Visitors!

Earlier this month I had the wonderful opportunity to spend a week with a courageous group of students from Fairfield University. Fourteen adventurous and loving souls landed on this beautiful island of Jamaica with open hearts and open minds, ready to embark on a journey that would open their eyes to a world beyond their comfort.

They were also my first visitors here in Jamaica. I hadn’t seen a single familiar face from my “previous life” in six months.

I was nervous to see them. How would I react? Would I cry? Would I be speechless? Would I feel out of place? Had I changed? Was I being over-dramatic?

Jocelyn, Jermaine, Erin, Steve, Jared, Laura, Catherine, Maggie, CJ, Mary, Sean, Matt, Shannon, and Kristen all gave me a breath of fresh air. It was refreshing to see these energized people so excited about this country and about service, both of which I have devoted a year of my life to.

A few days ago, my roommates and I visited Bustamante’s children’s hospital where the group from Fairfield had spent two days with the children in the burn unit. I was unable to share this experience with them during their week here, but the time they spent in this ward seemed to be the most challenging and heart wrenching for most of the group, so I promised to return to visit on their behalf.

Upon entering the ward, most of the children were napping, except for a teenage boy who was laying in bed in the fetal position. He couldn’t extend his entirely bandaged legs and he couldn’t even wear pants. He can barely move, and upon doing so, winces in severe pain. Even reaching for his tooth brush on the table next to him brings him to tears.

Perry has lived in the hospital since 2007 when his legs were severely burned in a house fire.

I remembered one of the Fairfield students talking about his day with Perry, and I asked if Perry remembered him.

“Miss, it was a boy with red hair…he was from somewhere with a “t”, right?”, he asked as he shared his tooth-filled grin with me.

“Yes, Perry… Steve went to school in Connecticut.”

Perry had a great personality and loved Harry Potter, which I thought was just fantastic (of course!) I tried to draw Harry Potter playing quidditch…he continued to color a deer in the coloring book, a task that was much more difficult because of his circumstances.

I helped him to eat his lunch, consisting of rice and fish, but the fish kept getting stuck in a tooth on his right side.

“Miss, can you help me get it out of my tooth, it is just so annoying!”

“How, Perry? How can I get it out? Should I ask a nurse?”

So a lot of my afternoon consisted of my trying to pull the fish out of his teeth with yes, my bare fingers, because he couldn’t do it himself. When that didn’t work, I would brush his teeth, with him encouraging me to “have faith…it will work, it just takes time”. I remember feeling determined to help him be comfortable, because he was just so uncomfortable…even if it meant sticking my hand into his mouth to pick fish out of his teeth.

Anthony is about three years old. He just lay in his crib, his entire head in bandages, practically unresponsive. I stood at the bars of his bed, my arm resting next to his, his tiny hand in mine, stroking his fingers and praying for him…I didn’t know what else to do. He was just so tiny and helpless. So innocent. I had never felt an urge to pray like that before. I just wanted him to know someone was there. I stood there, his hand in mine, for what seemed like an eternity.

A thought crossed my mind…and I wondered…what if…so I tried. I gently walked my fingers from his palm to his inner elbow, making slight “booping sounds” each time my finger tapped his scarred and somewhat raw skin.

After a few tries, I got a giggle. It was the most beautiful giggle! I did it again and got a heartier giggle. After a few minutes, he was moving around a little more…and a little more…all the while, giggling here and there. I thought there was a smile…he was surely making noises now too, I thought maybe it hurt him to speak.

Lauren came over and we sort of put on an animal show, at least with sounds. And before we knew it, we were helping him to stand in his crib! We asked a nurse if we could take him out to play, and then he was free at last, running around the room, his tiny bandaged heard bobbing up and down, his scarred legs scampering about and his splinted arm lying stiffly out to his side. A little bundle of life with an inspiring energy, bubbling about. I felt so grateful.

Thinking about them now, I miss them.