Trigger warning: infant death and loss

You know by now that I’m a neonatal PT, and I work on the NICU with babies (if you don’t know, now you know). With this work comes a lot of baby snuggles, celebrating wins, and also heartbreaking losses.

Angela holds a baby in her lap and is tickling and playing with the baby while smiling — *Baby cuddles are the best part of the job!*

When your every day work takes place in the intensive care unit, it’s easy to get used to the critical nature of the patients we work with. It might seem wild to those who don’t work in these settings, but a baby who is intubated with tons of lines and tubes literally doesn’t even phase me.

I am comfortable and confident in this setting, and I have to constantly check myself to remember that for most, and especially for parents, this setting is anything but normal.

As science and medicine have progressed, we are saving younger and sicker babies than ever before. Babies who wouldn’t have had a chance at survival just a decade ago are now thriving thanks to advances in research and technology. So even though I know these babies are critically ill, it still rocks my world when they take hits, and it knocks me down when they don’t survive.

This is the hardest part of the job, and despite doing this work for over 11 years, it never gets easier to process. I have worked hard on having resources (read: therapy), support (aka the best friends and family), and rituals to help me grieve and move forward in the midst of the unthinkable. Because the most baffling thing is that if a baby on my caseload dies one day, I am expected to just clock back in the next morning and carry on as if nothing happened.

In healthcare, we are expected to be strong, stoic, and removed. But this doesn’t work for me. Because in my mind, quality healthcare only comes when providers are connected, invested, and authentic. The truth is, I fall hard for the babies I work with. I care for them deeply, which means I grieve deeply when they pass. Of course, I realize the importance of professional boundaries. But I’m not working an office job. I’m working with BABIES. And their families.

Humanity is important

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Humanity is important 〰️

It’s hard to see wisdom in the midst of loss, but over the past few weeks I’ve been reflecting on this a lot. Here are 3 lessons in loss from a NICU therapist:

Lesson #1

My hospital hosted Reflection Rounds to process the loss we all feel together as healthcare providers who take care of these babies. Somebody in that meeting shared a powerful sentiment that stuck with me. They said (and I paraphrase): “What I’ve learned through this process, is that despite all the heartache and pain that came with the baby’s death, the love shared was worth it. I’d do it again. The love is worth it”. This resonated with me hard, because I too, feel like the love is worth it.

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

Lesson #2

When I was a new grad working with sick infants and my bleeding heart was gushing, my dad (who spent his career working in social services with kids and families) shared some advice with me that has helped me throughout my career. He told me this: “If you fall apart for one kid, you’ll be no good for the next kid who needs you”. This has helped me maintain balance, and ensuring I have strategies to manage my grief is important so I can continue to show up and do the work I love to do that the babies rely on.

A blank white background with a purple Bebe-PT in the corner, with text — @bebe__pt

Lesson #3

Seeing babies struggle so early on in life sure puts my problems in a rather harsh perspective. The bravery of the babies I work with inspires me to be brave, to work hard, to find joy even in the hard times, just like they do. It reminds me why I stay late to help a parent do skin-to-skin with their baby, why I miss lunch to help talk through baby stress and approach cues with a new parent of a preemie, and why I go to sleep thinking about the best positioning option for a medically complex baby. The world isn’t fair, nothing is guaranteed, so let’s spend our time on this earth spreading kindness, love, and uplifting others.

A multicolor candle burns on a TV stand, with text overlaying

And so, I light a special candle and watch it burn as I honor and remember the friends who we lost too soon. I will never forget them, and am better for having known them. The love was worth it, even when it hurts. And I’ll cry, go to therapy, light my candle, and show up stronger for the babies who need me. I will be brave, just like the babies are.

Tl;Dr

Lessons in loss learned from a NICU therapist:
Lesson #1: the love is worth it.
Lesson #2: if you fall apart for one kid, you’ll be no good for the next one who needs you
Lesson #3: be brave