"Please don't stick my baby girl"
It's been a somewhat wild week at work, and I admit I was dreading my volunteer hours tonight at the children's hospital. I wasn't sure I was up for more children, or, worse, spending two hours trying to find any children who needed a pal. As usually happens when I'm feeling that way, I had a wonderful night.
First, there were patient greetings for me to deliver. It's actually really awesome - you can go to the hospital website, type in a message for a patient, and the hospital will print it out on a card with a fun picture on the front and deliver it to the patient. Delivering the cards is pretty much always fun, because everyone loves to get mail. Delivering these messages is basically the only time I visit the PICU or NICU (Pediatric/Neonatal ICU), which is fine by me - it's hard to wrap my brain around how that many tubes and wires can possibly be connected to one human being. Tonight's visit to the PICU was both wonderful and sad. The wonderful part was the patient I saw sitting up in bed, smiling and happy, with smiling parents. This sweet little girl was probably 8 or 9, a scarf on her head to cover her baldness. She thanked me for her card, and dazzled me with a smile that puts the sun to shame. I commented to her nurse how unusually alert and happy she was, for a PICU patient, and her nurse said she's always like that. I hope she recovers soon from whatever was wrong with her, but I certainly wouldn't fault God if he wanted an angel like that closer to him.
The sad moment came in the very next room. I walked in the door smiling, both because of the previous patient, and because I figure patients and parents get plenty of frowns without seeing mine. The room was dark, and another little 8- or 9-year-old girl was laying listlessly in the bed. Her father sat in a chair across from the door. As soon as I walked in and said hello, he looked up and said pleadingly, "Please don't stick my baby girl!" He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. I was taken completely aback - no one's every assumed I was there to perform a medical procedure before. I was flustered, and tried to explain. "No, no, I don't do that! No, I'm a volunteer. I'm just here with a get well card! Would you like a get well card? No, I don't poke people! They'll have to find someone else to do that!" I just kept babbling the whole time I was in the room, feeling terrible that I'd upset them. The father's voice was just so haunting, and made me wonder what he and his little girl had already been through.
Luckily, I found some sweet babies to brighten my evening after that. I really do love pre-verbal children, especially when they're not crying. ;) I held a little 4-month-old who had recently had surgery, and whose older sister was in surgery today. Her parents weren't there when I first came by (hence the reason I was going to hold her), but I met both of them later. Her father was a friendly, smiley man, who pulled faces at his baby daughter and teased her in Spanish. He left while I was holding her, but when he came back, her shiny brown eyes immediately started tracking his every move. He explained to me in broken English that his older daughter had spent 4 months in a hospital in Georgia, and that she now responded much better to English than to Spanish. He wondered aloud if the same thing would happen to this baby, with all the nurses speaking English. He wasn't upset about it - just sort of wryly amused. He told me he thought it would be best if they had two languages - English and Spanish. I agreed, and told him I was sorry I didn't really know Spanish. When the baby's mother came into the room, the baby immediately homed in on her voice. She watched her mother even more attentively than she did her father. Mom didn't really speak English at all, so I'm not sure if she understood me thanking her for sharing her baby with me. I did say "Muchas gracias", and I hope she didn't think I was a completely crazy gringa.
My second new friend was a 7-month-old boy with beautiful milk-chocolate skin and an adorable happy smile. He loved chewing on things and watching me play peek-a-boo and make silly faces. He seemed to like a book about a dog making friends with a duck, tolerated a book on trucks, but drew the line at "Scruffy the Tug Boat." I think he wanted me to pay more attention to him and less to the book. That, or he just wanted me more available to assist his slightly-lacking fine motor skills in holding on to his rubber duck so he could chew on it. Methinks he was teething. Either way, he was a lot of fun. He was getting a little fussy when I left, and I was glad to see the nurse pick him up and take him, IV in tow, to her workstation. As I walked away, I heard her tell him, "Now you can help me write my charts!" Too often, I see nurses too busy to give these sweet babies the attention they need. Watching him cuddled up on her shoulder, I knew he wouldn't miss me at all.
~Monkeyscience, in her happy place
First, there were patient greetings for me to deliver. It's actually really awesome - you can go to the hospital website, type in a message for a patient, and the hospital will print it out on a card with a fun picture on the front and deliver it to the patient. Delivering the cards is pretty much always fun, because everyone loves to get mail. Delivering these messages is basically the only time I visit the PICU or NICU (Pediatric/Neonatal ICU), which is fine by me - it's hard to wrap my brain around how that many tubes and wires can possibly be connected to one human being. Tonight's visit to the PICU was both wonderful and sad. The wonderful part was the patient I saw sitting up in bed, smiling and happy, with smiling parents. This sweet little girl was probably 8 or 9, a scarf on her head to cover her baldness. She thanked me for her card, and dazzled me with a smile that puts the sun to shame. I commented to her nurse how unusually alert and happy she was, for a PICU patient, and her nurse said she's always like that. I hope she recovers soon from whatever was wrong with her, but I certainly wouldn't fault God if he wanted an angel like that closer to him.
The sad moment came in the very next room. I walked in the door smiling, both because of the previous patient, and because I figure patients and parents get plenty of frowns without seeing mine. The room was dark, and another little 8- or 9-year-old girl was laying listlessly in the bed. Her father sat in a chair across from the door. As soon as I walked in and said hello, he looked up and said pleadingly, "Please don't stick my baby girl!" He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. I was taken completely aback - no one's every assumed I was there to perform a medical procedure before. I was flustered, and tried to explain. "No, no, I don't do that! No, I'm a volunteer. I'm just here with a get well card! Would you like a get well card? No, I don't poke people! They'll have to find someone else to do that!" I just kept babbling the whole time I was in the room, feeling terrible that I'd upset them. The father's voice was just so haunting, and made me wonder what he and his little girl had already been through.
Luckily, I found some sweet babies to brighten my evening after that. I really do love pre-verbal children, especially when they're not crying. ;) I held a little 4-month-old who had recently had surgery, and whose older sister was in surgery today. Her parents weren't there when I first came by (hence the reason I was going to hold her), but I met both of them later. Her father was a friendly, smiley man, who pulled faces at his baby daughter and teased her in Spanish. He left while I was holding her, but when he came back, her shiny brown eyes immediately started tracking his every move. He explained to me in broken English that his older daughter had spent 4 months in a hospital in Georgia, and that she now responded much better to English than to Spanish. He wondered aloud if the same thing would happen to this baby, with all the nurses speaking English. He wasn't upset about it - just sort of wryly amused. He told me he thought it would be best if they had two languages - English and Spanish. I agreed, and told him I was sorry I didn't really know Spanish. When the baby's mother came into the room, the baby immediately homed in on her voice. She watched her mother even more attentively than she did her father. Mom didn't really speak English at all, so I'm not sure if she understood me thanking her for sharing her baby with me. I did say "Muchas gracias", and I hope she didn't think I was a completely crazy gringa.
My second new friend was a 7-month-old boy with beautiful milk-chocolate skin and an adorable happy smile. He loved chewing on things and watching me play peek-a-boo and make silly faces. He seemed to like a book about a dog making friends with a duck, tolerated a book on trucks, but drew the line at "Scruffy the Tug Boat." I think he wanted me to pay more attention to him and less to the book. That, or he just wanted me more available to assist his slightly-lacking fine motor skills in holding on to his rubber duck so he could chew on it. Methinks he was teething. Either way, he was a lot of fun. He was getting a little fussy when I left, and I was glad to see the nurse pick him up and take him, IV in tow, to her workstation. As I walked away, I heard her tell him, "Now you can help me write my charts!" Too often, I see nurses too busy to give these sweet babies the attention they need. Watching him cuddled up on her shoulder, I knew he wouldn't miss me at all.
~Monkeyscience, in her happy place