Our Little Star

Estrellita was our 2nd foster child.  She was our first and only toddler.  At 3 1/2, Estrellita, who preferred to be called, "Little Star", was a feisty little girl, with a determination that wouldn't stop.  I met Star in the rehabilitation hospital, where she had been living for the past year.  At 2 1/2, she had fallen into a pot of soup, and had been burned over 70% of her body.  She was a scared, but rambunctious toddler who loved attention.  I spent the better part of a week at the hospital learning to care for her wounds, and attending therapy with her so that I could learn her daily exercises and stretches.

Star and I left the hospital, armed with boxes and boxes of medical supplies, about 15 prescriptions, and LOTS to learn about each other.  Being Hispanic, Star's native language was Spanish, but she had started learning some English from the nurses and therapists at the hospital.  The language barrier was only one of the many hurdles we were to encounter in the upcoming months.

Every morning at 6:00 a.m., Star would have to be taken off of her nightly feedings through her belly, and the "button" (where the feedings entered her stomach) would have to be flushed.  I would get her dressed, cleaned up (if she had wet the bed, as she usually did), and drive her to meet the hospital van.  She would then ride in the van for an hour to spend the day in therapy at the hospital. I would pick up a worn out, crying, little girl in the late afternoon, bring her home, feed her, and start the grueling process of addressing her wounds.  I use the word "grueling" for her benefit.  Yes, it was time consuming, and I was often "worn out" myself.  But it was nothing compared to what she had to endure.

As soon as she finished dinner, Star would have to donn a silicone mask to reduce the scarring on her face, and an airplane splint that held her arms out away from her body, to prevent further contractions in her arm pits.  She hated this and almost always cried.  But being the trooper that she was, she would hold her arms out for the splint, and allow me to put the mask on her face, even through her tears and protests.  Star couldn't play in these "contraptions", so I would lift her onto a chair and she would watch "Dora" movies (her favorite!) for a couple of hours.  It made me sad to see her obediently sitting in the chair like that, watching her Dora movie, when I knew she would rather be running around, playing with her dolls, and riding her tricycle around the dining room table. There was a lesson for me in that.

I often gave in and allowed Star a few minutes of real "playtime" before we started her nightly burn care.  I knew it would mean less sleep for the both of us, but she was "my child".  How could I say no to her longing to be a kid? 

My first task each night was to convince her that she would have to take a shower, not a bath.  The burn specialist had agreed that she could take a bath once or twice a week, but showers would be a must to keep her skin from developing infections.  Star loved taking baths.  She would play with the toys, pretending to have tea parties with her friends, pouring the water from a plastic pitcher into the plastic tea cups.  My heart was happy to see this, but unfortunately for her, it was a rare occasion.  Once we entered the shower, I used a special soap to disinfect Star's skin and scalp.  It wasn't the normal "smell good, foo foo" soap and shampoo that most little girls love....it was a hospital grade, institutional smelling, drying, anti-bacterial soap that had absolutely no "fun value" to it, whatsoever.  After her bath, Star's skin had to be lubricated from the top of her scalp to the tip of her toes with a special cream, and her wounds had to have antibiotic cream and medication strips placed on them before being wrapped with gauze.  We then started the difficult process of donning her pressure garments.  If you have never had to wear a pressure garment, consider yourself lucky.  They are difficult to put on,  and near impossible to put on a wiggly 3 year old.  Star had pants, a shirt, and gloves that had to fit snug, in order to reduce the scarring that the burns would cause.  Next, her feeding bag had to be filled with formula and attached to a machine that would send the formula through the tube into a hole in her belly.  The hole in her belly had to be flushed with water and medicine, which was very painful for Star.

Once this was completed, I always breathed a short sigh of relief as I helped Star get into bed.  As she lay back, she would start giggling.  "Mack, Mack," she would say.  What???.....Oh, I forgot her mask!  It never failed.  By the time I would get to this point in our routine, my mind was on autopilot, heading for my pillow.  I reached for her mask and her hand splints that she would have to wear while she was sleeping.  As she laid her head on her pillow, mask and hand splints in place, she would say, "Good night, MiMi, I love you."  "I love you too, my Little Star".  I would say her prayers with her, pull her princess netting around her bed, tuck her Dora doll under her arm, and kiss her goodnight.

As I walked to her bedroom door, I almost always stopped, turned back and grieved for the sweet child that lay soundly in that bed.  She was attached to a feeding machine by a long tube that made her belly hurt when she moved, she wore a face mask that made her face and head sweat profusely, and she had hard plastic splints covering her hands that made it impossible for her to use her hands, even to scratch her skin that itched constantly.   I could only look for a few seconds.  My heart couldn't bear more.  How does she sleep so soundly?  How can she be so happy every day?  There was another lesson for me in that.

Star lived with us for only a couple of months.  She moved to Lincoln to live with another foster family, due to safety concerns, involving her biological family.  Even though our time with her was short, she taught us more about ourselves, love, and patience than we could have ever imagined.  To see her go out in public for the first time, feeling the stares and whispers of other people (many of whom were adults!), and keep her head held high and a smile on her face made me swell with pride for her.  I was humbled by her ambitiousness to live life to the fullest...making friends at daycare, talking to strangers at the grocery store, and desiring Curtis and I to be her "MiMi and Poppy" without hesitation.

Curtis and I still see Star now and then.  She is in a wonderful foster home, with a mother who is willing to adopt her.  She loves her life and is very happy.   I have no doubt that God sent "Little Star" into our lives for a specific purpose.  I hope that her time with us not only changed our hearts, but also hers.  My prayer for her is that she continues to trust God to bring people into her life that love her and want to care for her.  May she always be a "Little Star" for Jesus.   

Love to ya!
Shell