Old Souls

Half a man's wisdom goes with his courage. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today I don't come to you with dramatic stories of roadside births, intense cardiac arrests ending in bold, life-saving measures, or grotesque gunshot wounds leaving you covered in the blood of another and the sweat of your own.  Today I come to you with reality.

I am not on an ambulance today, nor am I working in dispatch.  I am sitting at a hospital precepting paramedic students who are here doing their clinical rotations to gain experience in different fields.  Today's clinical: Dialysis.  Pediatric dialysis to be exact.  In a nutshell, these poor kiddos are in kidney failure and need special machines to filter their blood of toxins and waste.  It seems simple, but being on dialysis is life-changing.  Lab values have to be constantly monitored, medications have to be complied with, along with a whole host of other complications that can come about from kidney failure.  These kiddos have to come in, have giant, I'm talking GIANT (15g to be exact) needles jammed into their arms for these machines to pump fluids and filter their blood.  It's necessary but extensive.  Especially for a child. 

For a child to be in kidney failure is heartbreaking enough.  Some are born with defects, some just randomly wake up one day and their kidneys no longer function.  It's life's cruel luck of the draw and it's more than enough to sink any child, or parent for that matter, into a deep pit of despair and hopelessness.  As I accompanied my student to the dialysis department today, I spent some time speaking with the nurses.  They were pleasant and cheerful and quite welcoming.  Refreshing in such a somber department.  But it wasn't until after lunch when something struck a chord in my heart. 

I walked my student back to the unit after lunch and I stood there chatting briefly with the nurses.  I noticed that a child was walking into the room with his mother.  A beautiful boy, carrying his box of chocolate bars he was selling for some school fundraiser, I presume.  He was smiling, talking about his chocolates.  He bounced into the room like he was about to spend some time with his friends.  He and his mother walked in, found a giant, oversized armchair for him to sit in, and set down their things.  I noticed tubes from his ports hanging out of his shirt.  And I thought to myself, "How great, how courageous of a soul to be no more than 10 years old, to live life with dangling tubes and his focus is his chocolates!"

After this first boy, in walked another patient, and then another.  I realized there was no hesitation, no nervousness.  Just calm.  Peace.  These children of varying ages, entered the room, found a seat, situated their belongings and prepared for the 15g needle.  And they were calm!  If you told me someone was going to come at me with a 15g needle, I'd have told you where they can stick that needle!  But these children knew it was necessary and had just accepted this as a part of their lives.  Keep in mind, dialysis is not a monthly affiar.  Typically it is 2-3 times a week!  That's multiple days of telling your child, "We can't go to the park today after school.  We have dialysis," or "Your friend can't come over until this evening because we have dialysis."  Who am I to deprive my child of valuable facets of his childhood?  But these children do it with optimism, their parents with calm demeanors (Human nature says they're probably screaming in emotional distraught on the inside, but they show peace to their children.) 

These children know the hand they've been dealt.  And while some people would fold, these children fill that hand with chocolates.