Megan…is now 27.
By Joe Torosian
On this date in 1995, the docs at Children’s Hospital told us our daughter Megan was bleeding in the brain and needed to be removed from the ECMO (heart-lung) machine she was on.
Her oxygen saturation dropped from 100 to 9% moments after she was disconnected from the device. The doctor turned, shook my hand, and said he was very sorry. Then he gave her to us to hold until she died.
Moments later, another doctor told me another baby needed the machine and that they had to move us. Placed in a dark, unused room, we waited for her to pass.
Five, ten minutes went by. The doctors kept coming by the edge of the door and walking away. Fifteen, 20, and 25 minutes later, they were still passing by and taking long looks through the doorway at the machines and us.
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Finally, the same doctor who shook my hand came into the room and said: “This is not humane. She’s not going anywhere. Either we go back to work on her or shut down everything else.”
It took us about half a second to make that decision.
That night they told us she was most likely brain dead. Her kidneys were shot. She didn’t have a chance. Her entire body was purple. Intubated to the highest level, it was a waiting game until she experienced a pneumothorax (blew a lung).
The power in the hospital kept going out, it would go pitch black, and the nurses would hand us a flashlight to hold while they manually bagged Megan until the power came back on.
Two floors below us, a woman walked into the emergency room with a hand grenade, and they had to evacuate the lower part of the building.
Other babies died that night and week in 3 West.
We’d see the parents…the suddenly empty crib…but by God’s grace and providence, we eventually (long, long journey) got to come home with Megan.
The memories of that day are like communion to me. It’s been 27 years, and we moved on, but every November 8th, we remember that strangest, saddest, and best of days.
No moral to give, wisdom to share, or lesson to be passed on. Except for what I saw and experienced to confirm my faith.
