unspoken understanding

Eight some years ago I graduated from nursing school, eager and excited to take care of people in their time of need. I was ready to be a part of the healing. I felt privileged (and still do) to be able to be a part of what can be such a vulnerable time in one's life.

I really only knew part of the plan.

With time I came to realize that God doesn't just bring me into their life, He also brings them into my life. I am one half of my story, and my patient is the other. You see, I learn something every day from my patients. From the drug-seeking behaviors to the strength of the one battling cancer; from the family fighting over their grandma's will to the devoted spouse of sixty-five years. And more. The words and images are forever tucked away in my memory. In my heart.

There are those patients who cross my path and leave a footprint. Who touch my heart in a special way. The ones I shed tears over at the end of the day; the ones I just have to pray and then "let God" because its the only way to cope with the ache in my heart so I can (and will) go back to work and do it all over again.

I have one of those patients on the ward right now.

Sweet, precious Jean. He is just under two years old and a twin :-). He had a big hole in his palate and lip that we recently repaired. But his recovery has been difficult and slow because of a neuromuscular disorder. Jean requires so much attention and care. His prognosis is unknown, his quality of life questionable.

My heart aches for him.

And his mama is another story. We truly couldn't do it without her. She has been incredible. She is so attentive and conscientious, tending to his needs with such love and concern. The point of my story is here. Being an open ward, the patients observe the care of their neighbor in the next bed and across from them. She has hardly slept much since she's been here. She is exhausted. The mama of the patient next to Jean has watched Jean and his mama over the last several days. The last couple days I have observed the most beautiful thing. The neighboring mama takes Jean and wraps him on her back in typical African fashion. She'll then walk the ward with him until he falls asleep. I see an unspoken understanding between these mamas. Their is an understanding of what they've both been through, like perhaps raising "less-than perfect," "cursed" children, and the extra demands and attention needed. This act of selfless love touched me.

Once again my patients have challenged me. Those two mamas teach me what it means to love, to live in community, to bear another's burden, to put another's need above your own. To be.

Once again, like all those times before, I leave my shift more blessed.