HOSPITAL BEYOND THE VISITING HOURS

To Pille, John and Helerin

WHAT IS A ZOO, MOM?

When Nicole came to the hospital she was as scared and worried as any nine year old would be coming to such a place for the first time. She was not from Santa Cruz but from distant Trinidad, so everything - the city, the illness, the being away from her family was new to her. They had diagnosed her with Leukemia.

Nicole was a true warrior - with a good sense of humor and smiling non-stop. Her mother always by her side was her spade and her shield - sharp, strong and shining.

Nicole and her mother at the hospital

At that time I had already brought over from our school (a little yellow building in the hospital yard) many books, toys, puzzles and some creative workshop materials to our pediatric department of the hospital. So every time that I came all kids could have some past-time activity that they chose. The nurses gave me a shelf in their back room. I invaded two.

Toys invaded the back room...

Anyway, when time came for Nicole to leave the hospital, she said she did not want to go.

“Why?” I asked her.

“Because here at least I have something to do, but what am I going to do outside? I do not even know where I am going...”

I understood. Nicole was to live in the "Casita" - a home for kids with cancer just like her coming from too far away and without another place to stay in Santra Cruz where they had to be for their treatment.

"No worries Nicole", I told her, "on Sunday I´ll take you to the zoo."

"What is a zoo, mom?" Nicole asked.

I had received a kind donation from my friends in Estonia that I said I would to use for the benefit of the hospital - that gift was going to help me make that Sunday special for Nicole.

"I am Nicole, what is your name?"

As promised I came to the "Casita" Sunday morning, yet found Nicole pale and sad, her mother brushing her hair. I wondered if she would still want to come. She did and three year old Clay, with his mom also came along. None of the group had ever been to the zoo.

That day gave many smiles to all of us, and made me think how just a little bit of effort could do so much. It also made me think of the "Casita" with its little inhabitants coming from far away - what else could be done for them?

SCHOOL AT THE “CASITA”

I had a vague vision of what I wanted but needed somebody to help me. I spoke a lot that week to many people, including the doctor in charge, and the idea became clearer: I wanted the school to have activities also in the "Casita". All agreed to it being a good thought and a necessary thing...still I needed more than moral support - I needed a person to do it.

"I want to talk to you" I told Lara - a German volunteer I met at the school. It was funny - she had been told I was a missionary (not quite true), so was prepared to hear a talk on religion. “Your religion is your daily life” says Gibran. If that is so, then I managed to “convert” Lara to my “religion” and after listening to my story with a taste of chamomile tea and empanada with cheese (a traditional Bolivian pastry) she said: “I will help you.”

Well, I understood something too: if I wanted to start something, then I had to physically be there. Lara would help me and that was already better than nothing.

The pink suitcase has arrived! Our first lesson...

Next Wednesday a small pink suitcase titled “Escuelita en la casita” (The “Schoolie” in the “Homie”) came to the "Casita". Children and parents gathered around the table and something new and special happened – there was a workshop, and more were to be held. We agreed to have two workshops a week, one of which would be arts and crafts and another “Cinema”.

Lara was a very enthusiastic and joyful person – easy and fun to work with. I felt we became more than a good team carrying out our lessons – we became friends.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

Once I asked Lara to replace me in the “night shift” at the hospital, beforehand giving her a small training: “Ask them what they want to do, and you will see what happens…”

When I met her the day later, she wanted to continue coming at nights. “It was so different,” she said. “the connection with children was much more personal and the time went by very fast” she said excitedly and then added: “But…Axel was feeling so bad – he was screaming. Now I feel ill too. I also had bad dreams.”

“That is level two”, I said. “It also happened to me when I worked here for my first three months. I was often ill, because I was frustrated to see my students to be in a lot of pain or get worse and worse…and finally pass away. ”

During level two you struggle thinking a lot about how much you can give, how deep you should get involved, how long you should stay and where is the limit…trying for your work not to cross into a too personal level. When your student becomes your friend, you have already crossed the line from cool, reserved and working hour limited student-teacher relation into a much more empathic relationship that touches both of you. Your physical illness is caused by your emotional struggle seeing him suffer, yet not allowing you to go all the way afraid that there will be more suffering or that you would lack strength to handle it.

“If only you had time, you would experience Level three…” I told Lara.

Level three is when a mother too tired to stay awake for she has not slept for 48 hours asks you to watch her dying baby, and you agree. That is trust – the highest prize one can hope for on both sides. Level three is when you are by her side when she gets the news that there is no more hope and you have to comfort her, for there is no one else. Level three is when you see and accept suffering and death and you see how a parent lets go of her baby and both find peace. Level three is when you agree to stay with her through the night at the morgue and you share the weight of the loss – makes it lighter to carry. During level three you visit the grave of your student and meet the members of her family. In level three you see Death as a part of Life and the hospital as a train station where many children depart from their parents. In Level three you also recognize the hospital as a battle field where the fighters are children. As you learn more about their treatment and illness you can help them fight in the light instead of darkness. But this is already level four. When you reach that level you will not feel tired or ill any more, but the time you spend at the battle field will rather give you strength. A good warrior ought to be in the best physical shape after all.

SCHOOL CUPBOARD

I ordered a cupboard to be put in our pediatric department at the hospital (that again thanks to the kind donation of my friends). I want it full of games and toys and educational materials for children - a kind of a mini-school that would open and close together with the big school in the yard. Not all of the kids are strong enough to leave their beds, not all parents want to risk taking their child too far from the supervision of the doctors. For the past six months I have been there to provide them with materials to work with, yet if I go – will there be someone to take my place? That is why I hope my auto-functioning School-Cupboard idea works and kids could have their pastime activity with or without a person present.

EXPECT NOTHING – RECEIVE EVERYTHING

Some results from the glass painting
workshop with the kind help of ACRI COLOR

With the financial aid I had received from my friends I went shopping for materials.

“So what are you going to paint?” asked me the sales woman when I came to pay.

“Oh, this is not for me,” I replied, “I work with children who are ill.”
“Where?”

“It is in the school for children with cancer of the Oncologic hospital.”

“I want to make a donation for you,” said the woman and allowed me to get all the materials that I wanted without me having to pay for any of them.

ONLY FOREWARD…

That smile is the best reward!

Giving gifts I did not know I had – yes, this is pretty much how I feel about everything that happened in the past months in the hospital.

The seeds have been planted – but will they grow? It is my last week in Santa Cruz. Many volunteers have showed up “out of the blue” and want to help. I am a hopeful.

Although I will not be able to see the next season here at the hospital - what fruit the field shall bare...yet I shall see and am very curious about that new seed planted inside me.

From here on the road only goes forward and the mountain of life that I am step by step climbing will open more views to admire.

When the time comes I shall stop once again, and it will not be to rest.