Jois

Yesterday morning, Joyce Marie Butler ended a tough battle with cancer. Truth be told, I'm not so sure the cancer won. You see, she fought so hard, hanging on for her sweet 94-year-old mother Cora, and for a number of other reasons, I'm sure. That mean and wicked cancer would not take her while she still had her mama to look after. Ms. Cora slipped into eternity Monday afternoon. Jois followed early Tuesday morning, on her 54th birthday.

I remember meeting Jois in 2006 in the NICU at UMC, her "second home", although anyone who met her knew after about 3 seconds that it was really her real home. The NICU was her world. She invested all she had in every possible way to that crazy, wonderful place, and I only saw a glimpse of her passion. So many others watched her journey there over the past 30 years and can share her legendary story. I only have 6 years, but I've been so blessed to know her.

So in 2006, when I met her, I remember thinking how brilliant she was. I thought she was a doctor. I quickly realized that I was wrong. She knew far more than most any doctor I had ever met and had skill far superior up her sleeve, too. And she was so down to earth. Y'all, she was a genius! She was teaching about LaPlace's law and she didn't need notes or a PowerPoint. The neonate was engrained in her.

Then I started learning from her at the bedside, where we really learn and where we all knew her best. Every experience was a teaching moment for her. "Don't fan this mastisol, you'll induce vasoconstriction and a vagal response. We'll just wait for it to dry" (Lord knows she said that a million times, each time as patient as the time before). Every time she would explain what we were doing and why, she gave the real, down to the cellular level reason and said it so naturally and in a way that dummies like me thought made so much sense. She had a gift. Many gifts, really.

As a bedside nurse, I also quickly realized how funny she was. More quick-witted than anything. She wanted to make paint names out of all the many descriptions of residuals and diapers we gave to her. She pranked people constantly. She flipped me over in my rocking chair. Her humor certainly lightened the mood when the NICU could get gloomy.

Then I quit my job to get through school while I was a new mama. She hugged me and whispered "You'll be back. You can't leave home forever." She graciously gave me a clinical spot, and I am forever grateful to have learned from her and Dr. Rhodes, two true legends of neonatology. When I sent in my evaluations for school, my teacher emailed me how lucky I was to have had Jois.

Being in clinicals, in the NNP office and around her more personally, was when I started learning how very very generous she was. She gave anything to anyone who needed it, deserving or not. She gave her time, energy, and resources to everyone around her. So much so that she really didn't use it for herself. She got a Kindle for Christmas and cried. She could've easily have gotten one for herself but would never do such a thing. She was so excited to have something to do while she was at chemo. And to not have to borrow anyone's phone to play angry birds or that rope game. One exception to her not splurging would be her dire need to see Atlanta Braves baseball. You would've thought she was Bobby Cox's daughter. She loved her some Braves. At a little get-together last summer, her first priority was getting the tv set to the game. Then she hugged everyone's neck.

And, man, could she cook. Maddie and Buddy, her two dogs, ate better than my children or I do. She cooked them lamb, chicken, you name it. No big deal.

But her greatest gift, by far, was her love. She loved big and hard and tirelessly. She loved her mama more than herself. She loved Nita like a sister. Her coworkers were her sisters and brothers. She was always hugging. Those babies, oh my goodness, how she loved those precious babies. She loved those babies so much that she worked call after having chemo. She worked weekends for her last year of work because even her doctor couldn't keep her away from that place. She laughed and cried and spoke so gently and kindly, all out of love.

I last saw her on Thursday. Jenny was there, too. I had just a minute alone with her. I told her how much she meant to me, to the unit, and how she's changed so many lives. I prayed over her. I told her I loved her and how grateful I was for her letting me work part-time. She was struggling, but she smiled and cooed with Charlie. I hugged her tight and cried as I left.

Jois left a really big mark on life. She is grieved by many, and will be missed terribly. Her love and selflessness changed so many. I pray yesterday was her greatest birthday ever, right next to her mama and with a ton of little NICU babies all around her.