There was this friend of mine, a coworker. We used to hang out together at work before I became pregnant. She was a labor & delivery nurse, and it never failed that when I was admitted to the hospital, she would be taking care of me. She used to jokingly act angry that I was supposed to be an easy patient, yet I always ended up on a mag sulfate drip or had contractions that freaked her out. Or I would have to take a ride across the river. I was far from easy, yet she was always there. I had to have worn her out, yet she never made me feel as such.
She was the one who walked in on me, sitting on a garbage can in the bathroom of my hospital room while John helped me wash. I had been on a mag drip for days, and thus had strict bedrest orders. This meant I couldn’t even take showers and, due to the drugs, I didn’t even have the strength to try and clean myself up in the bed. I didn’t even feel human. It was somewhere toward the end. And John showed up with an enormous bag of bath products and helped me break orders. She caught us, but one look at my tear-streaked face, and she didn’t say a word. She knew what I had gone through, and just bowed her head and closed the door.
She was working the night after Zach’s birth. She gave him his first real bath after he got out of the NICU.
The environment at work changed, and I only see her occasionally in passing. I found out today, through Facebook, that she is leaving the hospital for bigger and better things.
I never got to tell her thank you. Well, not adequately anyway. But how can I ever say anything that would be adequate when I see her face and her work when I look at my youngest son?
Best Wishes, C. You’ll be missed.