Yesterday marked my third shift in a row. I came yesterday morning to my two boys, Sabingore and Godson sleeping soundly, snoring slightly, and looking sweeter than ever.
Friday evening the same couldn't necessarily be said for these (cough) angels. Although I wasn't assigned to Sabingore that night, our paths seemed to cross more than he would have liked. After taking it upon himself to remove his thrid IV, we knew we would be in for a fight in placing the 4th. After all, he flipped his lid every time we tried to adjust the small probe on his toe, vain attempts to trace his pulse and O2 sat.
I stood, the only nurse in the room with pediatric experience, and gently recommended sedation as means of helping our case with the IV. You see, its counter intuitive to wrestle with a 4 year old who has just had his entire mouth and throat operated on. Something about screaming bloody murder and sutures, etc...
Then there was Luc over in bed 10. No smile, sitting next to his mom who displayed the same solemn look. I used silly faces, tickling, you name it. I left Friday evening without a single new friend. I did get some handshakes, but I knew deep down these boys were not ready to commit to the level of friendship this yovo was looking for.
Saturday morning I set about with my small assignment of the two boys, Sabingore and Godson. It felt good to have the responsibility of two acutely post-surgical kids to take care of, I was right at home. Sabingore luckily didn't seem to recognize me as the one who stuck him for his IV the night before. I suppose that through sedatives and STILL fighting 4 adults while he was held down was enough ruckus to ignore specific faces. Crisis averted.
My day was full, the tasks were endless, and I was getting zero love in the smiles department. Even little Luc, who wasn't my patient, met his fate with a needle when I was asked to draw his labs. I didn't take him as a fighter, but again, a 4 year old completely owned four of us adults while we held him down. After the big to-do I approached the still-wailing boy with 4 books of stickers. Through sign language and his mothers prompting he realized I had come with a peace offering. The tears ceased and he casually started pointing to where he wanted the stickers placed on his face and hands. And then the best part of my day, he agreeably kissed me on the cheek. Friend number 1...check.
I kept the stickers out and all throughout the day they became my new bartering tool. Even at the age of 4, these kids understand this art form.
"If you stay still while I take these sharp scissors and cut that tiny stitch holding the tube in your nose which I have been suctioning and torturing you with all day I'll let you pick 5... (said with extreme excitement) stickers!"
They stayed still with tears in their eyes, and gradually, through each procedure, gained faces, hands, and arms full of stickers. Still, no smiles, no additional friends.
"Sunday, I'll get them to smile on Sunday"
I was banking on Godson for sure. He was timid and kinda spaced out, the best responder to the bribes, I mean, attempts at friendship. Sabingore, on the other hand, was a flailing maniac every time I went near him. By days end Sunday, after 32 hours in 3 days of caring for these children I was beginning to lose hope. After removing a rather large tube from Godson's nose (its hard to reason with a 4 year old that this was a good thing) I asked him if he would be my friend. He deliberately turned his entire body with his back then facing me and nodded his head no. I had put a grumpy looking spongebob sticker on his forehead earlier that morning when he wouldn't cooperate, and now it seemed even more appropriate. After a good laugh with the translators and his mama (on the inside I so wasn't laughing) I made my way over to Sabingore. AS IF he would be excited for me to also have a go at pulling out his equally large nasal tube.
Afterwards, I needed to suction him, generally a procedure that sent him into hysterics. I sat down across from him, tired and weary, nearly defeated by a couple of kids, holding the suction in my hand and playfully stuck my tongue out at my pint-sized patient. He responded by doing the same. In fact, every silly face, expression, and action I did after that, he mimicked perfectly. When I said "ah" he returned the gesture, and slowly his eyes crossed as he watched me put the suction in his mouth. Then he smiled. Then he gave me a high five. Then he smiled again when I kissed his forehead. My cheeks ached and soul sang as I added his name to my hearts 'friends' list.
This morning I was walking up the stairs when I crossed paths with Luc and his mama. What I didn't tell you is Luc is our newest palliative care patient. He has Burkitts lymphoma and responded fantastically to his first round of chemotherapy, a cute, shining, 4 year old glimmer of beautiful hope. I stopped to say goodbye 'until next time' and as I leaned down and pointed to my cheek I got a wet kiss from my little friend. In return, I kissed him on his forehead, right on top of one of his many stickers.
This. This right here is why I love these kids and this place with every fiber of my being. I can't get over how perfect Gods plan is, and that I get to be a part of it, making these sweet friends, one sticker at a time.
Luke 18:16-17
"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
Oh, and I am totally taking care of Godson again tomorrow, there is still a chance. And I have plenty of stickers.
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