It was a relatively calm day in my hospital's
NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). Two other
nurses and I were trying to have a conversation
amid the customary sounds of ventilators and
heart monitors. I was in mid-sentence when the
shrill ring of the red emergency phone halted
all conversation.
"Come fast," the voice said urgently. "We need
a neonatal nurse stat!"
Fear gripped my heart as I ran into the
delivery room. Instantly, I knew the situation
was critical. "What's happening here?" I asked.
"It's an 'oops abortion,' and now it's your
problem!" responded one of the nurses. For us,
an "oops abortion" meant the mother's due date
was miscalculated, and the fetus survived the
abortion procedure.
A pediatrician was called to the scene. He ran
by me with the fetus (now called a baby) in
his hand and yelled in my direction,
indicating he wanted me to follow him into the
resuscitation room adjoining the delivery room.
I looked into the bed of the warmer as I
grabbed equipment. Before my eyes was a baby
boy. A very, very tiny baby boy. The doctor and
I immediately made an attempt at intubation
(inserting a tube down the trachea from the
mouth or nose of the infant to the tip of the
lungs to ventilate, expand and oxygenate
them). The doctor's effort at intubation failed,
which further traumatized the baby. I glanced
at the doctor and hesitantly asked,"Will you
attempt intubation again?"
"You've got to be kidding," he replied. "It
would be inhumane to attempt to intubate this
poor little thing again. This infant will never
survive."
"No, Doctor, I'm not kidding," I said, "and
it's my job to ask."
The doctor softened for a moment. "I'm sorry,
Sharon. I'm just angry. The mother doesn't want
the inconvenience of a baby, so she comes to
the hospital so she can pay somebody to get rid
of it--all neat and tidy. Then the whole thing
gets messed up when the fetus has the audacity
to survive. Then everybody takes it seriously,
and they call the pediatrician, who's supposed
to fix it or get rid of it." With anger in his
voice, he went on, "Some lawyers will fight
for the right to do whatever we want to our
bodies, but watch out for what they will do
when these abortions aren't so neat and tidy!
A failed homicide--and oops! Then all of a
sudden everybody cares, and it's turned from
a 'right' into a 'liability' that someone is
blamed for!"
We looked at our pathetic little patient. He
was lying in the fetal position in the wrong
environment, trying to get air into under-
developed lungs that couldn't do the job. In
a calmer voice, the doctor said, "Okay, Nurse,
I'm going back to the office. Keep him
comfortable and let me know when it's over.
I'm sorry about this. Call me if you need me.
I know this is a hard one. If it helps,
please know it's tough for me, too."
Holding the baby's hand, I watched the doctor
retreat and then glanced back at the infant
before me. He was gasping for air. "Lord,
help!" I prayed. Almost instinctively, I
took the baby's vitals. His temperature was
dangerously low. I pushed the warmer settings
as high as they could go. His heart rate was
about 180-200 beats per minute. I could count
the beats by watching his little chest pulsate.
I settled down a bit and began to focus on
this tiny little person. He had no name, so I
gave him one. Suddenly, I found myself
speaking to the baby. "Tiny Tim, who are you?
I am so sorry you weren't wanted. It's not
your fault."
I placed my little finger in his hand, and he
grasped it. As I watched him closely, I
marveled that all the minute parts of a
beautiful baby were present and functioning
in spite of the onslaught. I touched his toes
and discovered he was ticklish! He had a long
torso and long legs. I wondered if he would
have become a baseball player. Perhaps he
would have been a teacher or doctor.
Emotions swept over me as I thought of my
friends who had been waiting and praying for
years for a baby to adopt. I spoke aloud once
again to the miniature baby.
"They would have given you a loving and a
happy home. Why would people destroy you
before ever considering adoption? Ignorance
Is not bliss, is it, Tiny Tim?"
Hanging on meanwhile, Tim put his thumb
into his mouth and sucked. I hoped that gave
him comfort. I continued to talk to the baby.
"I'm sorry, Tim. There are people who would
risk their lives for a whale or an owl before
they'd even blink about what just happened to
you." Tiny Tim gasped, and his little chest
heaved as if a truck were sitting on it. I
took my stethoscope and listened to his tiny,
pounding heart. At The moment it seemed easier
to focus on physiology rather than on this
baby's humanity.
He wet, and with that my mind took off again.
Here was Tiny Tim with a whole set of kidneys,
a bladder, and connecting tubes that functioned
with a very complex system of chemistry. His
plumbing was all working! I turned the overhead
light up and Tim turned from it, in spite of
eyelids that were fused together to protect his
two precious little eyes. I thought about them.
They would never see a sunset, a mother's smile
or the wagging tail of a dog. I took his
temperature again. It was dropping. He was
gasping for air and continued to fight for life.
I stroked him gently and began to sing:
"Jesus loves the little children,
All the children of the world.
Red and yellow, black and white,
They are precious in His sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world."
A nurse walked in. "How's the mother?" I asked.
"Oh, she's fine. She's back in her room resting.
The family said they don't want to see or hear
about anything. They said, "Just take care of it."
The nurse retreated with one last glance at the
tiny patient. "For such a little person, he's
sure putting up a big fight."
I looked at Tiny Tim and wondered if he knew
that what he was fighting for so hard was life,
and I knew he was losing it. He was dying and
his family was resting. Their words tormented me.
Just take care of it! No muss and no fuss.
Then Tiny Tim moved and caught hold of my little
finger. I let him hang on. I didn't want him to
die without being touched and cared for. As I saw
him struggle to breathe, I said, "It's okay, Tim.
You can let go. You can go back to God."
His gasping started slowing down, but he still
clung to my finger. I stroked the baby ever so
slowly and watched him take his last breath.
"Good-bye, Tiny Tim," I whispered. "You did
matter to someone."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue
A few years later, Sharon Dunsmore became the
manager of a psychiatric unit. One day, Kathy,
a young, severely depressed woman, came to see
Sharon following an unsuccessful suicide attempt.
As Sharon interviewed her, Kathy said she had
gone through an abortion three years before, and
she was having recurring nightmares. A baby was
crying for help and kept calling her name.
In her dreams, Kathy searched for the baby, but
she could never find him or her. As Kathy gave
the name of the hospital and the names of the
doctors, a disturbing realization dawned on
Sharon. Kathy was Tiny Tim's mother. Because of
hospital regulations, she couldn't tell her what
she knew.
Time passed. Sharon was no longer a nurse or a
therapist. Kathy was no longer a psychiatric
patient. They ran into each other at a restaurant,
where Sharon gently unfolded the story that had
been hidden for so long.
Tears flowed as she gave Kathy the gift of
answers. Her baby was touched and loved by a
mother. He was given a name. He didn't die alone.
He was sent back to a loving God.
As the visit neared an end, they held each other
and wept. Sharon looked into Kathy's eyes and saw
new strength and calm. There were scars, but she
was beginning to heal. The nightmares were being
put to rest. Sharon still lives with the haunting
impact of this experience. A choice that was
intended to be "no big deal" turned out to be a
very big deal for everybody.
* * * * * * *
Sharon Dunsmore has Tiny Tim's story available in
booklet form. For more information, write
"Tiny Tim," P. O. Box 84, Smiths Creek, MI 48074-0084
LIFE~~~~~~WHAT A BEAUTIFUL CHOICE!!!!!!!!!!!
* * * * * * *
