Connecting with Sense
by Kate Raymond (MSN ‘16)
This is a short reflection on my time with Carlos (name changed) at Niños con Valor, a
children’s home in Cochabamba, Bolivia. I started thinking about the five senses in a way
I hadn't thought about them before...
Sight
Carlos, I know you can't see me. Well, not technically. They tell me you are blind. Yet,
your deep brown eyes pierce mine and I am convinced that we are connecting. Your stare
penetrates my outer appearance and you see what's within. You see that I want to be as
tender with you as possible. You are a delicate child of God who is deserving of all the
love in the world. I study you closely, trying to figure you out. It seems you are trying to
figure me out too. You can see right through me, can't you? That I am scared and
inexperienced with a special child like you. We have so many quick fixes where I work
in the ER. Experiencing severe pain? Don't worry, I can get the doctor to write for
Dilaudid and your pain will evaporate with the push of a syringe. Is your blood pressure a
little high today? Don't worry, we can fix that instantly with some clonidine. But your
problems, Carlos, are not so easy. I am still trying to figure out how to help you. You
look at me like I should know. But what are you saying with those beautiful brown eyes?
Should I pick you up or put you down? Feed you more or feed you less? Wait, why are
your eyes rolling back in your head? Are you having a seizure? My heart starts to race.
Didn't you receive your seizure medications this morning? It says here in your notes that
you vomited after breakfast. So maybe you didn't receive them after all. Okay, now your
eyes are back to normal. My heart rate resumes it's steady pace. Carlos, don't scare me
like that!
Taste
Carlos, I am sorry that you can no longer taste warm milk or the smoothie that Tia Maria
just blended for you. They used to feed you through your mouth but it kept going down
"the wrong pipe" as they say. Your food was infecting your lungs and you were spending
way too much time in the hospital fighting aspiration pneumonia. I hope you understand
that they were only looking out for you - putting that feeding tube into your little belly.
Sometimes you let out a big yawn and I'm not going to lie, your breath is kind of stinky! I
see a bottle of Colgate mouthwash on the table next to your crib. I would love to give you
some to freshen that breath but I am not sure how. Maybe I should pour a bit on a piece
of gauze and dab the inside of your mouth with it? I don't know, it's not written in the
manual. I'll try to remember to ask one of the Tias. In the meantime, it takes me almost an
hour to give you a cup of juice through your feeding tube. A full 5 mL syringe of food at
a time. I try to go as slowly as I can because I don't want your tummy to fill up too fast so
that you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes I stare at the cup and it seems like I am not even
emptying it because the process is glacial! But as people have said to me as I've tried to
learn Spanish, "Poco a poco!" Yes, poco a poco, bit by bit, little by little, and eventually,
the cup is empty.
Sound
They say those who are blind have heightened senses due to lack of sight. Does that mean
that you are able to hear particularly well? Does it bother you when I sing to you in
English? I just haven't learned any Spanish songs yet, besides "Happy Birthday", and I
think we would both get tired of that one pretty quickly. You aren't able to talk, but my
favorite sound of yours is when you yawn. It's adorable and tranquil. The other sounds
you make are difficult for me to listen to. Your breathing is loud and raspy. I know it's
not your fault, though. You were born with a trachea that is flat, rather than round. That
air needs more space in which to travel! Therefore, it makes a lot of noise when air
escapes you, asking not-so-politely for more room. Then there's that cry of yours! I wish
you could tell me why in one moment you are completely calm and in the next your face
twists into a frown and you let out a piercing cry! What can I do for you? Are you in
pain? Are you hungry? Is your diaper wet? Can you sense it? That sometimes when I sing
to you it is not purely out of a calm and peaceful place but rather a desperate plea to
silence your cries? Are you tired of hearing the song "Jesus Loves Me"? I know I've sung
it seven times in a row. I am starting to get tired of it too. Maybe you would prefer
Broadway songs? I probably know a hundred. But Carlos, even when you cry, I am
determined to not let it bother me too much. I can't know exactly what you are
experiencing, but I imagine it isn't always pleasant. You are a tough little guy, you know
that? With me, you can cry out as much as you want and I will listen. Because I know
you listen to me too. It doesn't work one hundred percent of the time but it seems the
sound strikes something within you and you decide, "Her singing certainly isn't perfect
but it sounds better than my crying, so I'll stop for a little while".
Touch
Carlos, one of the main reasons I want to spend time with you is to hold you. You can't
sit up, walk, or crawl, so you spend quite a lot of time in your crib. Touch can be so
healing! During our time together when we sit outside beneath the swaying trees or rock
back and forth in the rocking chair, I try to transfer as much love and comfort to you as
possible. Your body is so rigid though! I wish I had a magic wand that could soften the
tightness in your muscles and the constant arching of your back. Your little hands are
always clenched into the tightest fists, like you are preparing to bang them on the table to
demand something great. I try to beckon them open to receive my pinky finger, but to no
avail. Such a stubborn little guy you are! We make due though and you are a still my
favorite cuddle bug. The Tias told me you loved massages to I beckon your little leg
muscles to relax while I gently massage them. When I put you back in your crib after
holding you for an hour or so, the imprint of your little head and bundle of blankets has
been imprinted up and down my left arm. Those aren't the only imprints you are making
on me, Carlos. With time, those marks on my arm will fade and I go about my life. But
your spirit and all of the senses that we are experiencing together will make an
impression on my heart in a permanent and irreplaceable way.
In Memory of Carlos
2012 - 2014