Closing down the Wards

This week we close down the wards.

That means that the patients are leaving. Some are not finished healing yet and so we are scurrying to find places that will take them so that dressings can be changed regularly. Also there are people praying 24 hours a day for the ones still here as they prepare to leave. A few years ago, as the wards closed down on the Anastasis in The Gambia, a nurse wrote the following poem. Though the ship is different and the country is different and the names are different, the emotions are the same and I cry each time I read it. Here it is....

It doesn't seem possible that
the chatter of foreign tongues
the clapping of tiny hands
the clanging and banging
the coughing and snoring
will cease in a few days.
That by this time next week
the ward will be a large empty room
in need of a deep cleaning.
There will be no need
for translators
for nurses
for oxygen saturation monitors.
There will be no wandering children
with stuffed animals tied
to their backs
like little mothers.
The Jesus Film Jesus (speaking Wolof and Mandinka)
our constant companion during these months
will return to his shelf in Hold 2.
At the same time, the idea of cruising to the finish line merely on momentum seems impossible.
"Winding down" for the ward is more like an all out sprint to the end
"Closure" means making sure sutures hold and infections clear
before the line handlers man their stations.
"Wrapping up" means arranging followup for bottom of the ninth patients.
The END is so nearly tangible
Yet with shocking suddenness we will stare at
empty beds
empty chairs
empty shelves
while we celebrate completion.
We will soon discharge ourselves from our own little hospital. On our way out the door, we will take the hand of The Gambia in that familiar
Two handed handshake...
and thank her for teaching us dignity and compassion.
Fatoumata, Mohammad,Smiley...
Mariama, Ebrahima, Yahara...
Abdul, Amadou, Isatou...
Kaddy, Louis, Lamin...
Lalo, Dawda, Saiku...
Awa, Ebou, Ancha...
Janka, Binta, Ousnu...
We thank you.
You have been excellent teachers.
Last one to leave the ward:
please unplug the coffee maker
and turn off the lights.

Poem by Kristy Layton