patrick and sonnie

This is Patrick. He's from Freetown, in Sierra Leone. I met him yesterday when I went outside for some fresh air on deck seven. He was hanging out with a friend of mine, Liz, who had been his nurse on B Ward for the day. We laughed and joked and danced Sierra Leonean dances and learned how to speak Krio. (More than just how de body.) He only very rarely stopped smiling. More often than not, he was throwing his head back and laughing.

The VVF ladies are all still on A Ward, but I was released back into my pediatric haven (B Ward) today. Patrick wasn't my patient, but when two o'clock rolled around, he was right at my side, waiting to go upstairs. Come on. We going outside. We have to dance. Naturally, I was right behind him as he ran up the stairs.

Patrick told me his story today. The ubiquitous smile was washed from his face as he recounted the story his uncle had told him. He was two when the rebels came to his village. They kill my mom. They kill my dad. They kill my brother. My sister. They try to kill me. He looked out across the harbour, suddenly so much older than fifteen, and he told me how they poured a five-gallon drum of gasoline over his then two-year old body, set him on fire, and threw him back into his house. A grandma was passing. She hear me yell and she throw me in the water.

And, just like that, he was finished, and he turned back to me and started teaching me a gospel song in Krio.

Patrick will be seen by the plastic surgeon when he arrives next week. Once I know what surgeries he'll be having, I'm sure I'll have more stories so share about my new friend. For now, I just wanted to introduce him.

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As for Sonnie, I have no photos yet of this little girl, but what happened today has to be recorded. STAT. (Figured it was appropriate to throw a nursing word in there...) Sonnie is 22 months old. She was born with a club foot and a hand with no fingers to speak of, and she has huge, bright eyes.

After report, I was greeted by the stereo wails of my two little orthopedics patients. Both sported casts on their twisted feet. Both were unhappy. Jeffeline was a little more pliable and eventually settled in for a nap; Sonnie would have none of it. Legos and teddy bears and balloons and playing on the floor held no charm for this little girl.

Now, being a pediatric nurse, I'm convinced that every child stops crying eventually; I was willing to let her wear herself out. At home, I could have shut the door and waited for the calm to follow the storm. However, for the sake of the other eighteen or so patients and three nurses on the ward (who were getting progressively less tolerant as the volume increased), I knew I had to do something.

Remember when I told you about the fishy rattle? The one my baby at work loved, and the one Jonah and his mum sent to Africa with me? I hadn't brought it to the ward yet. I was waiting for the right moment, and I just hadn't been sure what that moment would look like. Well, I ran to my room and arrived back to the screamer, clutching what I was sure would be purple and yellow magic. I was not disappointed.

One look, and Sonnie was hooked. She shut her mouth, grabbed the rattle, and started shaking it furiously. It wasn't long until I saw her first smile of the day, and not long again after that, she was fast asleep on her mat on the floor. She laid there, sprawled on her back, camo-patterned cast propped up at a wild angle, fishy rattle gripped in her good hand.

And for the rest of the day, I heard the little sound of that rattle shaking away in the background, and I knew it was right.