three pieces of orange

I wasn't scheduled to work today, but the evening charge nurse called out sick just before two. The ward supervisor asked me to cover the shift, but I had plans to go out for dinner with a friend who's leaving tomorrow. I explained my dilemma and we struck a compromise; since there aren't too many patients right now, I just needed to come in for the first few hours and take care of some administrative stuff, at which point I was free to leave. I had been looking forward to a relaxing afternoon baking cookies, but I donned my scrubs and headed downstairs.

I'm so glad I did.

The ship is preparing for a day-long blackout tomorrow. The technical crew needs to shut down all the engines in order to clean some stuff, and that means there will be no power. No lights (except for the emergency ones), no air conditioning, no flushing toilets. It's going to be hot and smelly, and it's not exactly going to be a nice environment for the patients to be in. Because of this, we've been doing "simple" surgeries all week; hernias and the like, people who don't need a lot of looking after and get to go home the morning following their operations. We had a mass exodus over the past couple of days, and right now there's a grand total of eight patients in the entire hospital, all cozily ensconced in B Ward.

I can't figure out what was so special about the time tonight. Maybe it was because there really wasn't anything to do other than sit around and chat. I spent the five hours I was on the ward playing with a rogue baby, learning how to say it takes time in French and showing the translators my wedding photos online as they crowded close around my chair at the desk. (Their reactions to things like our ice cream bar and the hilarious look on my husband's face when I stole a kiss could fill their own blog post.)

When dinner time rolled around, I was sitting next to the bed of one of the VVF ladies. Mange, she told me, holding out her plate. Eat. So I did. I grabbed a bowl and asked the servers for some chicken and maize paste. Yovo, you sure? It's spicy! I just grinned and went back to sit with my friend. We ate together, and then she peeled an orange and gave me a few sections.

As a little baby climbed up into my lap for a snuggle, I savored the tangy juice on my tongue, the words of Jesus echoing in my mind. If you give a crust of bread to someone hungry, you're doing it for me, you know. I was confused; I wasn't the one giving out food tonight. I was just sitting there, having it scooped into my bowl and handed to me, fresh-peeled.

Oh. I get it. For once, I see.

I'm not always the one who gets to give. Sometimes I'm the one sitting there, bread in my outstretched hands. Or chicken. Or three pieces of a Beninoise orange.