old souls

Richard and Nicholas have got to be two of the oldest souls I have ever met. Maybe it's the amount of time they've spent in hospitals. Richard (who prefers to go by Richie) has spent a quarter of his life as a patient at the Island Pediatric Hospital here in Monrovia; he's four going on four hundred. Nicholas is the younger of my charges; he's only three, and all his memories involve doctors and tests and medicines and pain.

They both drank caustic liquids over a year ago, and they're two of the worst cases Dr. Jose is working on here in Liberia. They're the reason that I'm sleepwalking right now, almost through my second night after days with no rest. But nine months on board makes me the pediatric ICU nurse with the most experience, so I'm the woman for the job.

It's incredible how fast these nights are passing. Between Nicholas' squeaky breathing and Richie trying his utmost to fall out of bed (despite the fortress of siderails and pillows that I've built for him), they've kept me busier than I can remember being all year. If they weren't both so cute, I might almost be annoyed.

But like I said, they're old souls, and it's enough to amuse me to the point where Richie's constant thrashings and coughings and tuggings aren't quite so frustrating. I've never been able to reason with three and four-year olds before, but Nicholas and Richie (in their more lucid moments) seem to have a perfect grasp of abstract concepts like waiting for their medicine and listening to the nurse when she tells you to stop scratching your skin raw. They look up at me with liquid black eyes as I bend over their beds to rub their backs and straighten IV lines and untangle them from their tubes and wires. The solemnly nod their little heads when I ask them if they're feeling pain. If they want to have medicine. If they want to sleep.

Richie is finally at peace. He and his mama are sleeping top-to-tail in his bed. His limbs are splayed out wildly, except for one little hand, holding tight to hers. Nicholas is draped across his mama, nestled in the crook of her hip, his little teddy bear clutched firmly in his arms.

It's only a matter of time before they both start up again, Richie with his incoherent cries and Nicholas with his coughing. But for now, I'll revel in the quiet.