By Nellie Curtiss …
Just a few hours ago, now, Kathryn Faith Love was born at the small one-floor hospital built into the side of a local mountain. At 8 pounds three ounces, she was the hope of the whole nurses’ station, her parents and all her cousins.
As the time zones were all shaking hands with December 25, the birthing team rolled Mrs. Love into the delivery room a couple minutes before midnight on Christmas Eve. Mr. Love and son Jesse were tapping fingers in unison in the waiting room when the doctor emerged to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree piped in over Sirius.
“We have news! Kathryn Faith Love, your baby girl and your little sister is here,” Dr. Geri Forks announced. Through their masks covering their noses and mouth, dad and son called, “Can we see her? Can we?”
The doctor hesitated and said, “In five or maybe ten.” Then off he went back to the delivery room.
Jesse and his dad heard the whispering. “This little girl holds the hopes and faith of so many,” the nurses said. Above them, stars in the Milky Way twinkled and hearkened back to the star of Bethlehem. Still, a Christmas Comet named The Leonard Comet discovered by a celestial observer was rapidly blinking on its trek to the sun and not far from Venus. So many signs pointed to the revelry as Mr. Love hugged Jesse.
It’s not surprising that so many at the hospital built into the mountain would look to an infant for hope. The last several years had been strewn about like a wildcat operator fumbling through stacked supply cars on the dock in San Francisco. The health care workers were overworked, and every last ounce of hope was robbed from them as they delivered shots in arms and begged more citizens to get protected from the deadly, non-discriminatory germ.
Then these front-line guardians tended to those who came in via ambulance with fluid-filled lungs and coughs galore. Temperatures were higher than attendees hoped as they were forced to intubate the worst among them. The country’s last count had 800,000 people died from the plague. Back when the bug took out the first traveler in the northwest, the government ignored the deadliness of the prickly germ. That changed as the newly installed presidency chartered a new path with financial and medical help that was long needed.
Here in this county, many adhered to cautions as evidenced by shoppers at Safeway when they and all the grocery store staff masked up. Yet still some were thumbing their noses at experts who said everyone needs a booster, too. People who did not have schooling in medicine or biological infections acted like they knew more and gravitated to absurd notions that microscopic robots were inserted in the serum; thus, they believed the dark side of government was using mind control over the whole population.
Still, the science persisted. Soon in the county more people were vaccinated than were not. The latest tide of infected were the unvaccinated. News reports from the ward showed only one infected citizen was attributed to “breakthrough impurity.”
So, in this atmosphere, little Kathryn Faith Love was a godsend to the nurses, to her parents, to her family and community. She was a reminder that babies of parents who have been inoculated have a better chance at thriving and living beyond this age of a gotcha germ that targeted everyone. In the bassinet in the other room, another baby was born with the crud and her parents had not been inoculated. In fact, her mother was in a coma and her father was still wheezing. Her aunt, who received the vaccine, was swaddling and bottle feeding the infant and all the while praying for her life.
The nurses hope that the baby Kathryn’s healthy status meant a corner opened up to a vast horizon of vaccinated people ready to face days and nights with faith, hope, and an abundance of love. After Mrs. Love nursed Kathryn, the seven floor-nurses took turns rocking the baby girl named Kathryn.
One of them whispered, “Kathryn means ‘pure.’ So, her whole name is Pure Faith Love.”
Another added, “What a beautiful Christmas. Now, we all have hope.”
Columns by nellie 