Day Six
July 13, 2000

Now my heart will never be the same

by Cathy Chapman

Now my heart will never be the same.
by Cathy Chapman

For more than nine years I have heard about Operation Rainbow from my sister, Sue Ellen Ruggles, their director. My previous role has been to listen, attend galas and donate silent auction items. I have seen moving videos of the children. I thought I knew what it was all about. In this, my first mission, I have discovered I may have known what Operation Rainbow was about, but I did not have the mission in my heart. Now my heart will never be the same.

Cathy Chapman hands a bear to a patient in recovery.

The children, like any other child, came in with their parents or grandparents. They watched television and played with toys and each other. One child was not afraid of me, the stranger from a strange land with a strange language, and crawled into my lap. We communicated heart-to-heart, the universal language. Those having surgery were hungry, especially the infants. They were doing well with their family.

The time came to go into surgery. Gently the anesthesiologist or nurse anesthetist carried them to the operating room. No matter how gently the child was taken, the look and cries of fear let me know the child felt ripped from loving arms. For many, this was not the first surgery and they knew that pain would be there when they awoke.

The initial fear is not what first touched the deepest part of my heart. My world moved as I watched the parents. Mostly the mothers were here. The mothers and fathers would stand just outside the post-op room listening to their children scream as their precious ones came out of anesthesia. Many parents were in tears. When brought to the bedside after the nurses finished the initial work, the mothers and fathers reached out for their children, some tentatively, some in fear, some smothering them in their arms desperately desiring to take away the pain.

One day I watched a mother cuddle her crying infant, talking softly. I did not need to understand what she was saying. The words were written on her face. "Little one, precious one, I am here. Don’t cry. Everything will be all right. I am here." Suddenly it was my mother sitting there saying those words to me. I began missing her again knowing that I would never hear those words from her. Then I knew a basic truth, mothers are the same no matter where they are from. Mothers everywhere want their children whole and happy. They would take on the pain of their precious children if only they could.

There is a child screaming now. I’m not sure what is happening since I am in another room. I can imagine. She may have awakened in pain from the surgery or the IV. Maybe all that happened was that someone in scrubs walked up. Perhaps the child is hungry and is having difficulty eating with a sore mouth. The physical pain will soon go away. The mother’s pain will reawaken every time she remembers the cries of her child.

Will I remember the cries and the pain? No. I will remember the spiritual experience of feeling angels hovering over the beds of the children. Other angels surrounded the doctors and nurses as they did their work. Still other angels were comforting the parents. I will look into my heart and feel how much deeper their pain has carved my heart. More love can reside there now.

These children and parents, in their hopes and fears, love and pain, have given me a gift beyond price. For this I am deeply grateful to the God who has made us all. My first mission with Operation Rainbow has brought out the highest vision of who I am. I can see that it has done that for all of us.