love in a box

When the intercom sounds its tone overhead, everything on the ship stops, waiting for the announcement. It generally strikes a mild chord of fear in my heart, since all too often these days the sound has prefaced the calling of the Emergency Medical Team or the duty anesthetist or someone else that needs to respond to the latest emergency.

Yesterday, the call signaled something much more lovely. All those who have personal items on the Togo Three container, you can pick them up at four thirty on Deck Seven. I've never ordered anything big enough to be sent on the container, but I knew there was something on there bearing my name, as I'd gotten an e-mail about a week ago alerting me. I wasn't entirely sure what it might be, but I had a suspicion.

It turns out I was right!

Back at the beginning of the outreach, my sister-friend in Canada, Dina, asked if she and her kiddos could put together a package of things for the other kiddos on the ward, the ones they pray for every night. Yesterday, that package arrived, and it was absolutely splendid. It's not every day that you get a big old box in the mail, and that sort of thing isn't something that can be opened alone. I headed over to my friend Julle's cabin, and along with Jenn and Liz, the four of us dug into the box of treats.

Seriously, I think Dina and her four kids must have some secret package-putting-together gene in their collective makeup, because this was one for the books. Every corner was filled with goodies, little notes written on packages to give us ideas for crafts. There were doctor kits, absolutely perfect for doing teaching with little ones before surgery. The craft supplies were in abundance, and we were practically shrieking as we put together pipe cleaners and butterfly shapes and glitter glue and imagined the mobiles we'd be able to make to hang over babies' beds. We found flowers that will be perfect to use on name cards for our VVF ladies. We immediately thought of artistic kids who would love the canvas and paints. And there were googly eyes! And play-doh! And socks for puppets!

And when we got to the clothes, we knew right away who should be wearing them. (Carter's onesies, incidentally, are perfect for babies in the hospital; they aren't itchy at all, and the necks stretch to accommodate all kinds of tubes and wires.) The four of us picked out the best ones we could find and headed down to the wards. O'Brien was sleeping in his mama's arms, like he always does, so we just left the clothes with her, receiving a smile and a thank you in return.

Maurius, though, was wide awake, staring up at the balloon mobile some crafty nurse had made him. Except for the trach, he's just a regular baby these days, always looking around to make sure he doesn't miss a thing that goes on in D Ward. We quickly had him dressed in a soft suit printed all over with jungle animals (which I'll have a photo of once it goes up on the communications drive), and propped him back up on his throne of pillows.

Chantal came into the room just as we were leaving, her smile as wide as the sky when she saw her little man dressed in his finest. She repeated her constant refrain, and we echoed her words. Akpe na Mawu. Akpe kaka.

Dina and kids, thank you so much for this incredible blessing. Just like everything else on this ship, it came at just the right time. Today was the last day of orthopedic surgery; plastics starts on Tuesday, and we know from past experience that there will be plenty of patients who will be staying for weeks on end in our windowless ward in the bottom of a ship.

Except this time, there's no way they'll be bored.