Remembering Grace

Part of my job at the Door of Hope was to care for the sick babies. Any time a child needed to be in hospital I was usually the one to take them through, and have them admitted. Any time we had children in hospital, we made sure they had an Auntie stay with them, but I would still go by as well to check on them and make sure they were getting the care that they needed.

Joburg Gen often felt like my second home. I knew my way through all the halls and could get around with my eyes closed. I knew which elevators worked, and which ones to avoid and rather just take the stairs. The security guards would always ask if I was there to fetch a new baby, and they would rejoice with me when a sick one could finally go home. The parking attendant would give me free parking on my birthday, AND on his birthday. Doctors would say hello as they passed me in the halls. The social workers would stop and tell me about a potential baby (as if just seeing me would remind them about a baby they had laying there). I knew which wards had the worst cockroach infestation, and which ones had the cleanest bathroom (clean being a relative term) I honestly felt like I should be paying rent to Joburg Gen for the amount of nights I spent sleeping on the cold, hard cement floor, with a sick little baby beside me. One ward; I rarely got to visit (thankfully). Only once in awhile I would have a baby sick enough to require admission to this ward. It was tucked away, almost hidden from the rest of the hospital. Door always closed; you could walk by it without even knowing it was there. But one step through the narrow doorway, made it very clear that you were not in a regular ward any more. This was the NICU/PICU.

Unlike the loud, busy, bug infested wards; the ICU was quiet, with only one or two visitors at a time. Only after getting approval from the ward clerk, could you enter to see you baby. Some of the babies were so small. Some beds didn't even look like there was a life laying there. Covered in plastic and all sorts of tubes; the smallest of the smallest humans, lay fighting for their life. A few beds held babies that were a bit bigger. One bed was big enough to hold a school aged child.

Thankfully, I did not spend most of my in this ward, but I did spend enough time there to make a friend. Her name was Grace.

Grace was a senior nurse in the NICU. She had worked there for 12 years. I had met her when I had babies admitted to the ICU. The ICU is an emotional roller coaster. These children are sick; fighting between life and death. Parents pray unceasingly that their child will choose life. I was no different. Standing over my child. Praying for them. Talking to them. It was emotionally draining knowing there was nothing you could do to save them.

BUT GRACE...

Grace fought for my babies like they were her own. She monitored them closely, and noted every slight change. She would rejoice over the smallest improvements, and pray through all the set backs. She provided a mother's love when I could not be there to do it myself. She would call me when she though they wouldn't pull through, and would praise God with me when they did. I made sure to always bring her pictures of the ones who survived, so she would be reminded of the fact that what she fought for every day was so worth it. Grace loved like no other nurse did. Grace was always there.

I remember one time in the ICU; it was Easter Sunday. I had a little girl fighting for her life. She had been going downhill all weekend. I knew it wasn't good. When I got there Sunday morning, I found Grace hard at work once again. Trying to figure out what might help this baby girl keep fighting. Checking all her vitals, advocating for my baby girl to the doctors. I had to run home with another one of my babies (who had been discharged from another ward) and I told Grace I would be back that afternoon but to call me if my baby wasn't going to make it. I had just dropped off the healthy babe at the house when I got a call from Grace, telling me to hurray back. Once again I found Grace by my baby's bedside. Even as I watched my baby pass away, Grace was there. She didn't take a lunch break, or even a coffee break. She was there to the very end. Once my baby had passed away, Grace found a beautiful knit dress and hat to dress her in. She wrapped her up and handed her to me to say goodbye. Grace held me as I wept. She prayed for me. She told me that God was in control. Grace was more than just a nurse; she was a friend.

I continued to visit Grace even when I didn't have babies in the ICU. I would take her and the other nurses chocolate on Easter. I would bring Grace a special gift for her birthday. She worked hard. Always fighting for the least of these. Often times missing out on her own family's special occasions because she had to be at the hospital, loving babies to health or death.

Last May while I was there for two weeks, I went by to visit Grace. That is when I found out that she had passed away in February (2011). She got sick, and couldn't get better. She left behind three children and two grandchildren. I was shocked. I was sad. Grace had always been there for me and my kids when we needed her. Now I hadn't been there for her.

It has now been one year since Grace passed away. I am not in South Africa, and I have no babies in ICU; but I miss my friend. I will never forget her. I go through school with her on my mind. I pray that one day, I will be the kind of nurse that my friend Grace was: compassionate, loving, hopeful, positive, unwavering in her faith. She was a perfect example of what a real nurse should be. I hope one day, I can be the nurse to someone who needs it as much as I did when I had Grace.

It's a new week, with many people to encounter. Let's live it with grace on our mind and in our hearts.