I walked into the quiet room. Quiet, save for the constant drone of machines running to sustain a miracle. Quiet, save for the occasional chirp of monitors tracking the vitals of a budding life. Quiet.
Beyond the thresholds, outside this room, the hospital is a bustling place, charged with latent energy of people going about working wonders, fighting the odds. Yet, here, in this room, amidst all the chaos, the crisscrosses of electrodes and tubes, lay a newborn asleep in his bassinet, unaware, unconcerned. Here he lies, in the deep boneless, relaxed sleep reserved solely for the uninitiated, the pure and innocent.
His mother stood above him, looking very much the survivor of the storm that has passed, wearied but relieved. His nurse sat nearby, a silent, vigilant sentinel. Guardian angels, the two of them, if ever there were such things, for few can exude the same tranquility and serenity. Few altars, temples, or dedicated places of worship have heard more prayers and bear witness to miracles than what has occurred here, in this tiny acreage. The room feels sacred; sanctified by love, hope, belief, and determination to do what is within one's power.
It is into this tranquil corner I intrude my presence. My goal to establish that this infant can hear more than just the silence. But before I do, I take in the moment.
Post-script:
Ironic that in order to see if one can hear silence, we must first make some noise and see if we can elicit a reaction. Similarly, presence of faith can only be determined in the presence of trials and tribulations; joy and love in harsh times.
Post-post script:
Baby passed bilaterally
Hi Andy!
ReplyDeleteDo you use the Vivosonic ABR system for your newborn screenings?