Gratitude to my Filipin/x nurses and Baby narcotics

Joella Cabalu

I.

I didn’t expect to cry.

“Is this your first time?”

I had never stayed overnight at a hospital

with no clear end in sight.

I knew you were Filipina.

I can’t remember how

I confirmed it

But as soon as it was known

You dropped into a rushing stream of tagalog

I didn’t have the energy

to catch up

to hold on

I let you talk to me

wash over me

in a familiar foreign language

while searching

for a vein to IV.

II.

The second night

I had a panic attack.

Woke up to the door shut

Darkness

A scary man yelling

in the hallway

at my sisters

Threatening

Unrelenting

Dangerous

My sisters

They sounded

frightened

or

unbothered

Were they laughing?

My mind goes to Atlanta

I’ve never felt terror

like this before.

What do I do?

How can I reach them?

Are they okay?

My head pierces

My side groans

I push the button for help.

III.

Morning comes at 7:00 am.

Shift change

Daily vitals

Barely awake

I stick out my limb

for more pokes.

A new nurse

I see you

Running off your feet

attending to 8 patients

including my roommate

84 years old

She barks

Barks

BARKS at you.

Can’t IV there

Change my commode

Can’t

Stop

Don’t

You remain

gracious

compassionate

caring

to this rude entitled woman.

I see you

Trying your best

to stay calm

to control emotions

You exit the room

I hear you

Venting in tagalog

I don’t fully understand

but

it sounds like

you’re going

to kill

the octogenarian.

You swap out.

Another nurse

takes your place.

“Where’s the other lady?

She was doing such a good job.”

IV.

I realize

the futility of clanging

pots and pans

The cheers and dishware

don’t penetrate these walls.

I wish for you the power

to freeze

time

to stretch

time

to contract

time

to step away

from ungrateful bastards

before returning

to the mask

of servitude

and sweet placating voice

V.

Finally.

I am leaving.

Thank you

Salamat

for your chismis

cackling laughter

your rebellion

to seek joy

in the face of disgruntled patients and visitors

who demand you

to shut up

to speak English

Your voices travel to my room

Soothing

Healing

Lulling me to sleep

as deeply as the baby narcotics

prescribed for my pain.

Joella Cabalu is a Filipino Canadian documentary filmmaker based in Vancouver, BC. Her films lay bare narratives about intimacies, identities, and relationships. Gratitude to my Filipin/x nurses and Baby narcotics is her first poem ever.

Artist Statement: When thinking about my experience with being Filipino and my in/ability to understand the familiar yet foreign language of Tagalog, I am transported to my recent extended stay in a hospital this year. I was admitted with a kidney infection and over the course of 5 days, I was surrounded by and cared for by Filipn/x nurses. It was an incredibly stressful time, exacerbated by COVID-19 protocols, limiting my contact with loved ones. I felt alone, in spite of having a nasty elderly roommate. But hearing the voices of my nurses in the hallway, chatting and giggling in Tagalog, gave me so much unexpected healing. This poem is a glimpse of my experience, my feelings of terror and rage, comfort and joy, and reflections on care work and the Filipin/x who rise above it all.