Tuesday, December 18, 2007

And the gobsmacking coincidences continue

I was talking to the Dear Friend today and she told me that Ellanor's doctor - the one who oversaw the team looking after her - was now her son's doctor.

To say that I am floored at realising the chances of this is an understatement. Firstly, the guy changed hospitals from the one where Ella called "home" to the one where the Dear Friend's little guy is now watched over protectively, after serving 15 years in that job. Ok, so the chances could be perceived to be quite high that two of our children could have the same doc, given the fact that there are only four (is it four, or maybe three?) neonatal ICU's in Victoria.

But still. There is more than one doctor in those NICU's! Apparently, with my blessing, she has approached him and mentioned her connection to him through Ellanor. And he remembers her *sigh* I suppose you would. I would like to think that a caring, dedicated doctor as lovely as he would not have to notch up too many lost lives in a career and so therefore recall the memorable cases that he could not save. If that didn't jog his memory, I'm sure remembering me (clamouring for exact details and testing him with zillions of questions and scenarios) would be fairly easy. I was in his face - without meaning to be - every day for the last two weeks there.

And what a career. God, when I think about what those people must see. These are the true angels on Earth. Aren't they not? Ellanor's last nurse had only come back on duty that very morning, from two weeks' leave, and her first patient goes and dies. She came to Ella's memorial, told me that she had planted a rose bush in a little spot in her garden where she has a few other rose bushes for babies who have died while under her care. I couldn't imagine at the time working in such an emotionally taxing position that you have created an eternal memorial for babies who aren't yours.

Beautiful, some people. It's this sort of thing that you have to keep remembering, when all the other dung gets flung about - it's really. So. Very. Unimportant.

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