The doctors decided that Dah had been at the hospital long enough (she's been taking care of her younger brother who is malnourished and has AIDS...there are no parents...no mother and the father is in the last stages of TB/AIDS and is dying at the Referral Hospital in town). I went in this afternoon to sit in on rounds and check on a few patients who have been at the hospital for as long as I have been in Cambodia. One of the children, who's mother I absolutely adore (the mother with the biggest smile ever!), was moved from the In-Patient Department (stabalized children stay there) to the ICU (intensive care). His pneumonia has advanced and they have him on a defribulator. The mother looked defeated. It was really heartbreaking to see her that way. No more smiles. Just sitting there by his bed looking tired and worried. I hugged her and she gave a small smile. Then, eventually, we made it around to the LAU (where Dah and her younger brother, NY, had been staying in bed #6). I looked to bed #6 and there were two strange bodies in the bed. A mother and her grown child. I was instantly panicked. What had happened? I just spent two hours with Dah the day before. I asked the LAU nurse if they had gone home. "Yes," he said. They discovered that the sister (Dah) could administer the HIV medications perfectly and so they sent them home and she would continue to care for Ny. My heart sank. How could she have left? How could I have not been there to say goodbye? I still have pictures to give to her. Where is her home? Will I ever see her again? Or will I spend the rest of my life wondering what has happened to her and her brother? She was my best friend at the hospital. She was a great friend. So I will ask the homecare team to take me along if they ever go to do a "follow-up" visit on her brother. I want, at least, to say goodbye.
