Last week, I was feeling out of sorts so I went up to the neonatal surgical ward to do some paperwork and get away from the Surgical Doctors’ room. As I sat at the desk staring into space and ignoring the paperwork, the student nurse walked by cradling a 2kg baby in her arms. I perked up immediately, baby = happiness to me. I asked her if I could have a cuddle and she happily passed him over because, she explained, he was a py who was not settling and needed to be held a lot. His name was George. Like my husband. Happy coincidence. I scooped him up and continued to do my paperwork. I got up to find a drug chart at a patient’s bedside and the poor little mite must have thought I was about to drop him when he grabbed my ID lanyard and held on for dear life. When I sat back down at the desk, I had to gently prise his hands off my lanyard and settled him back down.
I finished my paperwork and just sat there enjoying my cuddle when his nurse came to ask if I wanted to feed him too. She must have not expected a yes because she was very surprised when I jumped at the thought. After reassuring me that feeding a 2kg baby was the same as a chunky 4kg one (which I had experience of) and that he was likely to vomit afterwards, I put an apron on and settled in the armchair. Turns out George is a champion feeder. As soon as I popped the bottle in his mouth, off he went. I had to take the bottle out intermittently because I was worried he wasn’t pausing enough to breathe. As soon as the bottle was drained, he vomited up a third of the volume he had just guzzled down and then went back to sleep as I mopped him up. I tried burping him but he was already in dreamland so after about 5 minutes of a back rub, I went back to cuddling him until my bleep went off. George, bless him, was so comfortable the bleep did not jar him awake as I feared. I put him down for a sleep and dragged myself away to tend to my actual patients but you know what? My ‘out-of-sorts’ mood was cured. Glory be to George!