Yesterday was a typical workday for me in most respects. The patients were good, the workload light. Good shift. Thanksgiving is next week. I've been looking forward to a little cooking with my husband and time spent with family. Only a few more shifts to go.
There was one patient, though, that reminded me of what I have and what I shamelessly take for granted every day. She is a young lady from Central America, diminutive, quietly hallucinating, and in the last weeks pregnancy. She speaks no English. She was brought to us from another county, and so she has no one close by to help her.
Her country has many Mayan dialects, so the translator we found - another nurse who had some Spanish in high school and college - had difficulty communicating simple medical questions to her.
"Have you had prenatal care?"
"Do you know how far along you are?"
I brought her some medication and a cup of ice water. I don't speak Spanish, but I did think to ask her, "Agua?" She nodded her head vigorously.
It makes me almost cry to think how frightened she must feel. Isolated by language, mental illness, and distance from family, she was utterly alone, in the care of strangers of whom she couldn't make even a simple request. She lay in her bed the entire shift, but smiled sweetly each time I came to check on her.
***
Today as I finish up a few tasks around the house, I'm thinking of her. As I sit at my laptop in the comfort of my own home, warmed to a perfect temperature, I'm cooking some rice for my dinner. It's not extravagant, but there is plenty, and I have more than I can cook in a year in my basement. Enough and to spare, to share.
I shall not want.
I will try to think of those blessings, and so many others I have, and be more thankful for them each day.
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