Free Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul by Jack Canfield Page A

dead silence. CPR was in progress. The blond boy lay lifeless and pale, his blue eyes staring vacantly, pupils fixed and dilated. His perfect little hands were frozen so solid, we could not unclench his fists. Because of the circumstances, we were obligated to continue CPR until his core body temperature was raised. I had heard of cases of hypothermia where children were revived, but no one in the room seemed to hold any hope of bringing back this little boy.
    The next hour passed quickly as cut-down IVs, chest tubes, peritoneal lavage and urinary catheters all infused warmed saline into his still, frozen body. I stood silently over him, tears running down my cheeks, as I prayed silently for him and his family. I could not even begin to understand the pain his parents were experiencing, and all I could do was bring them periodic reports that we were doing all we could.
    He was the same age as my little boy, with the same beautiful blue eyes and blond hair. I thought of how much I loved my son and tried to remember the last time I told him I loved him so. What if he died tonight? Would he die knowing how much I loved him? I realized, watching a group of doctors and nurses desperately trying to do the impossible, that I hadn’t even hugged him before leaving for work. And I deeply regretted that now.
    Then a miracle occurred. We gave no medicine; we gave no electrical shocks to the heart. All we did was warm him up. His heart began to beat. Slowly at first and then more steadily. Ten beats a minute. Then twenty. We thought about adrenaline, but the physician decided against it. Within two minutes, we had a pulse. In ten minutes, his color turned a beautiful shade of pink and his pupils became reactive.
    Stunned silence permeated the room, and I was in awe knowing I had received a very special invitation to witness a miracle.
    Over the next few months the child made a full recovery. Other than frostbite to his toes, he was miraculously unharmed.
    I made a promise to myself that night. A promise to never again let a day go by that I didn’t hug my son and tell him that I loved him. It no longer mattered if he returned my love or if he continued to push me away. He would never leave this Earth without knowing how much I loved him.
    In the months and years that followed, I kept my promise. My son was diagnosed with autism shortly after I witnessed this miracle. He has done very well and is today a very happy, loving little boy. Thanks to my special invitation to witness the miracle that taught me unconditional love.
    Linda C. Bird
     

Billy’s Good-Bye Gift
     
Y ou will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.
Henry Drummond
     
    When I moved from Ohio to Arkansas, I considered it a blessing. After living up north all of my life, I was ready for a change. My house had burned down, my husband left me after fourteen years, and my very existence had disappeared into a black hole. Moving to Arkansas, nearer my ailing mother, seemed to be a great idea. I had nothing to lose. However, I was not prepared for the gifts I was about to receive.
    I was very grateful to land a job right away at a Christian hospital, working on surgery floors. Then one day I was sent up to oncology. I protested to deaf ears. You will work where you are needed, they told me. I thought it was dreadful. I could feel death everywhere, and my heart felt so heavy. Day after day, I was sent to the cancer floor.
    To my amazement, after awhile I began to “need” to work on that floor. One day, I stood among my “babies” and realized that God had sent me here. This was my home. My patients were no longer room numbers—they had faces and names. I knew what they liked to eat, how many children they had, at what job they had spent most of their life working and how they felt about their cancer.
    As with many nurses, I became close to these very special