Things Left Behind by Dixie Johnson

A mushroom shaped ceramic piece; bright red with a warm tone, splashed with gold. This has traveled with me from one home to the next, for over 30 years... well maybe it’s been closer to 50 years. It’s amazing it’s never cracked, chipped or broken after the years of countless destinations.

Why, after all these years do I keep such a hideous piece of ceramic? My aunt - my favorite aunt - presented this to me in my careless early teen years.

Why is it so difficult to let it go? My life has been a string of losses. Nothing is left of my dad’s family. Really, not much is left of my family... Every year special occasions - “Hallmark Holidays” I like to call them - flood my mental space with a mix of emotions. The holidays are difficult enough without the physical presence of those that once echoed a familiar saying from years of family gatherings. I have a list of people that have passed away that is much longer than the list of people I socialize with today.

And, here I sit, wondering about things left behind, from people I once cared about.

Rage by Anonymous

Mindlessly, I reached up into the cabinet to grab a glass for water. As I looked at the blue, intricate juice glass in my hand, I was instantly transported to grandparent’s kitchen table. I recalled wonderful memories of cool mornings with the kitchen windows open; brisk wind flowing through the room as my cousin’s and I sipped our juice, and ate our white bread with salted butter and fried eggs.

Instantly, my mind split. My heart began to race. My breaths became shallow and rapid. My muscles tensed up. What was happening to me?

There was another side to this house, to my grandmother, to these memories. Terrifying flashbacks began to engulf my whole being. I was shaking.

Without thinking, I clutched the eerily blue juice glass and violently through it in the rubbish bin. I began grabbing all of the phantom figure liquid containers and rebelliously throwing them one by one into the depths of darkness.

Not Forgotten Familiars by Michelle Kalcich

A story about a nurse, yearning, and the sense of touch.

I yearn for touch
Five months ago I would never have thought that statement would be uttered by myself
I yearn for touch
Sitting close to friends as we share our lives
Knees almost touching
I yearn for touch
Holding small hands
Laps shared during story time and song
I yearn for touch
Hugs, embraces from family
In greetings and departure
I yearn for touch
A hand that lingers in understanding, support
Signifying I see you, I hear you
I yearn for touch
Casual brushing by on paths
In the woods
Close enough to hear breath and fine day greetings
I yearn for touch
Hello, smiling eyes, confidence
Unseen since Covid
We are all unsure in our bodies
Uncertain of an invisible vector
That has branded touch a mode of contamination
I yearn for touch
It's thoughtful intention, connection
A shared experience that makes us human

Here For You by Dashè Lawton

A story about a supervisor, a mother, and the willingness to listen.

Going into this visit, I had not planned any topic. This was my first time meeting with her. Her Nurse Home Visitor recently left Nurse Family Practice. She is in her 2nd trimester and has not received any prenatal care. This is her 6th pregnancy and all of the other miscarriages happened during the 2nd trimester.

Today, I am going to listen. She's been told about the benefits of prenatal care. She knows how to set up an appointment. But there is clearly something holding her back, and today I want to see things from her point of view.

When I saw her, I didn't pull out any paperwork. I didn't even pull out my laptop. I wanted her to know that I wanted to listen to her.

I probably shouldn't have said "I know you don't know me from a hole in the wall, but I want to understand what's going on.” and I probably definitely shouldn't have said "Look, I do not work for the doctors. I am here to support you." Maybe I should have said that differently, but I meant what I said.

I love the Nurse Family Practice program because it gives me a chance to listen. Listen to understand. Problem solve alongside mom, not just for her.

After our visit, she did establish prenatal care. She figured out how to get to her appointments. She now has a beautiful baby that I don't think she thought she would or could have.

In that moment, I was reminded why I love Nurse Family Practice. I'm here so moms can feel heard. Because then the fog can clear. Then solutions seem possible.

Social Media by Barb LeVan

A story about a nurse, a difficult phone call, and a team’s support.

This happened right after Pennsylvania was shut down from COVID; so… late March. I've had a client, her partner, and now child (who will turn 2 in September) since she enrolled while pregnant.

They have many strengths, but some challenges also; like behavioral and mental health issues. Now, they were going to be essentially homeless. They were going to live with a "friend.”

I received a frantic phone call around 10:30 pm on a Thursday night, late in March from my client’s partner. Something was happening in the house! I wasn't sure what, but I knew that someone had to make sure that the 1 1/2 year old little girl was safe! So, I called 911, and the police went out, calmed things down, and made sure that the little girl was safe.

Off and on, I spent from 10:30 until midnight, on the phone with this family. Some things were said during those call - out of frustration on their part, I'm fairly sure - that made me feel like a failure as an Nurse Family Partnership nurse (I'm also my own worst critic).

I put that sentiment on the Nurse Family Partnership (NFP) “nurse2nurse” Facebook page as a post. The responses that I received back from NFP nurses across the country however, lifted me up and reminded me that I am along for THEIR journey. That I don't drive their bus, they do. And that every NFP nurse has felt this way one time or another.

I made some new - if only through social media - friends that night.

Good Thing It Was My Shift That Night by Kate Rood

A story about a nurse, an unexpected arrival, and giving gifts, even when you have little to give.

I'm sweaty and grumpy. Full PPE (gown, mask, face shield, gloves) for the past 5 hours. Every time I exhale my glasses and face shield fog up. I just taste stale air from breathing in and out through my mask.

I get a call. The getting-a-call is not unusual, as the shelter gets calls all the time for new admissions for people experiencing homelessness who are positive for COVID, and need a safe place to recover. But the content of the call was unusual. A new mom and her 2-week old baby with COVID are on their way to the shelter. We've not had children come yet, let alone an infant. We’ve mostly had men, and most of them have been on the streets, or in the shelter system for a long time.

What am I going to do with a baby? My NFP training kicks in, and I start going through a mental checklist of what we'll need and how to get it. A pack-n-play for sure. Probably some clothes and blankets. Is she breastfeeding? Better have some formula in case. Haul a cot to a room that is set aside from the men's area.

Oh god, she just had a baby 2 weeks ago… How can I make this more comfortable for her? She'll need towels, toiletries. Let me get some snacks together too... Chocolate. She'll need lots of chocolate!

I think we're ready, or as ready as we can be with these circumstances. Man, I'm so hot and sweaty now. These plastic gowns are SO hot!

Greet her and the baby at the taxi. Help carry the car seat and diaper bag; get them settled in their room. Listen to their story: a C-section, discharge home, fight with the baby's father, leave to go stay with an aunt, the baby is running a 105 degree fever, take her to the ER. She has COVID, how did she get COVID? Stay at the hospital for three days, aunt won't take them back when it's time to leave, can't go back to the father of the baby's either.

So now she's here, and you just want to gather her in your arms but you can't because of this damn virus. So instead you listen and reflect. You praise her grace and strength. You tell her she's a good mama for taking care of her baby and doing what she needed to do despite really challenging circumstances.

And you wonder if she might be interested in a home visiting program called Nurse Family Partnership.

A Moment to Cherish by Stephanie Senegal

A story about a nurse, her father, and a deeply significant loss.

On June 30, 2014 I flew from Raleigh-Durham airport to visit my family in Alexandria, Lousiana for a 3-day weekend.

I walked into my parent’s house at 11:30 am and promptly kissed my father on my special spot on his right cheek (my brother’s spot was my father’s forehead). Everyone was excited to see one another. My dad had been ill for many months and had often asked my mom “When is ‘Dollbaby’ coming home?”

An hour later my dad’s breathing became labored, his skins was clammy, and we had to call the EMS to take him to the hospital. My brother and I followed and waited with my father to be examined. He was talkative, his usual kind, patient self. He told me that he was so proud that my brother had received his master’s degree the month before.

The doctor came in and told us that my dad had pneumonia and would be admitted. Later that night he took a turn for the worse and was placed in ICU for sepsis. This started a month-long process of up and downs, and my father never really spoke with words again. He would look at me and I could understand what he was saying.

Four times a day my mother and I would visit him in ICU. Finally, the decision was made to move him to a respite floor in the hospital. I would spend every night with my dad, crying, praying, and hoping. On July 24 his nurse pulled me outside of the room and said you probably should call the rest of the family because with the way he is breathing he will not live past tonight. Even as a nurse my heart and my mind were in denial. My favorite guy in the whole wide world couldn’t be leaving me!

Sure enough, as the day progressed the breath sounds became shallower; my best friend, confidante, Western-loving dad’s time on earth was drawing to an end. Around 7:00 p.m. my mother, brother, and I stood flanked around his hospital bed and watched as he slowly and tenderly took his last breath on earth.

For many this may seem to be a sad and morbid story, but for me, there is no place I would have rather been to watch my beloved father pass from labor to eternal reward.

Every day I yearn to kiss his right cheek one last time, but I am certain that we will meet again on the other side.

My beloved Ricky you were an amazing man who touched many lives. I am honored to call you my father.

Phone Calls by Rachel Ortiz

So many phone calls. I hate phone calls. They trigger an anxious response in me. One that can be overcome, but usually not without quite a bit of awkwardness.

This is not how I want to come off to my new potential clients. This is not what I signed up for. I signed up for my dream job; for spending time alongside mothers and their babies, sharing laughs and smiles in real time, delighting in the joys of parenting while holding space for the sorrows and hardships. This is some strange version of that. Where you struggle to even connect through spotty service, and the limited interaction that can be had over the phone or video. No sharing space, no hands on, no smiling from across the room as we both delight in what baby is accomplishing, and no end in sight.

But we must push forward. For our moms, for ourselves, and for the small moments where we feel truly connected with them, even from miles away.

Although this is not the situation I envisioned when returning from Unit 2 in March, it is the reality. And the reality is that we’re still helping people tremendously through this time.

Our moms feel heard and cared for as we make such an effort to remain available to them. I can only take this as an opportunity to become comfortable with phone calls, which I may never have been forced to accomplish otherwise.