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.