Emilie and I walked into the baby ward of the hospital somewhat hesitantly. We stood for a moment watching the nurses move around frantically. A small, very sick, baby was on the table in the middle of the room and a woman in traditional thick embroidered garments was crying. Eventually the baby had to be transported to the hospital.
I stood in the middle of the room, awkward, not knowing the best way to help. It didn’t take long before a nurse thrust a cross-eyed, two year old into my lap and asked if I could feed her. I sat down next to a French woman who has volunteered at the hospital every year for 8 years and we begin to converse in Spanish while spoon feeding the toddlers.
(Picture above is of Emilie and I wearing our official badges outside the hospital.)
It didn’t take me long to learn that the baby I was feeding was named Ismaelita and that she was severely developmentally delayed. After she was done eating we went outside. She laughed and laughed thoroughly enjoying any attention I gave her. As the morning progressed I took time holding and praying for many different babies, a tiny premature girl named Katherine, Saidy who I think has Down syndrome and Anna Ceila who was the size and maturity of a two year old but is actually five.
Eventually lunch time rolled around. One of the nurses thrust a bottle in my hands and asked if it I could take care of number four. I was a little daunted when I saw that he had an oxygen tube but he hungrily slurped up the contents of the bottle. As I held his stiff body, the baby next to me started to cry, hard. There are not near enough nurses to get to every crying baby so often times they are left waiting.
I found out that her name was Andrea and pulled her into my arms. Immediately she took a few deep breaths, sighed and quit crying. It was evident that all she wanted was to be held and comforted. Something in her deep, intelligent, brown eyes pulled at my soul. I attempted to spoon some kind of mush into her mouth for lunch. Andrea decided to help me by trying to hold the spoon a few times and we both ended up with food all over our clothing.
I later learned that she was in the hospital for malnutrition because her mom worked and didn’t take care of her. I hurt for her, all she desired was to be held and comforted. Leaving was heart wrenching. As soon as I set her in her crib, tears begin to stream down her cheeks and she reached up with tiny outstretched fingers. I forced my self to turn away, walk through the rows of cribs and outside into the daylight.
