I had just stepped out of the nurses’ changing room when Nurse Damian from Pediatric Surgical called out to me as he walked down the lobby,
“Nurse Zita, thank God you’re back on duty. Ella has been asking for you. That young girl is as strong as a drop of diamond; she wants to know if you brought the stuff.”
Deigned With My Image Using Canva
"Yes, I did,” I mumbled under my breath. I proceeded towards the elevator while trying to balance the cup of decaf I was holding. I punched in the button that flashed the number 11—the pediatric surgical floor—and waited to get to my floor.
Ella had been assigned to me the week before; she was a very chirpy and well-spoken young girl. Unfortunately, she had been battling with leukemia for the past two years. By far, her case had been the most difficult I’d had to deal with since my past year of working at St. Luke’s Children’s Hospital.
Over the past week, it has been debilitating to watch the light gradually disappear from her eyes. It was becoming more evident that she was fighting a losing battle. Her organs were failing, and her condition was deteriorating slowly.
And as though she could sense it, the day before, in the middle of giving her a bed bath, she glanced towards the window and uttered, “Nurse Zee, I want to see my parents again before I die.”
“Honey, you know that’s not possible, and I've told you to quit with the negative self talk” I said while flashing her a kind hopeful smile.
The last memory of her parents she had was filled with screaming, screeching tires, and shards of shattered glass flying in every direction. She was five when the car accident happened.
One minute, she was strapped in the backseat licking ice cream, and they were on their way back from Disney World. The next minute, there was a loud ringing in her ear, and a stranger was pulling her out of the car, which had completely caved in in front, instantly killing her parents.
Ever since, the foster care system has been bouncing her from one household to another. She’d more or less been a regular presence at the hospital since her condition was diagnosed.
“Weren’t you and Nurse Patricia talking about some magical coffee beans that let you remember forgotten memories?” She asked, her eyes coiled in mischief.
“Girl, how many times have I told you to stay out of grown folks’ business?” I lightly shoved her leg with my fingers in disbelief, careful not to cause too much pain.
“Your voices were loud, and you were right beside my bed,” she said, in a bid to defend herself.
“You were supposed to be sleeping,” I said in return.
“Whatever! But could you please get me some? I want to see my parents one last time before the universe takes me away.” She pleaded, her eyes glistening in the light.
“I don’t even know if it’s safe for a child to drink,” I rebutted. “I don’t want anything happening to you."
"Please, Nurse Zee, this will be my last request. I need to see their faces one last time; it will give me strength to move on,” she begged.
At the sound of that, my heart wouldn’t let me say no. So I promised to get her some.
That night, as I clocked off my shift, I went straight to the supermarket and got the decaf option. I then prepared a cup of the magical decaf coffee the next morning and headed to work.
The elevator door opened, and as I made my way to Ella’s room, I couldn’t nudge away this weird feeling in my gut.
The moment I entered her room, she greeted me with a tired smile.
"Hi, Nurse Zee,” she croaked out.
I had seen her when she was having her low moments, but this was different. She was in a sitting position, with her back hunched over as though she didn’t have the strength to sit up straight. Her face was droopy, and she couldn’t hold a smile for more than five seconds. It was nearing time.
"Hello, sweetheart,” I greeted, giving her a warm, comforting hug.
“Did you bring it?” she asked.
“I sure did, honey. But first, let’s get some fresh air." I said.
I then transferred her to her wheelchair and wheeled her to the balcony of her room. I handed her the cup of coffee and watched as she sipped through the biodegradable vegan paper straw 😜.
Two sips in, and she was pulled into a trance. Her body remained still while her eyeballs rolled backward. I immediately became worried and was about to hit the emergency button when she touched me and smiled.
“Mummy, Daddy!” she said, with a huge smile on her face.
For a moment, I could see the light she had gradually lost; it began to seep back into her weak, scrawny body. A little teardrop escaped my right eye. I felt honored to witness such a beautiful moment.
She then came to, after some minutes, with a newfound strength and zeal to transition into the world beyond.
All Images are Mine