I sit on my recliner chair in the little room, with one daughter lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to wires and machines and an IV pole, and the other sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, scrolling through her phone. We are on the cardiac floor of the hospital, waiting for my eighteen-year-old daughter to have a much-needed heart ablation done.
My older daughter had previously spent three years working in the ER and we find ourselves tuning in to the voice on the loudspeaker, calling out rapid responses needed for stroke codes and heart attacks. It is something to break up the monotony of the hours as they stretch on beyond the scheduled time for surgery.
Then a different sound comes through the speaker above us. Instead of the normal monotone voice, calling out yet another code, a soothing little tune, almost like a lullaby comes wafting into the room.
“Another baby is born,” my daughter says, absentmindedly.
I sit up.
“What did you say?”
She sets her phone in her lap as she focuses in on my face and says, “A baby was just born. They play a tune like that whenever there has been a birth.”
“For the whole hospital to hear?”
“Yes”
I am intrigued and begin to dig for a bit more information.
“Do they do that at the hospital where you worked?”
“Yeah. The song is a bit different, but yes.”
“That is so beautiful!”
“Yeah, it is.” A strange look, like a mix of nostalgia and pain, come over her face, but she says nothing more.
I sit back in my chair and continue to mull over that fact.
What a beautiful thing to do. In the middle of all that happens in a hospital- the illnesses, the injuries, heart attacks and strokes, and the many life-threatening situations that the medical personnel work so hard to overcome, every few hours they are reminded that even as they are fighting to sustain the lives of the sick and dying, new life is also entering onto the hospital scene. I want to meet the person who came up with this beautiful idea.
My daughter goes back to scrolling on her phone. I dig out the book I brought with me and try again to settle down and read. I cannot focus. My mind was like a spring, winding tighter and tighter as the hours passed. I know my own daughter’s procedure is routine, with a high rate of success, but she is not just a statistic to me. She is my daughter. She is one in a million, but I do not want her to be the one that is the exception to the rule of normal statistics.
And now I find myself listening for the loudspeaker to play that happy little tune. And every time I hear it, I smile.
I have finally settled down in my chair when that voice calls out again, loud and clear.
“Respiratory to labor and delivery.”
My eyes fly to my daughter, not needing an interpretation but wanting one that is different than my own.
She looks up. Her eyes mirror my concern.
“That’s not good,” she murmurs.
I only nod.
“Lord, please let that baby be ok.”
My heart squeezes for the mother up there on the labor and delivery floor, whoever she is.
And my ears strain to hear the little lullaby play over that speaker again. I need to hear that tune. I imagine there are more people scattered throughout the hospital, who, like me, are holding their breath and begging God to please let that baby be ok.
The minutes pass and all is quiet. I stir in my seat, feeling desperate to hear that tune. How can I need something so badly right now that I didn’t even know existed a few hours ago?
Then the little song we are waiting for sounds again, soothing our ears and our hearts.
My daughter looks at me and we both smile. We choose to believe that the song that has just put this smile on our faces is for the little one that we have been praying for. Another baby has safely entered this world.
My mind goes back to my daughter and her days of working in the hospital’s emergency department. I knew her days there were stressful. I knew that covid had done a number on her emotionally. I had a front row seat to watch the aftermath of her harrowing days, due to overcrowded facilities, and not enough supplies and personnel to work safely. And all the people dying.
And I wonder. Did the little tune keep her going on the roughest of days? Did the sound of that little joyful tune with such a positive message give the weary medical staff a little more energy for finishing a long shift? Did it give them an added dose of courage, as they continued to care for the sick and the dying? Did it smooth out the worry lines on their tired faces, even temporarily?
Health and sickness. Life and death. It is all found within the walls of a hospital. I admire all who work there, fighting to heal the ill and save the dying. And those who help to bring new life into this world.
I hope that they smile every time they hear the little lullaby.
And a big thank you to the one who thought of such a beautiful, brilliant idea in the first place, whoever you are.