bath time

I'll be the first to admit that I maybe get a little too attached to my patients here. I don't know what it is, whether it's the brown skin so different from my own or the language separating us like a chasm. But there's something about this place and these people that challenges me to overcome those walls, something inside me that urges me closer than I've ever been.

It's no wonder that I was close to tears during my shift today.

I got a call in the morning asking if I'd be okay caring for the ICU patient instead of working as a charge nurse and I agreed and hung up before I remembered that it was Hubert in there and that I wasn't sure how he was doing. I showed up at two to find my little friend looking worse than I thought he would. His breath came in short gasps and in between crying he would cough a terrible little cough that made me want to pick him up and take all the pain away. His body was burning with fevers, his skin red and raw, and his mama sat helplessly beside him.

By dinner time, I was fairly sure that little Hubie was in a tailspin that would lead to him needing a breathing tube and a ventilator. I stood with the anesthetist and we wondered together how we would know when we were past the point of no return while Hubert laid in the bed, his heart racing so much faster than it should.

And then something happened. I'm not sure what, really. I don't know if it was the prayers that are going up all around the ship, all around the world really. Maybe the darkness was finally being pushed back enough that the light could shine through. But when Hubert's dad came to visit, the dad who wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to claim Hubert as his own, he asked to hold his son. He sat at the side of the bed, his little whimpering child in his arms, and he rocked ever so gently back and forth, back and forth, being careful not to dislodge the tubes and wires we've fastened to every part of Hubie's body.

Shortly before eight, when visiting hours are over, my translator called me over. I saw the question in the papa's eyes as the translator relayed the message. The dad would like to know if we could give the baby a bath before he has to leave.

Giving a bath to a baby who looks so bad isn't usually on my list of top priorities. Being able to breathe on his own seemed to be much more important right then, and I knew that having a bath might just send Hubert over the edge. But I looked again at his papa, who looked back at me with hope in his eyes and I knew that, no matter what happened, Hubert was getting a bath.

I gathered baby soap and towels and a basin of cool water, and mama and I worked together to wipe his sweaty body clean while papa hovered over the bed, holding tubes out of our way. We cleaned him from head to toe, applied fresh tape where it was needed, mixed up a new cream for his poor red bottom and snuggled him in with a clean diaper and fresh sheets. He fought us throughout the process, and I was fairly sure we had just sent him over the edge and that he wouldn't be able to stop his crying and coughing and struggling.

I watched in amazement as Hubert did precisely the opposite of what I expected. He opened his eyes, alert for the first time during my shift, and stared at his mama as she leaned over him, straightening the pillow behind his back. He fussed for a minute, and then I watched his mama do precisely the opposite of what I expected of her. Instead of sitting in stony silence by the edge of the bed, she reached into her bag and pulled out a little stuffed animal. She settled Hubie on his side, crooning to him in Fon, and the tucked the toy behind him to prop him up. She stroked his fuzzy head until he fell asleep, and then she took her other child, Pauline, for a bath. When they returned, she gathered sheets and pillows and settled all three of them into the big bed together, being careful not to disturb a still-sleeping Hubert.

Suey, who had been taking care of the family during the day shift, stopped by around nine to see how he was doing. I pointed to the bed and the three people sleeping together there, a mama and the two children that she had tucked in with love instead of harsh words, caresses instead of slaps.

You'll forgive us, I know, for coming so close to crying right there in that ICU.


Please keep praying. Hubert isn't healed yet, and we need to be storming the gates of heaven with our requests on his behalf. Thank you so much for standing with us in this fight.