The Fourth of November
Oh, it’s November 4th again.
November 4th was a Saturday in 1984 too and we had let our family’s annual firework party go ahead because it was too difficult to ring everyone and tell them our baby had been born early and was in hospital.
In the middle of the party, I became dimly aware of the phone ringing. It was the call from the hospital that we had been dreading for the past three weeks. The baby’s oxygen levels were now too low and they were going to disconnect the ventilator. Would we come in?
We went to the hospital and took it in turns to hold our baby as he died.
Shortly afterwards, a very young doctor was sent to talk to us.
He had been told to persuade us to allow a post mortem as they were not quite sure of the cause of death: was it simply that the baby was too premature, or was there some underlying illness?
Parents, he had been told, are often very resistant to the idea of a post mortem. They don’t like the idea of their child being cut open. You’re really going to have to work hard to persuade them.
In he came, terrified.
“I’ve come to ask you whether you’d mind very much if we did a post mortem.”
“No, that’ll be fine, we don’t mind at all” I replied.
But he wasn’t listening. He hadn’t even noticed he’d got consent.
“Because your baby might have died because he was just too young. Or he might have had some terrible lung disease.”
I tried to save him from himself.
“It’s fine about the post mortem, really. We know what it would involve.”
But he was unstoppable.
“Some terrible lung disease, such as cystic fibrosis. Which is incurable. People usually die really young from it. And if your baby had it, then any other children you might have would have a one in four chance of having it. And that’s really high odds. Really high. You’ve lost one baby – what if the next one was seriously ill with a greatly reduced life expectancy? So that’s why we need to get your agreement. We’d need to cut into your baby and take out samples of his lungs.”
“Yes, I know. And it’s fine. Please go ahead.”
“Because cystic fibrosis is a really, really terrible disease which brings terrible suffering to the children who have it - - “
“IT’S FINE ABOUT THE POST MORTEM. YOU HAVE OUR CONSENT.”
“Oh.” He had finally started listening. He left.
Our baby didn’t have cystic fibrosis – he was simply born too early.
Thank goodness for the ever-increasing importance of Communication Skills sessions in medical schools. I have been working with medical students in this subject since 1985 in the hope that, one day, there will be no conversations like the one above.
November 4th was a Saturday in 1984 too and we had let our family’s annual firework party go ahead because it was too difficult to ring everyone and tell them our baby had been born early and was in hospital.
In the middle of the party, I became dimly aware of the phone ringing. It was the call from the hospital that we had been dreading for the past three weeks. The baby’s oxygen levels were now too low and they were going to disconnect the ventilator. Would we come in?
We went to the hospital and took it in turns to hold our baby as he died.
Shortly afterwards, a very young doctor was sent to talk to us.
He had been told to persuade us to allow a post mortem as they were not quite sure of the cause of death: was it simply that the baby was too premature, or was there some underlying illness?
Parents, he had been told, are often very resistant to the idea of a post mortem. They don’t like the idea of their child being cut open. You’re really going to have to work hard to persuade them.
In he came, terrified.
“I’ve come to ask you whether you’d mind very much if we did a post mortem.”
“No, that’ll be fine, we don’t mind at all” I replied.
But he wasn’t listening. He hadn’t even noticed he’d got consent.
“Because your baby might have died because he was just too young. Or he might have had some terrible lung disease.”
I tried to save him from himself.
“It’s fine about the post mortem, really. We know what it would involve.”
But he was unstoppable.
“Some terrible lung disease, such as cystic fibrosis. Which is incurable. People usually die really young from it. And if your baby had it, then any other children you might have would have a one in four chance of having it. And that’s really high odds. Really high. You’ve lost one baby – what if the next one was seriously ill with a greatly reduced life expectancy? So that’s why we need to get your agreement. We’d need to cut into your baby and take out samples of his lungs.”
“Yes, I know. And it’s fine. Please go ahead.”
“Because cystic fibrosis is a really, really terrible disease which brings terrible suffering to the children who have it - - “
“IT’S FINE ABOUT THE POST MORTEM. YOU HAVE OUR CONSENT.”
“Oh.” He had finally started listening. He left.
Our baby didn’t have cystic fibrosis – he was simply born too early.
Thank goodness for the ever-increasing importance of Communication Skills sessions in medical schools. I have been working with medical students in this subject since 1985 in the hope that, one day, there will be no conversations like the one above.
posted by Daphne at 8:09 pm
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