"The Nun" | Memoir | Part I of VI | Foundations

I was a John Hayden Johnson Middle School student in Washington, D.C.

During one of my classes, I felt an intense pain around my belly button, which gradually shifted to the lower right side of my abdomen. The pain was so severe that I couldn’t stand up straight.

The school nurse advised me to go home and rest.
 
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Later, I developed a fever and started shivering. My mother prepared my favorite meal for dinner, but I couldn’t eat. I had lost my appetite. Seeing this, my mother decided to take me to her workplace the next morning for a medical check-up. She was employed at Med Star Georgetown University Hospital, a Catholic and Jesuit institution.
 
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At the hospital, Dr. Dillon diagnosed me with acute appendicitis. As my appendix had ruptured, I was immediately admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. An appendectomy was performed that very afternoon.
 
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This surgery holds a special place in my memory, perhaps because it was my very first.
 
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After the surgery, I woke up to find a nun in her habit standing by my bedside, smiling at me.

She held my hand and asked how I was feeling.
 
In my post-operative haze, I asked her, “Could you get me a chocolate candy bar?”
The nun responded, “Yes, my child. I will get it for you.”
 
Unaware, I drifted back to sleep.
 
When I woke up again, the nun was nowhere to be seen.
 
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Today, it’s amazing that I still remember what I asked the nun for in my post-surgery confusion.

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Meeting a nun was a distinctive experience, especially since my upbringing was largely centered around Christianity. Still, there was an undeniable aura of spirituality that radiated from her.
 
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My mother visited every evening after her shift, bringing crossword puzzles, my journals, and updates from home. I remember the way she adjusted my blanket and fluffed my pillow, her presence a balm to the discomfort I felt.
 
I stayed in the hospital for several days, surrounded by the soft hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of nurses’ shoes. The nurses were kind, but it was the nun’s brief visit that lingered in my mind like a dream. The nun’s voice had a melodic cadence, and her touch was gentle, almost ethereal.
 
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One afternoon, a volunteer brought a small care package to my room, stickers, a paperback book, and a single wrapped peppermint. I smiled politely, but it wasn’t the chocolate bar I’d longed for.
 
Still, I tucked the peppermint into my drawer like a treasure. Recovery was slow, but I eventually regained my strength. When I was discharged, I left with a scar on the lower right side of my abdominal area and a story that would follow me for years.
 
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That moment, asking a nun for candy while half-asleep, became one of those odd, tender memories that resurface when I least expect them.
 
It was my first brush with surgery, mystery, and the quiet kindness of strangers.
 
I never did get that chocolate candy bar.
 
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(Copyright © 2025 by Mia Z. Edwards. All rights reserved.)