident and Emergency. Ground floor, Cavell Wing.” There’s only one explanation for why you would need three crash teams at once: a heavily pregnant woman is in trouble. The adult team is to resuscitate her; the obstetrics team is to get the baby out (within five minutes, if either of them is to have any chance of survival); and the neonatal team is to try to resuscitate the newborn. Like all the other resuscitation nurses, I am on all the crash teams – adult, paediatric, neonatal, obstetric and trauma – but this crash call will also bring specialist doctors: an obstetrician, a neonatologist, an anaesthetist. Suzanne is wearing a necklace that reads Mama-To-Be. A leopard-print headscarf is holding her ombre hair back from her face. The rest of her is blood and gore and flesh and insides. There are so many people that it’s hard to know where to start, but the person in charge is a nurse with a military background: Amanda. She is one of the best nurses I have ever worked with, a reservist who has worked in field hospitals in Iraq and Afghanistan. She is always calm, efficient and friendly. “Just because it’s an emergency doesn’t mean you can’t find out the names of the team, and be nice. In fact, it’s even more important in an emergency.” [...] His face is creased with pain. “After 10 failed IVF attempts and two miscarriages, we finally felt as if this one would stick around.” He looks at me, unblinking. “She’ll lose the baby, won’t she? We’ll lose the baby. It’s too early. She was on the phone to me from the car. She was hands-free but still, she’d have been distracted.” He sobs. Covers his mouth with his hand. I don’t say anything. I don’t know yet what he’s been told, but it’s clear that I’m not the right person, and this is not the right time to give significant bad news. I’m terrified that if I open my mouth, the truth will fall out. The terrible truth is that they will probably both die. Not all babies live. Not all mothers live. We stand in silence for a while, before finally I overcome the urge to cry or say nothing at all. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” He shakes his head. Nods at the door. “She’s my everyone.” I nod. “I’ll pop back in and see how things are going.”