Baby Bus II

Driving the Baby Bus is completely different from driving a "normal" ambulance. Every turn, every bump, every acceleration or deceleration has the potential to be catastrophic for a poorly newborn. The little blood they have has a habit of pooling in one area if you brake too sharply, starving the rest of the body of its much needed oxygen. Hit a bump too hard and the jolt can damage their extremely delicate internal organs, not to mention potentially pulling out all the lines and tubes that the team have worked so hard to put in.

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The traffic is appalling, made all the worse by the fact that we're all tired and our nerves are fraught. It's taken almost 5 hours, but finally we're under way with Adam to Bigtown Hospital. Mum and Dad have said goodbye and a few prayers before we set off. Despite the fact we all want to go home, there's no tearing round corners scattering the traffic left and right. The nearly 100 miles have to be driven smoothly, calmly, and with utmost concentration. Not a particularly easy thing to do after what has so far been a 15 hour shift. Adam plays his part nicely, staying calm, sedate, and fighting with all his might to stay alive.

Two hours later, and after stopping twice to resuscitate Adam, we arrive at Bigtown. Adam was the most settled he had been since he'd been born, despite trying to scare us a couple of times. I've never been so relieved to see a hospital before. However, unlike an A&E handover, which only takes a couple of minutes once we're acknowledged, a BETS handover can easily take half an hour. It's not just a question of telling the hospital team what's happened, but the transfer from our incubator to theirs is a delicate procedure. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we returned back to base, luckily not very far from Bigtown Hospital. I drove home, but to this day I don't remember that journey. It was just before 2pm when I walked into my house, having left home at 5 o'clock the previous evening. Tired just doesn't come close. Probably not as tired as Adam. He had a 50/50 chance now. We'll call back in a week or so to see how he's doing.

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Three days later I'm back on a day shift, just about recovered from the night to end all night shifts, scheduled to work on the Baby Bus that takes the babies back to their local hospital once they're well enough. The advantage of the "Elective" Baby Bus, is that all the journeys are planned, and it is extremely rare to finish late. After the other night, I'm not sure I'm ready to face another late finish. As I walk in, I'm told that we only have one transfer booked for the day, but that it's long-distance. The look of slight despair on my face must have shown, as I was then informed that it's not that far away, that I should be back by just after lunchtime, and that there's nothing else booked. I guess I can cope with that.

I look at the booking sheet, and can barely believe what I'm seeing. The booking is from Bigtown Hospital. Going to Outtatown hospital. 4 day old baby, not ventilated, breathing on his own, conscious, stable. After everything that had happened, after the trauma that his parents faced so bravely, after all the jangled nerves. Having survived a horrible start to life, having been attacked by all sorts of medical teams, having endured my driving, the unbelievable was happening.

Adam was going home.

We arrived at Bigtown, and I spoke with one of the doctors. I needed an explanation, but he had none. Adam had fought and won, and in a very short time, his battle for life. His recovery had been nothing short of miraculous. He was going home, via a couple of days at Outtatown Hospital for observation, with no lasting sign of all he had been through.

The journey back to Outtatown was a gentle one. No lights and sirens, no stops to retrieve signs of life, no fraught nerves.

Mum and Dad were almost unrecognisable as they stood waiting in the same side room where they'd had only a few minutes of troubled sleep just 3 nights ago. Their faces beamed as we wheeled Adam back in, and the tears this time were tears of relief, of happiness, of joy. All the weight of the world seemed to physically lift from their shoulders. I had the chance to talk to them for a short while, and their thoughts now were no longer in the past, barely even in the present. They wanted to think now in terms of the future. Adam's future. The one he very nearly didn't have and which he had fought so hard to hold on to.