Shane Degracia, RN posted this on his Facebook page, a tribute to Maria Guia Cabillon, head nurse of New York's Kings County Hospital Center’s Emergency Department, with whom he worked with over six years.
Guia looked upon her fellow nurses as her "kids" and they, in turn, affectionally called her "Mama." Guia passed away April 26, a victim of the coronavirus. "Fatima" mentioned in Degracia's blog is Guia's daughter, who is also an RN.
Following is Degracia's moving post:
MARIA GUIA CABILLON, RN, HN, Certified Badass, Wonderwoman, Superhero, Mom
SURREALThat is what today feels like. It still hasn’t completely sank in. Who knew how two words on a screen can turn the world upside down and cause time to stand still.
2:13PM - MOM PASSED. Fatima told me later on that you had passed on at 2:01PM.
My heart sank and somehow I felt numb. Since your hospitalization, we've all been on edge and hopeful for your recovery. When you were transferred to Maimonides, I was in awe at the mobilization of an army of your children to try and do what we can to take care of you from outside.
I didn't know that an already broken heart can break even more. Everyday, I anxiously await any word from Fatima about you, afraid to open the message that I received today. Memories of you flooded my mind as the rain poured outside. I thought to myself that the skies were crying with us. Crying for you. I played the song "Remember when it Rained" by Josh Groban.
In the 6.5 years I've been at County, you've made work feel like home. You are truly our MOTHER. You embodied that word to the tee. You took all of us under your wing as if we were your own children. You protected us the way a mother lion protected her cubs. You fed us, sometimes overfed us because you just won't take no for an answer when you offered food. You shared your wisdom and expertise as a nurse through the stories you've told and by simply seeing the way you work. In the 6.5 years I was there, I've never seen you take a break and would always refuse to admit that you had fallen asleep at your desk, though we have evidence. I've often looked at you and wondered what kind of an alien you were because you simply did not get tired. You were selfless and kind.
TENACIOUS. That is probably one of many other words that I can use to describe you. I can still hear you yelling at me. "DeGracia! You're not gonna be in ambulance anymore! EMS keeps coming here because they're all your friends!" or hearing you yell asking why EMS was in the main ER because they came to visit me. I can hear you yelling at interns when they're sitting at the computer next to you, but then you'd turn your head away from them and laugh. I can stil see you as you fought your way amongst giants during trauma codes to get in on the action. You and your less than 5 foot frame making your way to see the patient and help out in anyway that you could. I remember the time when the patient in Trauma 4 went crazy even while handcuffed to the bed. Hospital police went in there to try and subdue him, and there you were walking into the line of fire as if you were invincible. Next thing I see, you were picking up the baton that one of the hospital police officers had dropped. I can only describe you as someone who was walking into the fire while everyone else was running away.
SELFLESS. In the short while that I've known you, I've seen how selfless you are. You gave your all to Kings County ED and then some. You took on the world and gave yourself to us and the service of nursing all these years. I remember you hated being surprised for your birthday. We could never get you. I guess after all these years, nothing would ever get you to be surprised around the first week of January. You not only shared yourself with us, but you also shared your family. I will never forget the countless times we've spoken to your children and grandchildren in the Philippines. I saw first hand how much you love them. Especially Kikay. I feel like she's like my daughter now too because you shared her with us. One of the last things I remember was how concerned you were with our timesheets. You called at midnight to tell Barry to take the timesheets out and switch it so that people can sign in and out.
KIND. Your bark was worst than your bite. If I had to describe your bite, it would be that of a lady with no teeth. Although I'm sure a gummy bite would be painful too, but not as painful as one with teeth. You listened to our problems and helped us navigate both our work and personal lives. You simply made it easy. I never kept my life secret from you. You were one of the ones I can come to about the problems I have at home and you've always tried to accomodate. You loved your staff and it shows because we felt it. Whenever you went home to the Philippines, you'd always have bags and bags of things to give us. You'd go on about how you've overbaggaged from all the goodies you'd bring us. You remember to bring enough for everyone. Now there is a gaping hole in our world, one that will take a while to heal.
ONE OF A KIND. There will never be anyone quite like you. Your quirks make you YOU. Uniquely you. From the boundless bottles of Mountain Dew on your desk (because multiple people have bought it for you) to the bottomless bags of snacks you have to you refusing to believe that the chocolates you wanted we seasonal to your madness in running the ER. There was definitely a method to your madness. But it ran like a well-oiled machine. You kept us calm because you assured us that everything will be alright. And we trusted you when you say those words.
HERO doesn't begin to define you. Your love for the work you do is evident in everything you've done and how much you've affected every single life that was blessed to cross your path, be it nurse, PCA, PCTs, techs, doctors, patients, family members. Your death is not in vain. You did what you loved til the very end, which was to take care of others. I can only aspire to be an inkling of the kind of nurse and person you were. You devoted your life to the service of others.
We got it from here, Inang. We'll continue the good fight and continue your legacy. We will mourn you and still continue to do the work you loved so dearly.
I keep your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it.
I love you like you were my own mom. I will miss you sorely. May you rest in eternal peace, Mother. Heaven is a better place having gotten you as an angel. Give em hell up there, mama. Guia style.
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