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As I once again leave my temporary assignment at the children's hospital, I inform my supervisor, a good friend, that I will not return if she calls me again. This last junket working with HIV-positive children has been particularly difficult on my emotions. Perhaps after doing this for six years, I am done.
Much of the pain this time has been caused by my increased inability to detach from my clients' situations, which I suppose stems from my losses over the past year and a half. As I watch these mothers struggle daily with decisions that may very well determine the quality and even quantity of life for their own children, I feel myself shrugging in resignation right along with them. I feel as though I have little to offer them at this point in my life. I am not strong enough to be leaned upon by others.
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While most of the patients' situations are just like the rest that I have worked with for years, one case has been especially difficult for me, that of little Flora. When I first met the nine-month-old, she was in for a follow-up appointment after a hospitalization before my stint here this time. She looked happy and was engaging, the only outward sign of illness being the oxygen tank that her young mother towed along. Her mother, a young woman with no other children and an estranged husband, was warm but quiet. I sensed that she was doing the best she could with what she had, and that caring for her daughter was the only thing that helped her to wake every day. That day, the little family required only my usual amount of assistance -- parking validation, food voucher, and a little reassurance.
The next time I saw Flora, she was in ICU for a recurrance of one of the several infections which she battled. As Flora spent the next several weeks on and off respirators, I visited daily to make sure that her mother and recently-returned father had their needs met so that they could in turn meet Flora's needs. On a respirator, paralyzed by medicine so as to make her more comfortable, Flora's condition appeared dismal. She did not visibly respond to sounds or touch. Still, her parents, and most often her mother, maintained their vigilance at her bedside, talking to her, bringing her favorite toys to lie in bed with her, keeping the TV on children's shows.
After years of working with parents who had so many unmet needs of their own that they were unable to tend appropriately to their childrens', it was striking to see this couple in action. In addition, the young woman had moved hundreds of miles to our huge, complex city from a very small town in a rural part of Texas just to be sure that her daughter received the best medical care available. The flip-side of this was that she was isolated from her family and lifelong friends, having only her husband and his mother nearby. After a few weeks, Flora's mother began confiding in me her deepest fears, her almost overwhelming sense of guilt, her relationship troubles, and her fading hopes.
While I tried to help Flora's mother find new social connections which would provide emotional support for her, she expressed interest but never followed up. Once, her mother came to town, and a new light shone in the younger mother's face as she introduced me as her friend. I sincerely wished that the relationship was only that simple.
Being with Flora and her family was like daily opening anew my own wounds which I had hoped were healed. As my relationship with Flora's mother blossomed, I wanted badly to share with her my own pain, as friends do. I even pondered once that it may be therapeutic for her, only to come to my senses again that my motive was purely selfish. "I really, really understand," I wanted to say to her, "I have lost children, too." Commiserating with another anguished mother was what I was seeking; fortunately, I guess, I never sacrificed my professionalism. Who knows what may have come from it?
As I updated my supervisor on each of my cases before leaving the job, I made sure that she shares my special concerns about Flora and her mother. Incredibly, just days before I left, Flora was finally released from the hospital again. She had seen her first birthday in the hospital, and I suspected from my experience with these children that she may see more here.
Part of me wanted to maintain contact with the little family, to be there for Flora's lonely but strong mother; but a larger part of me knew that this experience had brought to my attention more about myself than about them. Out of the confusion of emotions comes to me the fact that I have much healing to do as I gaze toward my own uncertain future.
© Tracy Morris
