Years ago, we sometimes received pediatric patients in the ICU. At the time, our closest children's hospital was 50 miles away and helicopter transport was not a standard of emergency care.

We admitted a little African-American girl, 3 years old, having frequent bouts of seizures... etiology unknown. None of the staff liked caring for sick kids. Not that we didn't like children, but rather, we all knew that pediatric care was a specialty unto itself and we never felt adequate in that area. I think in today's world, a hospital will do everything in it's power to transport a really sick child to a hospital that specializes in pediatrics.

Once again this little girl started to seize. Previously the seizures would last a minute or so and then stop but this time, the seizure did not stop. Medication was given but she still seized. A code was called to get all available hands to help. She continued to seize, she stopped breathing and we used an ambu bag to breathe for her and give her oxygen. More drugs... no effect... she continued to seize... and then... her heart stopped! No pulse! Begin CPR! Don't stop! Save this little girl! Mom was in the hallway. She was wailing loudly. Keep working! Don't let her die! She's only 3 years old! What has caused these seizures? More drugs! Keep pumping! Keep breathing! Perspiration was running down the face of the resident doctor as he did CPR. Tears filled our eyes. Nothing is working. Her heart is not responding. Her pupils are fixed and dilated. We kept working... but to no avail. She is gone. Her short life has ended. She was only a baby. What had happened in her little brain to make those brainwaves so chaotic? The physician in charge ordered us to stop CPR. No respirations, no heart beat. She was gone. We brought her mom in the room. She could barely walk. She was in shock. We supported her as she approached the bed and then she threw herself on top of her little girl and cried and cried and cried. She wanted to hold her. We brought the rocking chair next to the bed. She sat in the chair and we lifted the little girl and placed her gently in the mother's arms. We had a box of tissues next to her and quietly left the room. My knees were shaking and I sat in a chair at the nurses' station and started to cry. You see, my little girl was also 3 years old. I looked up to see the two residents who were there throughout the code and they too were crying. One of them also had a young daughter. In the distance we could hear a tearful but melodic voice. Mom was rocking her little girl and singing hymns to her. She sang and she rocked. This continued for almost half an hour. And we listened as this mom was coming to terms with her grief and her loss. No parent should ever have to lose a child!