2 am, she drinks another energy drink, and rubs her tired eyes. Her feet move fast across the intensive care unit floor. She cares not only for sick children, but she cares for their worry stricken, exhausted parents as well. It's just a pillow, just a ginger-ale, its just her talking to my son, making him giggle, she's gentle and kind, and I don't think she knows how much it means.
She's a servant, to people. A paycheck, it is nothing. People don't show compassion for a paycheck, real, raw compassion cannot be faked, it cannot be mimicked with selfish intentions. Compassion is out of love, and when my baby boy came into this world holding on for dear life, I entered a journey that would show me the compassionate side of this cruel world. I have met people like Amy, people who work late shifts, with long hours. People whose feet hurt and whose eyes are heavy, yet you can see the love in them, and for that love I am eternally grateful.
I see you, and I wish I had told you these 3 things
1. You are not just a nurse, you are comfort when I can't be here. You choose to be the "bad guy" in order to heal these children. You administer shots, place IV's, and slowly fill your heart with each and every patient, although they associate you with the pain. You are everything that God wanted human beings to be. It is humility, and it is pure love. You are serving a purpose bigger than yourself. You are amazing.
2. I know you are stuck with the grief of losing the little lives you've worked so tirelessly to mend, for nothing more than to see to it that that child will smile again. When all efforts are exhausted, and the time comes, you hold families hands as they have to say goodbye. That is not for a paycheck. That is love. That is selflessness. You cry for us, and stay awake at night for our children, even on your days off, there are just some of them that will never leave your mind, or your heart.
3. It wears on you. It hurts. You question if you want to do it anymore. In the end, you go back, you go back to the little hands of the little people, that you know have the biggest fight of all. You return to the fragile babies, and to the worried parents. You hardly give your heart a nights worth of healing before you go back to the hospital and allow those sweet children to tear your heart open again, but you do it. You do it because you love it. You love them, and no matter how hurt your heart feels, it feels so much more full in comparison.
I think the way you wear your hair in a messy bun and braid a piece back, is to be admired. I love how you make the extra effort to get scrubs with silly faces on them, I appreciate how you carry my daughters gift of a flower petal in your pocket. I see that little girls picture paper clipped to your chart. You carry her with you, you carry her home and in the car, because your forever tied to this. This place of healing, fighting, and sadness. You are so much apart of this side of the world so many never see, are afraid to see, and pretend isn't there. You are amazing, and you have chosen to embrace the fragile ones. You have chosen to shift your energy in order to give, and grieve for the sake of a child's smile, and if you don't love yourself completely I hope sincerely that one day you will, because to me, that is true beauty.
You may think that us parents don't see you. You may think our frustrations are aimed at you, but they are not. We are frustrated with what the world has handed us, and scared for our childs well being.
You are not unappreciated.
