It's suprising our patients don't all go batty being trapped down here. We let them out onto the deck once a day -but they can only go if they can walk up stairs, or if the elevator is working, or if they don't have an infection. And they are all crammed into these wards where the beds are only 2-4 feet apart, and many of the beds are double decker, with a caregiver sleeping underneath. Even at night it is never quiet for more than 20 minutes at a time: someone is getting up to pee, the nurses are opening cuboards or dropping things, the vital signs machines are beeping, someone's baby is crying, the patient from bed 2 is translating for bed 14 by yelling across the room...
Yet, it seems there are mostly smiles and laughter here. Our dungeon is full of happy noises, full of new friendships, singing and dancing, children playing, ladies chatting, male translators watching world cup soccer and squeeling like girls when they should be mopping the floor. Yesterday morning at 4 am an old lady fell out of her bed -a loud "smack," as her skinny bones hit the hard floor. I came running at the noise and found her squirming about with giggles, grinning in the dark so all I could see was sparkling eyes and her two partial rows of teeth. Later, when I was telling others the story and laughing at her she grinned and laughed too -then gave me a good smack on the head.
Today was Sunday. I was trying to sleep at 10 am after my night shift but I could hear the drumming and singing from the church service on Deck 3, just seven Anna-late-for-work seconds away from my room. I needed to sleep -but I wanted to be down there too. I wanted to watch our translators drumming and dancing till they dripped with sweat, to watch the serious faces of our patients while Clementine tells about Jesus, and to hear little 6 year old Tani yell, "Hallelujah! Amen!" at all sorts of inappropriate times, just because she knows it will make us laugh.
I often feel trapped on this ship. It really is a big metal cage, and it is more cage-like, more dungeony, down on deck 3 where the sun never shines. Yet, on the days I am feeling most trapped the best thing for me is to go down one more flight of stairs, down into the heart of the ship. All our prayers, all our hopes, everything that motivates us is down here. Everything that happens on the ship is us pouring out our lives so that new life can be born down here. We all give our days, our energy, some of us literally give our blood, so that good things can happen here. And they do. The air is sweeter down on deck 3, and it doesn't matter if it's raining 5 decks up, there is always a light down here that is more cheering, better for the soul than sunshine.
