At Night

Last night our bed was full.  I was squashed between a little boy, a little dog and my husband.  JAC dashed from his room and vaulted feet first onto my chest before falling into the canyon between our sleeping bodies.  He shivered as I slid him under the blankets, wrapping my arm across his shoulder and tucking his icy toes under my leg to be warmed up.  Even after his hasty retreat to our bedroom he seemed disoriented by sleep, and I did not have the heart to return him to his bed even as he kicked me restlessly most of the night.

In the dawn hours I rolled over and watched my little family in the amber light.  In the middle of the night JAC migrated to the far side of the bed and was curled into the hollow of Jess' chest. He has been familiar with this place since his babyhood.  Each curve of their bodies fit like well formed puzzle pieces.  JAC's head was just below Jess' chin and I felt like I was looking at the future.  Their faces are so similar in form and their expressions were so identical.  I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

Dirt, blood, mold - I could not decide which covered the concrete walls of the hospital corridors.  White paint was splashed with brick brown stains that grew up from the floor almost touching the ceiling.  We walked through the hallways that closed around you like dark tunnels and my chest tightened.  It was hard to breath.  It was hard to see.  Sporadic single light bulbs clung to the ceiling barely fulfilling their purpose.  A poster encouraging hygiene peeled off the wall curling at the edges.

This is the only Childrens hospital in Nepal.  Children lie listlessly on metal wracks covered in slim pieces of decomposing foam.  Parents slump near children resting their heads against the wall or talking quietly to each other.  IV's pump chemotherapy into a small child while the ward down the hall houses burn victims - their flesh melted away.

Nothing is guaranteed here.  There is often no running water and the stomach turning odor from the bathrooms drifts down the hall, heavy and wet.  Patients are not fed.  The hospital cannot provide food and families bring small provisions to cook on the hot plate in the corner.  Medicine is not available.  A small wall cabinet spills out half empty glass bottles of donated medication.  Recovery is not guaranteed here either and parents cling loosely to hope.

This hospital fights for funding from a corrupt government.  While Nepalis love small children, funding the recovery of a weak child is seen by many as a poor choice, because some believe that a sick child will only be a drain on resources in the future.

While my son sleeps nested comfortably between loving parents other parents sit in dark hospital wards without electricity.  They watch their breath form in the frigid air. They hold frail hands and cling to hope.