A Southern Girl: A Novel

6: Hana

Confluence 47 “That is best. What is done is done. And she will thrive at the home. The nurse told me such babies are imported by wealthy Americans. She will have a good life.” “You are wise,” I said. She laughed softly. “No. Merely old. Have I told you all you wish to know?” “Yes . . . I suppose.” “You don’t wish the name of the nurse?” Of course I did, as she knew. “Hana, as I recall. A plain woman older than you. She had a knack with the child. It is well you came soon after. Another month or two and I would not have been able to recall the nurse’s name.” I rose to leave. “You have been very kind. Could you give me one more piece of information? Directions to the home; I do not know the city.” “I will direct you,” said Mi Cha. “It is easy to find, and you will ask another if I refuse. But my advice is to stay away. You have done well by your baby. Leave her there. This is only my advice.” “I wish only to know she arrived safely at the home.” Mi Cha smiled at me as a mother would. “Search your heart fully, child. You do not yet know it.” I felt my face redden. “Thank you for tea. I hope you find your dog.” “The dog is lost. This is certain. Still, I search. It is better than the reality.” Outside, I walked head down against the wind. It was so strange to walk where no one knew my name or had ever seen me before. The buildings along the way got bigger with each block, but the home was not so big. I went inside and asked for the nurse by name. j 6 i Hana Soo Yun’s condition was as I had feared: pneumonia. Her time outside the door in the cold had left her vulnerable to pneumocystis carinii, a strain of A Southern Girl 48 pneumonia common here in Asia. It is fatal if left untreated, and several of our children have died from it over the years. But caught in time, properly diagnosed, and treated with Bactrim, a full recovery usually results. When I visited her two days after she was admitted, she slept peacefully in a room with six other infants. I missed her on the ward, visiting her each week for the duration of her one month stay in the hospital, the time needed for Bactrim to do its work. On the day she returned to 3E, part of me returned with her. I really cannot explain why this was so. I have nursed and cared for hundreds of infants here over the years. I loved them all, but something about her left me hollow in her absence, and restored when she returned. When you see something that small fighting against odds so long, you cannot help but be inspired and to cheer for her. She nearly died outside the police station door. Had that old woman not come along, she would have. And then to be hit with a disease so commonly fatal seemed grossly unfair, like the gods ganging up on her. Some babies might seem doomed by such misfortune, but something told me these early tests would make her stronger. She needed to get stronger. She was asleep in the crib when I reported for work that day. The hospital stay had added weight, put color in her cheeks, and eliminated any trace of her nagging croup. I picked her up and carried her to a changing table, where I stripped her soggy diaper. I had just positioned her on a clean one when I saw them—raw ugly scars. The larger was a wide scar beginning under the left breast and extending toward the back. I turned her over. The scar protruded with suture marks on either side, running almost to the center of her back. Where it passed under the arm, there was a second scar, about three centimeters long. I had never seen scars like this. Something far more serious than pneumonia must have been detected at the hospital. I sent for her medical record, fearing the worst. To my relief, the record did not disclose the heart or lung surgery I was sure I would find. Only pneumonia, with a lung biopsy to confirm the strain. I called our infirmary. I asked Dr. Kim to come to 3E when he...