heartstrings

certain things tug at heartstrings.  for some people, it's animals.  for others, it's hallmark commercials.  kids tend to hug at my heartstrings and i'm not even a mother yet.

i worked on monday and tuesday.

on monday, a patient on our unit was getting her second stem cell transplant.  soon after her first one, she relapsed.  and hence, needed a second one to cure her disease and give her the best chance at living life with her darling family.  she was not my patient.  but her nurse asked some of us to join him in singing happy birthday to his patient.  sometimes we do this.  sometimes i do this.  especially when i like my patient and they are positive and kind and i think they might get a kick out of a dozen or so nurses singing a horrible rendition of happy birthday while they are getting their transplant.  so we sang.  and the patient smiled.  her 3 year old son snuggled up beside her in bed.  beaming with pride.  singing along.  what is it about kids and happy birthday?  they LOVE it.

and i cried.  i couldn't help but be touched.  by the child's innocence.  his love.  his momma's love.  and her fear - that this might not work.  that she might be celebrating her last "birthday" with her son.

on tuesday, my day was a whirlwind.  i played nurse, tour guide, and secretary.  nurses wear many hats.  and just by chance, i happened to be answering phone calls when the same patient from the day before walked up with her little son.  grandma was taking him home.  maybe for a nap.  but he didn't want to go.  he wanted to hold his mom's hand.  and so she walked him to the elevator.  gave him kisses.  told him that grandma would take good care of him.  i'm sure her heart was breaking inside too. of course she wanted to go with them.  ditch her IV pole of life saving medications.  and get the hell out of her scary situation.  but instead, she left her mother and son at the elevator.  moments later, he broke free from his grandmother's hand and ran to my desk - right in front of me.  he looked at his mom down the long white hospital hallway.  and he waved.  a sweet wave.  a perpetual wave.  he wouldn't stop.  and his lower lip trembled.  and his eyes teared.  god he loves his momma.  it was so clear.  he knows something is up.  he turned back to the elevator, to grandma.  then returned to my desk.  and he waved again.  and the lip pouted.  i watched this dance for what felt like several minutes.  back to grandma at the elevator. then back to the hallway, to see his momma and wave.  on his final trip from the elevator to the hall, instead of waving, he held up his tiny fingers and made the sign for i love you in sign language.  

it seemed like a routine they have done before.  but there was desperation in it.  a mature desperation.  there were no tantrums.  just resignation.  acceptance.  that momma belongs in the hospital.  and the tiny little 3 year old most move forward, without her, strong and brave.  ready to face the world.

heartstrings.