Tuesday, August 3, 2010

"One can pay back the loan of gold, but one dies forever in debt to those who are kind." Malayan Proverb

With the impending move, I've been thinking quite a bit about all those people here and all they have done for us. I consider many of them friends. They have gone above and beyond for my family and me.

There are those who have always been near and dear to me. They range from those I knew from the on-base playgroup when our girls were tiny (and who have moved around so much that I've long since lost touch with most of them) to our friends at shul who we're always happy to sit beside during services to those wonderful friends who not only waited with me at the airport when my husband returned from deployments, but were even willing to film the whole teary event, so that I could look back on it years later and still get teary.

Then there are those who only touched my life briefly, but did so in such a profound way that I will never be the same.

I was already thinking of one such person when I saw this article: Heartfelt thanks go to blood donors from the people they saved.

E in the NICU at 3 weeks old.

Our smallest baby had a blood transfusion in the NICU. We wanted to donate our own blood, but there wasn't enough time. So our teeny tiny baby received the blood of some wonderful person who donated. We know we can never find that donor, but somewhere out there in Oklahoma, a hero walks around--a hero who helped us keep the baby I feared we might lose. Yet I'm fairly certain that person has absolutely no idea what a miracle he/she has helped create.

The first time I held L.

When I was in the hospital, there was one fantastic L&D nurse I'll never forget.  She's been on my mind lately. The awful words featured on My OB Said What made me stop and think of the wonderful nurse I had who was the exact opposite of what I read there. I would do anything to properly thank her, but I don't even know who she is.

I know she worked at Integris Baptist in May of 2002. I believe her name was either Casey or Cassie. She had dark brown hair which she wore pulled back in a pony tail. She wore Hello Kitty scrubs. She had a soft spot for moms of preemies.  So, when other nurses relayed that my doctor ordered me confined to my bed (which meant no visiting my babies in the NICU), Cassie/Casey said, "Then we'll wheel her bed down there." She then whispered to me, "Don't worry. You'll see your babies one way or another."  Because of her, I did.  She had a preemie herself.  I may be mistaken because much of that time is a blur, but I  remember her telling me she had a son born at 27 weeks. She understood and she cared.

In the midst of a horrible experience and surrounded by some who didn't seem to care or even understand (my OB was miffed when she came to see me and I was in the NICU with the babies rather than in my room so that I could make her job easier), that nurse sincerely wanted to help and she did in more ways then she'll ever know.

I never got to properly thank her. Before we leave, I would love the chance to do just that and introduce her to the amazing 8-year-olds she helped me get to know as babies.

On their 8th birthday

ETA: You can read more about their early arrival on my post for Prematurity Awareness Day.  

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