Finale

Aissa went home.

Saturday morning, one day after our arrival from Togo, Aissa came bounding into the compound, proudly wearing the new granny-apple green dress that had been made for this very occasion. She was excited to return to her village, and while the adults talked, she rode on the swing, asking to be pushed higher and higher still.

Jean was given instructions on Aissa’s mouth hygiene and how to care for her skin graft while it healed. We hope to visit soon to talk with the family about Aissa's future. She may be placed in a local orphanage during the school year where she will attend classes, have regular access to health care and continued discipline and structure.

Then we packed them into the truck for their return trip home.

Just one year previous, a miserable, skeletal, half-dead child was brought to the hospital. Just one year ago I sat on my living room floor begging God to save her life. Now exuberantly joyful, wonderfully affectionate, stubbornly courageous and chubbier than when we left for Togo, I can’t imagine life without her in it.

Praise God.

Saying goodbye.

Hambone...

New dress!

Home to Gargala.

Aissa and her sister!

Thank you

How can I thank you? What can I say that would express the love I have for all of you, my brothers and sisters? Your prayers were a tangible presence every step of the journey this past month. God honored them all. What a blessing you are to me.

Thank you for being my Aaron and my Hur, for holding my arms up when I didn’t have the strength to do it on my own. Together, we have brought the little bird home. Through you God has been glorified.

So here you go…the fruits of your prayers. Please continue to pray for sweet Aissa, she needs it now perhaps more than ever.

(*Warning, some of these photos are medically graphic, but they give a realistic picture of the amazing work done by the team of the Africa Mercy.)

Homecoming

Well the little bird made it home safely. Hallelujah.

After spending Thursday saying goodbye to precious friends, we loaded my duffel into the Land Rover and headed to the hospitality center to fetch the baby girl. Turns out, the chauffer who works at the center didn’t quite understand and drove Jean and Aissa to the airport alone while we were on our way to pick them up! Oops, they wouldn’t have made it very far…

So, the error was hastily rectified and we three made the journey to the airport together. A porter settled us and our luggage in the seating area and promised to come back once it was time to check in for our flight. He was wonderfully kind, a real answer to prayer.

However, sitting in the dark airport, surrounded by suffocating humidity and a cloud of mosquitoes, right in the center of a new and strange West African port city, I struggled. My heart began to race, I felt I couldn’t breathe, and I wondered if I would be able to get us home. The thought of having to make it through the next 24 hours was almost too much, and I wanted desperately to run away.

God was there. He saw my struggle.

I began to pray, took a few deep breaths and God gave me what I needed for the next step. So little by little we made our way home. I navigated airport check-in, customs and security with Jean and Aissa in tow. God gave me strength to handle corrupt porters, questionable policemen, crowds on the plane and 28 hours of sleeplessness. He blessed us along the way with kind people, like the man at the metal detector who told me to have “courage”, that he appreciated what had been done for Aissa, or the woman at the ticket counter, who overheard Aissa’s story and personally led me to the front of the line, or the flight attendant who remembered us from a month ago when we were on his flight to Togo. God was so faithful.

So we landed in the familiar brownness of sub-Saharan Africa, it’s beloved mud huts and scrub bushes a comforting sight to tired travelers as we stepped off the plane into the shimmering, dry waves of heat. Sweet Aissa was swaying on her feet from fatigue, and rode quietly to the village but flashed me a huge grin when I glanced back at her from the front seat of the car. I assume from this that she was happy to be home.

Upon pulling into the compound, Aissa was an instant celebrity. All of the staff ran up to greet her and exclaim how wonderful she looked. They received us with such love and warmth, it was good to see them all. There will be more to come, I’m sure.

So, after resting, unpacking my suitcases, and chasing the welcoming committee of two cockroaches, one lizard and an enormous spider out of my house, tomorrow begins anew. We are still praying to know God’s will for Aissa, and it looks at this time as if she will be returning to her village. Please continue to pray with us over her future and continued physical healing.

Thank you.

Goodbye

The little bird was scheduled for her last post-op appointment this Monday. So, Monday morning I made my way to the hospital to find out when she would arrive. I bumped into a nurse who informed me that Aissa was in fact standing outside the ship, on the dock that very moment, throwing a fit.

Oh boy.

So I hurried to the dock and sure enough the little madam was so upset that she couldn’t board and play with all her old friends on A ward that she stood howling in desolation while the crowd looked on. She quieted soon enough when I walked up and hugged her, but was none too happy to wait outdoors under the tent for the next 2 hours while waiting for her turn in the post-op clinic. We plied her with crayons, color pages and songs until finally they called her name.

So we tiptoed up the gangway, Aissa staring at the water under our feet the entire time, and once in the air-conditioned ship, she was a girl transformed. She smiled, she flirted, we sat in the hallway outside the clinic where she beat me soundly at a game of Memory and every time one of her beloved nurses came to say hello, she threw herself at them, wrapping herself around their waist.

She visited A ward once more. As soon as she walked in, the room erupted in a chorus of “Aissa!” at which point she threw her hands out into the air as if to say, “taadaa!” Truly in her element, she was more than happy to comply during her post-op appointment. The paperwork finished, it was time to take the ‘after’ photos and she rounded up all her friends to sit in the picture with her.

As Aissa left the ship, perhaps for the last time, she waved goodbye to the men and women of the Africa Mercy who have loved her so well this past month. She has been the topic of their blog posts and emails home, their conversations and prayers. They visit her at the hospitality center and rejoice over her recovery. Finally, they have wished us safe travels for our return to Cameroon.

Our little bird has made quite an impression.

She is one of God’s love stories.

Mama

I’ve been thinking of my mama this week.

This portion of Mercy Ships outreach to Togo has been focused on maxillofacial and plastic surgery. Since Monday, I have been working in the admissions tent, welcoming those patients who are scheduled to receive an operation. Each morning they arrive with their physical and emotional scars, the grown woman who lost her lips to childhood NOMA, the teenage boy whose jaw, mouth and nose were ripped off by a bullet, the skeletal infant unable to suckle because of her cleft palate.

Some of the kids sashay into the tent without a care in the world, grinning wildly around their split lips and noses as we hand them stuffed animals or a balloon. Others, usually the adults are more timid, speaking in hushed tones, most with towels or rags held up as a shield to hide their deformity.

I have learned during my time here that children with cleft lips are often believed to be cursed. In some countries, the parents are urged to bury the child alive to be rid of the spirits that made them ill.

May 27th, 1948 Janice Lynn Pettengill came into the world. She was born with a cleft lip and palate and, I can imagine, beautiful blue eyes. Not yet one month old, she received her first surgery to close the opening in her lip. With great care and dedication, her mama fought for her, trying new tricks to get her to suckle, eat and gain weight. She succeeded and at ten months old, Janice had her second operation to close the hole in the roof of her mouth.

Later in life, her tonsils and adenoids were removed to help relieve the chronic ear infections that threaten the hearing of so many cleft lip and palate children. As a result, she was required to undergo intensive inpatient speech therapy, separated from her family for months. During her time in the hospital, she felt fortunate to be so well while surrounded by truly ill children and played piano for the other patients. Her mama visited her faithfully.

Janice had to brave the gauntlet of childhood and adolescence with facial scars. However in high school, others were drawn to her tender heart and evident beauty and she became a woman known for her ability to love.

At the age of 30, on February 15th, 1979 Janice gave birth to me, Sarah Lynn Root.

The first thing she wrote about in my baby book was my ‘perfect’ nose.

I don’t know why my mama was spared the ridicule of a village, the threats of the local witchdoctor, the murmured rumors of the secret fears of curses and evil spirits. I don’t know why being born on our side of the Atlantic ensured her access to care so early, the attention of specialists, or the ability to live a ‘normal’ life. Her road to healing has not been without difficult days, but I am so grateful for the hurt that she has been spared.

And since I know that every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of heavenly lights, I will praise Him for taking care of my precious mama. He saved the life of the little baby girl with the open lip and the blue eyes, the one he knew from her mother’s womb. Hallelujah.

The big move!

Bed 6 of A ward is now empty.

This Saturday, Aissa’s medical team decided to release her to the hospitality center, a transitional unit in town for post operative patients. So after one full month on the Africa Mercy she slipped into her best dress and plastic bead necklace and we packed her bags.

She was a bit insecure, running to me and hugging my waist, lingering there for a moment, her backpack slung over her shoulders. However, once it came time for us to make our exit, she marched to the door. Everyone in the ward, patients and caregivers alike chorused “bye bye!” as she waved and nurses came out of doorways and stopped in the halls to see her off.

We piled into the Land Rover that would take us to our destination and she watched with wide eyes as the city moved past her window. Upon pulling in the compound, we entered the main building. While waiting to receive their room assignment, I asked Aissa if she wanted to play outside.

“Outside?” she replied, hope lighting her face. For the past month her outside playtime has been restricted to 1-2 hours daily on deck 7 of the ship, so the thought of having unrestricted access to play ‘outside’ was a very exciting prospect indeed. She tentatively went out and returned with a red balloon and a new friend.

We then found her room and carefully pasted all of her arts and crafts pages to the walls around her bed. After a tour of the bathrooms, showers and drinking fountains, we were greeted by another of the patients who had stayed with her on the ship.

Ever attentive, Aissa then asked me where was my room? I explained that I was staying at the ‘other hospital’ and that I would come to visit often. Her bottom lip immediately flew out as she expressed her displeasure. She promptly replied “ mi yidaa”, “I don’t like that.”

I decided the best course of action was to ignore the comment and hope it didn’t come up again. I left her playing and slipped away to return to the ship. The following day I was told that Aissa hadn’t shed a tear at my departure, and that she was relishing her playtime outside, coloring in the shade with another little girl.

Aissa has an appointment with the ENT specialist to examine her ears on Saturday and one final post-operative visit to the ship on Monday. Everyone is so pleased at how her graft healed. The small wound under her eye is being cleaned daily and Lord willing we should be ready to return to Meskine next week.

Everything is going so well, thank you for your prayers. Yesterday was more than just Aissa’s release from the hospital. For the first time in over a year, she didn’t have to wear a bandage on her face.

Hallelujah.

Update

Last week, during the little bird’s dressing change the ophthalmologist/eye surgeon came to examine the remaining small opening in her skin graft, just under her eye. He believes that rather than try to close this area with a stitch, it should be left to close on its own, thereby decreasing the scar tissue formation and the pull on the lower eyelid.

In addition, he thinks that her cornea is out of danger. While her eye still does not fully close, the lid does cover the cornea and he states that the small cloudy spot currently present is old, and not actively threatening her vision.

This week I will attempt to speak with Aissa’s medical team to decide when we might return to Cameroon. We may need to make arrangements to continue wound care after arriving home, please pray that we have God’s wisdom.

Suzanne

My heart is breaking for Suzanne.

Suzanne was admitted to our hospital approximately one year ago with a mysterious skin disease. The medications in our limited arsenal did nothing as the lesions ravaged her body. Within a period of months, her arms and legs were covered with stubborn open ulcers that refused to heal and her face erupted with thickened patches of blackened crusts.

She has been forced to use a wheelchair because the ulcers cause her so much pain that she can no longer walk. Wrapping herself in a scrap of mosquito netting to keep the flies from her face, she can occasionally escape her hospital room and go outside.

She has been away from her young children for this entire time. They visit her at the hospital but howl when the time comes to return home and leave their mama.

We have conducted two separate biopsies which have stumped the pathologists in the U.S., the results are always returned inconclusive. Finally, were put in contact with a talented dermatologist Dr. Dan Wikland who has worked in Cameroon. After contemplating Suzanne's symptoms and looking at her photos, she was diagnosed with chromoblastomycosis, a fungal infection.

We attempted treatment with the only antifungal medication available to us. It failed, so we searched for another more potent alternative. It was not to be found in Cameroon.

Finally the Dr. Dan found and purchased the medication online and shipped it to our hospital. Suzanne is one month into her treatment. Progress is slow, it can take 3-6 months to see any change, and there is a high likelihood of relapse after the treatment is finished.

And just today, I found that her husband is divorcing her, his marriage to another woman already in the works.

So while my body is in Togo on a ship overlooking the ocean, my heart is in sub-Saharan Cameroon, in box 6 of pavilion 3 with Suzanne as she fights. She wavers between stunning optimism and overwhelming despair and I am praying for her today.

Please pray with me.

Update

Hello everyone,

Aissa is doing very well. There is a huge crowd of kiddos in her ward and just this morning she was singing songs and playing kickball with the whole gang.

The wound care specialists currently caring for her tell me that she is healing well. There is one small corner of her skin graft that has pulled loose, leaving a bit of exposed muscle, but they are optimistic that this will close up within the next two weeks.

In addition to the muscle flap and skin grafting, Aissa's medical team attempted to stitch the outer corner of her affected eye closed. The scar tissue was pulling the eyelid down, exposing her cornea, leaving her vulnerable to blindness on that side. However, the stitches pulled through and the eye opened again.

So this Tuesday the surgeon closed the eye once more and we are attempting to keep the little bird from picking at her sutures.

Thank you all so much for your prayers, both Aissa and Jean seem to be at peace.

Blessings, Sarah

I love you

Aissa is learning English.

Most afternoons on my way around the ship, people stop me to tell me about the activities of our little bird. Everyone seems to have a story about her joy, her courage, some new phrase she learned, how smart and clever she is and they take the time to share.

Today, Aissa learned to say ‘I love you’. She exuberantly exclaimed this to all within hearing distance as she basked in the nurses’ praise and attention. She accepts hugs and kisses readily, runs to the staff she knows, wrapping her arms around them and sits in any lap that might happen to be available. She affectionately acts as mother hen to all the younger children that toddle around the ward, bandages on their faces and tubes in their noses, gently trying to pick them up, gently placing them on the floor again if they cry.

Tonight I went for my evening visit and the little bird sat on my lap while she munched an egg. I then chased her around the ward while she squealed and tried to hide from my tickles. After a rousing game of soccer with another sweetpea who had just undergone a cleft palate repair, we sang the hokey pokey which, by the way, is guaranteed to attract kiddos like flies to honey.

In the meantime, her skilled nurses flowed around us, patiently accomplishing their tasks while stepping over our kicked soccer ball or dodging our flailing limbs as we danced, making way for Aissa as she ran, screaming with robust laughter, through their already crowded workspace.

One of the nurses remarked to me that Aissa was like a different child, so much more at peace than when she first arrived, so much more joyful and affectionate.

Indeed.

I believe that God answered our prayers and blessed Aissa with peace during our time on the ship. I also firmly believe that he used the lovely nurses of the Africa Mercy to accomplish this. How beautiful they are.

Love. The love of God reaches through them to bless Aissa with a sense of security, stability and acceptance. Do they know how much they have already meant to a little girl who just one year ago almost lost her life to neglect and poverty? Do they realize that their hard work and patience, their extra efforts and their love has impacted her soul?

So Aissa learned to say ‘I love you’? How appropriate.

Good things

Hello everyone,

I am sure you can't wait to see Aissa's sweet new face. I can't wait to show it to you.

However, she is now in the initial stages of healing, and while all is going very well, I won't be sharing the images of her new cheek just yet.

It will only get better and better. Remember what is promised to those who wait...

Please pray

Day 5 post op had finally arrived. The time had come to unwind the long bandage wrapped around Aissa’s head to get a glimpse of what lie beneath.

Given her fiery personality and strong will, the original plan was to sedate the little madam in order to keep her and her wound safe. However, the team decided to attempt the dressing change without medicating her, and she was amazing.

Decked out in one of her finest dresses, sporting a pair of hot pink plastic glasses, green flower taped to her head, she hobbled her way down the hallway, moving gingerly along because of the pain from the skin graft donor site on her thigh. We were escorted into the ICU, where the wound care nurses were setting up. She slipped off her shoes and held up her arms to be placed on the bed. Catching a glimpse of the TV, she pointed for it to be turned on and sat watching the program while occasionally sneaking a peak at the hustle and bustle around her.

Then it was time. She was wary as the nurse began to clip away at the gauze, and held her nasogastric tube tenderly, lest we bump it and cause her pain. However, she held up her mirror and watched our every move. With this measure of control she was so courageous and sat very still, not making a single protest until the many layers had been removed, stitches clipped, her new face revealed.

Her uncle smiled. She stared.

Was she in shock? Was she frightened? Confused? The little bird didn’t make a single peep, just stared, then put down her mirror and watched the TV.

And so she is absorbing it all, the love of the nurses, the discipline and boundaries of the ward, the pain and medications, all part of being put back together again.

We’ll give our girl some time. Please pray.

What a nut...

Watching everything in her mirror

Listening carefully

The gang

Maison Bethel

As soon as the girls saw me, their faces lit up in recognition. They ran, tackling me around the waist and didn’t let go for the next hour. Despite the heat, they lounged on my lap, tucked themselves into the curve of my arm, rested their heads on my shoulder or knee. They occupied every inch of my free space.

Maison Bethel is a Catholic orphanage here in Lome. Bathed in sunlight, murals painted on the walls, the main room is covered in last week’s art project, paper butterflies. The wardrobe stands ready in the corner with clothing for kiddos of all sizes, toothbrushes lined up in the bathroom. Outside is a large garden, each plot has been placed in the care of a specific child responsible for tending the life that grows in his or her domain.

I visited last Saturday and had a great time. I befriended the older girls, ages 9-14 and they practically suffocated me as we crowded together in the humid coastal heat, singing songs in French and English, me listening to their rapid-fire conversations in Ewe while we finished our butterflies. They asked me many questions, and this week they remembered everything I had told them.

Mercy Ships visits each Saturday for a few hours, bringing along a Bible story and the ever popular activity box. I imagine they are used to goodbyes, but still they joyfully carried our supplies out to the car on their heads, standing in a big crowd on the road to wave as we pulled away. I hadn’t planned on going each weekend during my time here, but as Saturday drew near, God placed them on my heart.

They were so excited that I had come back.

Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of the orphanage and they begged me to come. There will be dancing, singing and the most exciting, new clothes! I can think of few places I would rather be.

A few of the sweetpeas with their new teddy bears.