abraham

Today was not exactly my shining moment as a nurse. I'm stuck somewhere around thirty percent of my normal energy level, and couldn't muster up much in the way of enthusiasm for my job. Getting called at five after seven and realizing that I was still in bed when I should have been dressed and on the ward didn't help much either.

Despite the general apathy I was feeling, I was treated to what I figure is one of the best things about this job; I realized today that one of my patients had come alive again.

When I first met Abraham, he was a silent, withdrawn little boy. He refused to make eye contact, refused to leave his mother's side, refused to interact. When he came to the wards, it was the same. A small frightened boy, living entirely inside himself.

As the days passed after his surgery, Abraham began to make noise. I wrote about him last Sunday, how I finally heard him squeak like an anemic monkey. It wasn't much, but I would have taken anything at that point.

When I got my assignment today, I was excited to see that, for the first time, he was actually my own patient. I figured I'd be super-nurse and get him to talk and laugh. Turns out I was way behind the times, because as soon as I finished getting report, I felt the weight of him hanging off my leg. I looked down into his irrefutably smiling eyes and said good morning. He shrieked something unintelligible back to me and ran off in search of legos. All day long, we chatted (never understanding a word of what the other one said) and built lego cities and did puzzles and had tickle fights.

Abraham, like so many before him, has been reborn. Out of the burned shell of a boy, scared and scarred, has emerged life and joy and exuberance. It's the first time I've ever recognized it so clearly, and I'm hoping it won't be the last. Because it's one of the coolest things I've ever seen.