Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: FRAGILE (02/23/17)
-
TITLE: Little Lol. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
03/02/17 -
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
I’d confessed to Patsy that being a stand-in for her regular night nurse, I knew little about her son and his care needs. “No probs,” she smiled, with the air of a seasoned professional. “I’ll talk you through it.”
I glanced around the cluttered room. Oxygen, suction, IV stands; boxes and boxes of sterile gloves, catheters, naso-gastric tubing, and all graced the space, allowing room only for one white plastic chair. This had the hallmarks of a very long night.
Initially, little Lol could be mistaken for a robust and healthy toddler with his head of shiny black locks and rosy-red cheeks. But nothing could be farther from the truth. Patsy had contracted an infectious disease during pregnancy, necessitating admission to ICU. She recovered well, only to give birth to a badly damaged, baby boy who wasn’t expected to survive.
But, little Lol was a chip off the old block; a fighter — just like mum.
The first night was the worst. I sat in the hard plastic chair, eyes glued to my charge; ears constantly alert for mucous clogging the airway, and the whispering, 24hour delivery of continuous oxygen.
As mothers do, I felt desperately sad for the plight of little Lol and his teenage mum. There would never be eye contact, as each deep brown eye, unable to focus, danced erratically to its own tune. There was no hearing, so he would never know the sound of mum’s lilting voice as she snuggled up close to tell him how much he was loved.
He had never tasted ice cream. All he would ever know was the fortified drip feed that kept him alive.
My one night cover for staff sickness eventually became my regular call. By now I was more relaxed around Lol, though ever conscious of his tenuous hold on life. Without the present medical input he could be gone in a heartbeat.
By night I sat by his bed; monitoring seizures, checking oxygen levels, administering medication and maintaining a clear airway. And sometimes I wondered why.
Why, if the tormented little soul could not survive without even one of these medical interventions, was he still here? Why, despite the unquestionable and selfless love Patsy clearly held for him, would she wish to prolong his suffering?
These were not my questions to ask, and as time passed I grew very fond of my brave little soldier patient, and Patsy and I became good friends.
Each night, after mum kissed Lol goodnight, and we were alone, I cupped both flaccid little hands in mine and began to ask God some soul-searching questions.
But I never asked God to heal Lol. Was I limiting God’s ability?
I asked only for peace for Lol and his mum. Was I indirectly asking God to take Lol home?
In fact, I did not know how to pray for little Lol, so I resorted to humming Sunday school songs into ears that could not hear.
Inevitably, the day came.
Lol was admitted to Paediatrics with a nasty chest infection. The regular antibiotics had nil effect and his condition was deteriorating. And mum wanted him home.
I was called in at short notice. We followed the bedtime routine as though nothing had changed. When mum went to bed I held his hand and stroked his steroid-blown cheeks, so he’d know he wasn’t alone.
In the early morning hours I sensed a change. I knocked on the wall to alert mum. Little Lol took his final breath in his mother’s arms. He was four years old.
Twenty-five years have passed, yet I still think about Lol and his amazing, inspirational mum, who vowed to fight on while ever he did. She now works with families facing similar heart-rending situations.
In my inept and bungling manner, I’d often tried to bring God into our late night conversations. She would never be drawn, but always smiled and said, “You don’t have to convince me.”
On moonlit nights I could see the parish church from Lol’s window. And eventually, that’s where he was laid to rest, just a stone’s throw from the house. The headstone reads,
Run and laugh and play little man, for now we know you can.
No, I didn’t need to convince Patsy to trust in God. Little Lol did it all by himself.
*True story
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
I hesitate to suggest any suggestions, especially since this is a true story. But I think there may have been a better choice of words than "badly damaged" to describe Lol. "with multiple problems" would be my personal choice.
I love that this is a true story. It's clear that this little boy had a great impact on those who met him.
I'm glad Little Lol lives on in the hearts of so many.