“Old babyface” – Surgery Day 6

The team is getting stronger with each day. The pain is still there under the surface, but people mask it to focus on the new cases walking through the doors. I arrive excited to see Ryene and hope that he’s happy to see me too.

Ryene commandos my iPhone

I set up my desk and pull the day's charts for Carolyn, asking her if it’s okay to go see my little friend. Of course – go! Coming into the recovery side of the pediatric ward, I see tired parents and children everywhere – some of the parents taking over the cots for a little shut eye after a long night comforting their children. I again stop and visit with each, looking at the amazing transformation of each child. Some see me in my scrubs and start to cry – us white people in medical uniforms are now something to be feared. I get it. I don’t really love medical stuff myself, but I do have a newfound appreciation for the people who give themselves to this profession.

About halfway through my stops, I feel some arms wrap around my waist and look down to see Ryene. His cot is at the far end, but he saw me and came over. His mother, a little embarrassed, is trying to pull him back to wait his turn, but he’s not having it. I let him hold my hand as I greet the remainder of the patients and families. It’s breakfast time and he’s supposed to be eating, but he wants to see “Caesar” again. I tell him to eat his breakfast first, to listen to his mama. I’ll come back in a few minutes.

Artists Ryene and Shenen hard at work, creating masterpieces
for me to bring home

I head over to the other side of ward to see the waiting patients -- those who will have surgery today. Shenen is there; she was part of our balloon game yesterday. She runs over and tags me on the leg to make sure I see her and then runs back to her cot. I say “hello” to the parents and the children before settling down on Shenen’s cot. I begin to show her pictures of my pets, family, and friends on my iPhone. Other kids start to gather around us looking at the pictures. We sit there for a little while and then the kids start fussing; I look up to see Ryene pushing them aside to get to me. He’s saying “Caesar!” over and over. I tell him to be nice and we all arrange in a circle while I continue to flip through the pictures. He’s letting the other children know he’s claimed me; we’re special friends.

Being an auntie, I keep a lot of children’s games on my iPhone. I whip out a few of them for the kids. Bug Squash is a favorite; this game has a screen with bugs racing across and the goal is to touch them (squish them) before they run off the screen. I’ve got about six kids all pounding on my iPhone and quickly realize that this little device won’t survive unless I find a less violent game. I pull up the matching game that has the kids using memory to turn squares over and find the matches. It’s really cute as they each take a turn, one after the other. They cheer when they finally make a match. We do this for about an hour and then I realize how much time has passed. I have to go back to work. Coloring books come out and the children go to work on their art. Ryene has to go change clothes so he can go home; he doesn’t want to go back to his mother. He pulls away from her grasp and insists on making me a picture first – a colorful horse, which he signs with his name before adding mine.

Me and Abegail having a little chat

As they color, I engage 16-year-old Abegail who is waiting for surgery later today. I ask her if she likes school. Yes, she answers shyly. What do you like to study? Math? No, she wrinkles her nose. She likes to read. Fiction, at that. I ask her if she as a boyfriend. Yes, again shyly, her eyes go down. Her mother jumps into the conversation and adds that grandfather is unhappy about this development. I then ask her if she wants to travel to America or somewhere else. Her face lights up – yes, she wants to go to America. Anywhere in America. I tell her to study hard at school and get good grades. Perhaps she can do an exchange. Maybe even with Rotary. The mothers hover around wanting to understand student exchange – one mother whose English is better explains it to the others. They all nod and smile together, and tell Abegail this is a good idea. I focus on her again and hold up three fingers and repeat three themes for effect: 1 – finish high school; 2 – go to university; 3 – then a boyfriend is okay. She smiles. She knows what I’m saying.

The mothers start asking me more questions. Do you have a husband? Children? Are you a doctor? No, no, no. I explain that I do business work, knowing I’ll never be able to explain what I do. They tell me they think I’m smart, and ask me how old I am. 44. Several shake their heads and start talking amongst themselves. They ask again. Then they ask me to write it down with a crayon as if something is lost in translation. They see the number and shake their heads in unison. One mother points to herself and says 44. Then another points at me and says “old babyface.” I have a new nickname from the moms.



Gift from my favorite Cebuano artist