“His best friend is Mr. Glowworm.” Clarissa set him back down and tapped the musical toy next to him. “He likes the Go to Sleep song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Frère Jacques is the devil.”
Schuller started glancing around the room like she was searching for more random questions to ask, but salvation arrived as a new player entered the game.
“Dr. Schuller, can you sign a few care coordination documents for me?” The NICU charge nurse, Chioma, had come to their rescue. She’d run the dayshift for twelve years and didn’t appreciate rounds running overly long. Social work must have dropped off the papers with her as an excuse to intervene.
The firm set of her mouth and the jerk of her head toward Clarissa also communicated her desire for Clarissa to move rounds along.
“Everyone, let’s go to Level 2.” She trotted them over to the nearby level 2/Limbo pod and gathered the residents and med students to her. “This isn’t working. We need to have a new strategy.”
“Why does anyone care if the baby is cute? Mine only has one lung and half a heart!” Linga complained. “Cute isn’t science.”
Her irritation might have hit the issue on the head. Most of Schuller’s questions had a bent outside of a systems-based approach. In fact, there was a vague pattern to the information Schuller sought.
“Actually, there are statistical ways to measure attractiveness and factors eliciting emotions,” Clarissa said as her team stared at her blankly. “I was an art minor, and we’re going to use them to speed up rounds.”
“How?” the other medical student, Jon, the only guy in the group, asked.
“Write these down about each of your patients. Eye color. Hair color. Hair texture. Clothing type and color. Likes and dislikes. Hobbies,” Clarissa instructed. With the exception of Linga, the rest of the group started updating their notes.
“They don’t have hobbies. The intubated ones aren’t very conscious to have likes or dislikes,” she pointed out.
Jon said, “I can’t come up with hobbies either.”
“If you’re stumped, pick from this list, baths, burping, pacifiers, picture of their parents, siblings or dogs. Don’t like dirty diapers, being cold, spitting up, temp checks. Likes being held, clean diapers, chewing on blankets, rattles, warmed breast milk, kangaroo time.” Clarissa slowed down to let them catch up. “It’s not rocket science. Have one of those as a response if she asks. If you want a specific one, ask their main bedside nurse.”
“I think this is a waste of time,” Linga said. “These babies are really sick, and the color of their onsie or if they like to be held isn’t very important.”
“Not having an answer for the neo is a waste of our time. Do you want rounds to last till three p.m.?” Clarissa reminded her and continued, “Start each presentation like this. ‘In Bed 16, we have Unique Smith, an ex 25-weeker, now 34-weeks, working on po feedings. She transitioned to open crib two days ago and is maintaining her temp safely in this adorable pink romper with butterflies on it.’ If neo asks about any cuteness, big beautiful brown eyes, gorgeous lashes, curly hair, lovely smile, whatever.”
“I still don’t get why she cares,” Linga grumbled.
“Because she wants us to think past the medicine. It shows you pay attention beyond just the numbers.” Clarissa went on to remind her, “Every neo has their quirks. Dr. Edwards loves retellings of big past procedures. Dr. Haydarian focuses on withdrawal of care discussions. We’ve got to adapt. Clear?”
Her explanation made Linga nod, and the other two residents appeared simply grateful she’d taken charge.
Schuller reappeared, and Clarissa stepped up to start the first presentation. Hopefully, they’d finish on time, because she had a birthday party waiting for her.
CHAPTER 18
Fortunately for the entire NICU team, Clarissa's efforts to push Dr. Schuller to end rounds did lead to rounds finishing almost exactly at 11:30 p.m. She signed out her patients to the remaining residents, and took her jacket and bag out of her call room in preparation for noon lecture. Ideally, she’d be back to her rowhouse by 1:30 and could nap till Roan picked her up for the party he’d planned.
Her phone beeped with an incoming text messages. The NICU had worse signal than most places, and multiple text messages appeared at the same time. A birthday message from her parents, twelve messages from Tristan.
He’d been back in Ohio for about a week, and he’d increased his campaign to meet Willow via text. Those twelve messages were only since breakfast.
Her regular daily response of ‘No’ and ‘Go away’ had not deterred him the slightest. Hilariously, he didn’t harass Roan this way, assuming his sister was the weakest link.
The last few messages were suggestions that he’d randomly show up their rowhouse.
And in all of that, not once did he mention it was her birthday.
Then she read the single message from Willow and almost choked. Willow had a few ideas on how to make the birthday party epic. As in so insane it would be a story to recount for all eternity—just like ocean waves.
The wildness of the idea also guaranteed she’d be way to wired to sleep.
No, she needed to regain a level of calm, and the NICU did house the perfect antidote.
She set her stuff at Cortland’s bedside and donned the gown and gloves of isolation gear, then settled in the rocking chair next to his open bassinet near his primary day nurse, Mindy. “I’ve got a couple minutes before lecture for Cortland cuddles.”
