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...
Saturday, May 1, 2010
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Happy Independence Day!
Meltdown, yikes.
Aissa’s screams rang through the corridor of the hospital, clearly heard even though the doors to her ward were shut. It appears that after 48 straight hours of vomiting, our girl’s appetite had returned and she was ready to eat. However, orders are that she have nothing by mouth at least until tomorrow…and she was not pleased.
After spending the past 3 days curled into a ball under a ladybug quilt, feeling pretty awful, I was so pleased to see her stronger, active, fighting. Physically restraining her while Jean ate so that she wouldn’t steal his food was not so pleasant, but we went on a little walk and she calmed down.
Today is Independence Day for Togo, and the nurses had cleverly spread out an arts and crafts project to tempt the little bird during her time of captivity on the ward. Settling herself into a chair just her size, she began the very serious process of pasting together flags to decorate for the event. During this time, she insisted that her balloon flower be taped to the top of her head, stuck right on top of the huge swath of bandage that won’t be removed until tomorrow. Properly perched, setting about her business, she truly looked the part of the ‘little madam’ a nickname given her by the loving nurses of A ward.
Independence day. The nurse approached Aissa for the daily mouth and nasal cleaning. Aissa promptly grabbed up the swabs and studying herself in the mirror, did an expert job of removing crusted blood from around her nasogastric tube, all the while flinching with the pain. We stood amazed as she did it herself, determined to get it right, not afraid of the discomfort, so brave.
She beamed at our praise, which was rightly heaped upon her, and smiled for the photographer who had come down to capture the flag-making festivities. She flirted with the camera, smiling, waving, holding up her flag…covered in dressings, tube in her nose, wound on her thigh from the skin graft, forgetting the past 48 hours of pain, nausea, vomiting, hunger.
That’s our little madam, extraordinary, independent, Aissa.
Aissa with her friends Liz and Ali.
Aissa’s screams rang through the corridor of the hospital, clearly heard even though the doors to her ward were shut. It appears that after 48 straight hours of vomiting, our girl’s appetite had returned and she was ready to eat. However, orders are that she have nothing by mouth at least until tomorrow…and she was not pleased.
After spending the past 3 days curled into a ball under a ladybug quilt, feeling pretty awful, I was so pleased to see her stronger, active, fighting. Physically restraining her while Jean ate so that she wouldn’t steal his food was not so pleasant, but we went on a little walk and she calmed down.
Today is Independence Day for Togo, and the nurses had cleverly spread out an arts and crafts project to tempt the little bird during her time of captivity on the ward. Settling herself into a chair just her size, she began the very serious process of pasting together flags to decorate for the event. During this time, she insisted that her balloon flower be taped to the top of her head, stuck right on top of the huge swath of bandage that won’t be removed until tomorrow. Properly perched, setting about her business, she truly looked the part of the ‘little madam’ a nickname given her by the loving nurses of A ward.
Independence day. The nurse approached Aissa for the daily mouth and nasal cleaning. Aissa promptly grabbed up the swabs and studying herself in the mirror, did an expert job of removing crusted blood from around her nasogastric tube, all the while flinching with the pain. We stood amazed as she did it herself, determined to get it right, not afraid of the discomfort, so brave.
She beamed at our praise, which was rightly heaped upon her, and smiled for the photographer who had come down to capture the flag-making festivities. She flirted with the camera, smiling, waving, holding up her flag…covered in dressings, tube in her nose, wound on her thigh from the skin graft, forgetting the past 48 hours of pain, nausea, vomiting, hunger.
That’s our little madam, extraordinary, independent, Aissa.
Aissa with her friends Liz and Ali.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Operation day
Aissa’s surgery was scheduled for this morning.
I arrived in her ward early. She had just woken up and was chatting with the nurses while dressed in her children’s gown and the plastic bead necklace she made in arts and crafts. We convinced her to change into something that fit her a little better, and she began to happily show me the pages she had finished in her coloring book.
Then it came time for her to take a sedating agent to calm her before heading to the OR. She wasn't in the mood to take meds and we had to hold her down while she kicked and screamed. She spit most of the medication out, making us wonder if she had swallowed anything at all. However, not 10 minutes later, her head dropped groggily to my shoulder.
The surgical team didn’t come for us quite as soon as we anticipated, so it became a bit of a struggle to corral our little drunken, staggering wildcat as she made her demands for food, water and a trip outside to play. Finally, I hefted all 40 plus pounds of her onto my back and with the help of one of the lovely mamas staying on the ward, firmly tied her there and began to walk the hallways, singing every lullaby I could think of with a few hymns thrown in for good measure.
No sooner had she fallen asleep than the team came to shuttle us over to the OR. She was completely calm and lay docile as a lamb on the table while the anesthesia team began their work. Suddenly the room was alive as everyone ran around, completing their tasks before the arrival of the surgeon.
When all was in place, Dr. Gary, world renowned for his work in NOMA repair (Aissa’s illness is called NOMA) came in and prayed over her before making the first incision. He prayed that God would grant them creativity and success during the operation, and that Aissa would grow up to love Jesus and impact others for him.
What proceeded can only be described as miraculous.
With precision and skill the team peeled back the scalp to harvest the fan shaped temporalis muscle that lies just over the ear, twisting it downward to cover the defect, or hole in Aissa’s face. Next, Dr. Tertius a visiting plastic surgeon who specializes in skin grafts, took a portion of skin from Aissa’s thigh to place it on her face. This particular technique elicited a ‘holy crap’ comment from the visiting photojournalist who was snapping photos for an article being written about Aissa:-)
The team was excited. We were all aware that what we were witnessing was special, and everyone was taking pictures with their personal cameras in order to capture the moment when Aissa’s face was restored.
And then there it was.
This little baby girl from a village in the middle of the bush, who came to us stubbornly clinging to life, had a cheek. For the first time since I have known her, the grotesque hole, exposing teeth and tongue was gone, covered over and blanketed by a protective layer of muscle and beautiful, beautiful skin.
It struck me then, the extravagance of God’s love. Who could have imagined that this little girl, who almost slipped away to die in obscurity would now be the recipient of the attention of a team of professionals, specialists in their fields? That all the excitement, effort, skill and precision would be for her restoration?
Extravagant love, should I have expected anything different?
Then, using someone's camera, I indulged in a little instant gratification and slipped back to the ward to show Jean Aissa’s new face. He stared, then asked me “So, there’s no more wound?” “Timi” I replied, finished. I then shared the joy with the nurses, who were thrilled to get a glimpse of the miracle under the bandages. We prayed together, thanking God for what he had done, and I returned to the OR.
Aissa woke with difficulty, bucking and straining as she attempted to clear her head and get control. But with another dose of pain meds, she quieted and was sleeping soundly when I left her. Thank you all for your prayers, God has honored them, please continue to pray as the next week will be filled with medications, wound care, tube feedings, and pain control. I will keep you updated.
I arrived in her ward early. She had just woken up and was chatting with the nurses while dressed in her children’s gown and the plastic bead necklace she made in arts and crafts. We convinced her to change into something that fit her a little better, and she began to happily show me the pages she had finished in her coloring book.
Then it came time for her to take a sedating agent to calm her before heading to the OR. She wasn't in the mood to take meds and we had to hold her down while she kicked and screamed. She spit most of the medication out, making us wonder if she had swallowed anything at all. However, not 10 minutes later, her head dropped groggily to my shoulder.
The surgical team didn’t come for us quite as soon as we anticipated, so it became a bit of a struggle to corral our little drunken, staggering wildcat as she made her demands for food, water and a trip outside to play. Finally, I hefted all 40 plus pounds of her onto my back and with the help of one of the lovely mamas staying on the ward, firmly tied her there and began to walk the hallways, singing every lullaby I could think of with a few hymns thrown in for good measure.
No sooner had she fallen asleep than the team came to shuttle us over to the OR. She was completely calm and lay docile as a lamb on the table while the anesthesia team began their work. Suddenly the room was alive as everyone ran around, completing their tasks before the arrival of the surgeon.
When all was in place, Dr. Gary, world renowned for his work in NOMA repair (Aissa’s illness is called NOMA) came in and prayed over her before making the first incision. He prayed that God would grant them creativity and success during the operation, and that Aissa would grow up to love Jesus and impact others for him.
What proceeded can only be described as miraculous.
With precision and skill the team peeled back the scalp to harvest the fan shaped temporalis muscle that lies just over the ear, twisting it downward to cover the defect, or hole in Aissa’s face. Next, Dr. Tertius a visiting plastic surgeon who specializes in skin grafts, took a portion of skin from Aissa’s thigh to place it on her face. This particular technique elicited a ‘holy crap’ comment from the visiting photojournalist who was snapping photos for an article being written about Aissa:-)
The team was excited. We were all aware that what we were witnessing was special, and everyone was taking pictures with their personal cameras in order to capture the moment when Aissa’s face was restored.
And then there it was.
This little baby girl from a village in the middle of the bush, who came to us stubbornly clinging to life, had a cheek. For the first time since I have known her, the grotesque hole, exposing teeth and tongue was gone, covered over and blanketed by a protective layer of muscle and beautiful, beautiful skin.
It struck me then, the extravagance of God’s love. Who could have imagined that this little girl, who almost slipped away to die in obscurity would now be the recipient of the attention of a team of professionals, specialists in their fields? That all the excitement, effort, skill and precision would be for her restoration?
Extravagant love, should I have expected anything different?
Then, using someone's camera, I indulged in a little instant gratification and slipped back to the ward to show Jean Aissa’s new face. He stared, then asked me “So, there’s no more wound?” “Timi” I replied, finished. I then shared the joy with the nurses, who were thrilled to get a glimpse of the miracle under the bandages. We prayed together, thanking God for what he had done, and I returned to the OR.
Aissa woke with difficulty, bucking and straining as she attempted to clear her head and get control. But with another dose of pain meds, she quieted and was sleeping soundly when I left her. Thank you all for your prayers, God has honored them, please continue to pray as the next week will be filled with medications, wound care, tube feedings, and pain control. I will keep you updated.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Loved
Poor baby.
Our courageous little bird is struggling to acclimate to life in a hospital ward. After months of having the run of the village with little or no supervision or discipline, being corralled in a hospital unit day after day is excruciating. In his new and strange environment, surrounded by new people, a new language and patients with frightening facial disfigurements, her wings are clipped and she is having a hard time.
When I visit her, she insists on leaving with me. She waits by the door and would follow me down the hallway if someone didn’t stop her. This is when she cries and wails and my heart feels as if it’s being ripped out.
Does she feel abandoned once again? Does she feel I don’t love her? Is what I am doing hurting her? Will she grow up to think she is unworthy of love because all of the many times she has been left behind? I pray not.
This past Sunday I was able to participate in church on the ward. The double doors to the unit were swung wide open and chairs lined the hallway. The drums were placed front and center, and patients and caretakers sat on beds and stools as the worship began. The music was loud, rhythmic and contagious as we praised the God who loves us.
Next came the message. It could not have been more perfect. The scripture came from Isaiah 49:14-15 “But Zion said, ‘ The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.’ Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!”
Abandoned by her father as a baby, left by her mama at the tender age of four, neglected, abused, malnourished, the flame of her life nearly extinguished, Aissa was never forgotten by God. That is a tie too intimate to ever be broken. She is safe in his arms.
At the end of the service Aissa held up her arms, meaning she wanted to ride on my back. She wanted to be carried as her mama had carried her. I obliged and we swayed together as we praised her Father.
The One who will never forget her.
Our courageous little bird is struggling to acclimate to life in a hospital ward. After months of having the run of the village with little or no supervision or discipline, being corralled in a hospital unit day after day is excruciating. In his new and strange environment, surrounded by new people, a new language and patients with frightening facial disfigurements, her wings are clipped and she is having a hard time.
When I visit her, she insists on leaving with me. She waits by the door and would follow me down the hallway if someone didn’t stop her. This is when she cries and wails and my heart feels as if it’s being ripped out.
Does she feel abandoned once again? Does she feel I don’t love her? Is what I am doing hurting her? Will she grow up to think she is unworthy of love because all of the many times she has been left behind? I pray not.
This past Sunday I was able to participate in church on the ward. The double doors to the unit were swung wide open and chairs lined the hallway. The drums were placed front and center, and patients and caretakers sat on beds and stools as the worship began. The music was loud, rhythmic and contagious as we praised the God who loves us.
Next came the message. It could not have been more perfect. The scripture came from Isaiah 49:14-15 “But Zion said, ‘ The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.’ Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!”
Abandoned by her father as a baby, left by her mama at the tender age of four, neglected, abused, malnourished, the flame of her life nearly extinguished, Aissa was never forgotten by God. That is a tie too intimate to ever be broken. She is safe in his arms.
At the end of the service Aissa held up her arms, meaning she wanted to ride on my back. She wanted to be carried as her mama had carried her. I obliged and we swayed together as we praised her Father.
The One who will never forget her.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Battle of the wills
It began with breakfast. Aissa wanted chocolate and only chocolate on her bread. She pushed and whined and reached and grabbed until I got her what she wanted. Immediately afterward, she began to pull off her dress, saying it was dirty. I tried to get her to wait until we were in the room rather than stripping down in the middle of the dining room, but nothing doing. She was naked in less than a few seconds.
I walked away from her, leaving her in the dining room. She had already begun to cry and then refused to return upstairs to our rooms. We couldn't leave her naked in the middle of the lobby, so I took her by the arm and pulled her to the stairs. At which point she collapsed into a heap, forcing me to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. I took her into my room, but she wanted to go outside. I let her go outside, but she kept trying to run away. When we tried to restrain her she began to scream. A guest at the mission walked up to her to tell her “not to cry”… it didn’t help.
I then convinced her to go to the pool. She was so sleepy she almost slipped off my back and into the water. She didn’t make a sound, unlike yesterday when she wouldn’t stop chatting while splashing around.
After the pool, she felt somewhat better and after putting on dry clothes, we watched a video in my room. I tried every trick in the book to get her to take a nap, but she was having none of it. I even went so far as to put her on my back like the African mamas and try to rock her, but she absolutely would not snooze. My prayer went something like this “Please God, just 30 minutes, if she could sleep for just 30 minutes.” Over and over and over again…
However by this point she was happier. I let her go to play with her uncle for a while and she tolerated this well enough. She then came to me and asked to swim again. So for the second time that day, we headed to the pool. Halfway through our swim, she got hungry, and began to demand food.
We headed to lunch, but things went quickly downhill from there… She began to dip her bread in her orange juice, then stuff whole loaves into her glass. She wanted to drink the wine that was on the table. She demanded a sauce I didn’t think she would like and when I gave her some to taste-test threw a fit that I hadn’t covered her rice and got up from the table. She then ran away outside, and Jean went after her. He dragged her back into the dining room crying and screaming. As soon as he let her go, she slunk away again, sniffling and crying, heading for the parking lot. I followed with a plate of rice and her drink. The kitchen staff was wonderful. As soon as they saw what a difficult time we were having, they tried to ply her into the TV room for cartoons. It worked, and soon one of the ladies had Aissa propped on her lap, eating rice obediently from a spoon. Soon thereafter, Aissa transferred herself to my lap and continued to eat.
Aissa then proceeded to down a plate of rice, a loaf of bread, a potato, half a papaya and two glasses of orange juice. I had to run an errand and when I came back, I made my way to the TV room. Aissa fell out of the doorway, onto her hands and knees and began to cry. The girl was a mess, she was exhausted.
So I took her to my room and gave her a shower. We changed her dressing and rubbed her down with lotion. I turned on the air conditioning, hoping she might sleep…thus began World War III. I was determined she needed to rest, she was determined she was going outside to play. Every time she got out of bed, I put her back in, without a word. Perhaps she might get tired and give up? Nope. When I finally gave in and let her go outside, she promptly laid down on the cement walkway (naked I might add, because she refused to put on clothing) and fell fast asleep.
Sheesh.
I walked away from her, leaving her in the dining room. She had already begun to cry and then refused to return upstairs to our rooms. We couldn't leave her naked in the middle of the lobby, so I took her by the arm and pulled her to the stairs. At which point she collapsed into a heap, forcing me to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. I took her into my room, but she wanted to go outside. I let her go outside, but she kept trying to run away. When we tried to restrain her she began to scream. A guest at the mission walked up to her to tell her “not to cry”… it didn’t help.
I then convinced her to go to the pool. She was so sleepy she almost slipped off my back and into the water. She didn’t make a sound, unlike yesterday when she wouldn’t stop chatting while splashing around.
After the pool, she felt somewhat better and after putting on dry clothes, we watched a video in my room. I tried every trick in the book to get her to take a nap, but she was having none of it. I even went so far as to put her on my back like the African mamas and try to rock her, but she absolutely would not snooze. My prayer went something like this “Please God, just 30 minutes, if she could sleep for just 30 minutes.” Over and over and over again…
However by this point she was happier. I let her go to play with her uncle for a while and she tolerated this well enough. She then came to me and asked to swim again. So for the second time that day, we headed to the pool. Halfway through our swim, she got hungry, and began to demand food.
We headed to lunch, but things went quickly downhill from there… She began to dip her bread in her orange juice, then stuff whole loaves into her glass. She wanted to drink the wine that was on the table. She demanded a sauce I didn’t think she would like and when I gave her some to taste-test threw a fit that I hadn’t covered her rice and got up from the table. She then ran away outside, and Jean went after her. He dragged her back into the dining room crying and screaming. As soon as he let her go, she slunk away again, sniffling and crying, heading for the parking lot. I followed with a plate of rice and her drink. The kitchen staff was wonderful. As soon as they saw what a difficult time we were having, they tried to ply her into the TV room for cartoons. It worked, and soon one of the ladies had Aissa propped on her lap, eating rice obediently from a spoon. Soon thereafter, Aissa transferred herself to my lap and continued to eat.
Aissa then proceeded to down a plate of rice, a loaf of bread, a potato, half a papaya and two glasses of orange juice. I had to run an errand and when I came back, I made my way to the TV room. Aissa fell out of the doorway, onto her hands and knees and began to cry. The girl was a mess, she was exhausted.
So I took her to my room and gave her a shower. We changed her dressing and rubbed her down with lotion. I turned on the air conditioning, hoping she might sleep…thus began World War III. I was determined she needed to rest, she was determined she was going outside to play. Every time she got out of bed, I put her back in, without a word. Perhaps she might get tired and give up? Nope. When I finally gave in and let her go outside, she promptly laid down on the cement walkway (naked I might add, because she refused to put on clothing) and fell fast asleep.
Sheesh.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I scream you scream...
Journal entry 14th April, 2010
Today it was time for a little adventure.
After almost two full days in the Catholic mission, I was afraid the troops were getting restless, so I packed us up and we forayed out into the wild world to find the ice cream shop! Aissa put on her best dress, at which point everyone exclaimed “Oh, she’s a girl!?”. With her shaved head and lack of earrings, the clothes make all the difference. When I asked Jean if he wanted to go “out” he looked up with excitement “Out?” he asked, and promptly changed into his good clothes as well.
We then set off, weaving between scores of parked cars, dodging traffic as I breathed prayers for God’s protection. We had to cross four busy streets, but the traffic seemed to open up for us, and Aissa allowed me to hold her hand. I ushered them into the air-conditioned, sleek black and silver interior of the ice cream parlor and we marched up to the counter.
So many choices! For someone who had never even tasted ice cream, deciding between tiramisu or pistachio was a little tough. We went with an old standby, chocolate and sat down to enjoy. The staff was aware that it was the first time for Jean and Aissa to taste ice cream, so they gave us a discount.
The flat screen TV on the wall was playing Charlie Chaplain. Apparently Aissa is a huge fan, she was so enthralled with his antics that she forgot to eat her ice cream! Charlie beat out ice cream, imagine that… Jean and I both laughed at her open-mouthed stare as she sat, enraptured by the show. We hit a little rough spot when the princess was asked to share her water, but after polishing off our scoops, we cleaned up to return to the mission.
The traffic on the way back was thicker, and it was quite difficult to cross the street. I made it with Aissa in tow, but Jean had to wait on the other side for an opportunity. Aissa then became antsy and pulled away from my hand, leaning toward the traffic. I grabbed her dress and held on, she squirmed and whined, but she had met her match with me. After all, God didn’t save her life to let her get hit by a car!
Jean finally made his way over and she allowed me to pick her up. I carried her bulk and Jean carried her shoes, my camera and water bottle and we arrived safely at our destination.
That’s enough adventure for one day, I’m ready for a nap.
Today it was time for a little adventure.
After almost two full days in the Catholic mission, I was afraid the troops were getting restless, so I packed us up and we forayed out into the wild world to find the ice cream shop! Aissa put on her best dress, at which point everyone exclaimed “Oh, she’s a girl!?”. With her shaved head and lack of earrings, the clothes make all the difference. When I asked Jean if he wanted to go “out” he looked up with excitement “Out?” he asked, and promptly changed into his good clothes as well.
We then set off, weaving between scores of parked cars, dodging traffic as I breathed prayers for God’s protection. We had to cross four busy streets, but the traffic seemed to open up for us, and Aissa allowed me to hold her hand. I ushered them into the air-conditioned, sleek black and silver interior of the ice cream parlor and we marched up to the counter.
So many choices! For someone who had never even tasted ice cream, deciding between tiramisu or pistachio was a little tough. We went with an old standby, chocolate and sat down to enjoy. The staff was aware that it was the first time for Jean and Aissa to taste ice cream, so they gave us a discount.
The flat screen TV on the wall was playing Charlie Chaplain. Apparently Aissa is a huge fan, she was so enthralled with his antics that she forgot to eat her ice cream! Charlie beat out ice cream, imagine that… Jean and I both laughed at her open-mouthed stare as she sat, enraptured by the show. We hit a little rough spot when the princess was asked to share her water, but after polishing off our scoops, we cleaned up to return to the mission.
The traffic on the way back was thicker, and it was quite difficult to cross the street. I made it with Aissa in tow, but Jean had to wait on the other side for an opportunity. Aissa then became antsy and pulled away from my hand, leaning toward the traffic. I grabbed her dress and held on, she squirmed and whined, but she had met her match with me. After all, God didn’t save her life to let her get hit by a car!
Jean finally made his way over and she allowed me to pick her up. I carried her bulk and Jean carried her shoes, my camera and water bottle and we arrived safely at our destination.
That’s enough adventure for one day, I’m ready for a nap.
What, me worry?
Dinnertime and I was so worried. We were eating in a big group, what if Aissa misbehaved? What if she couldn’t eat the food? What if she didn’t like it? What if she began to reach out and grab what she wanted instead of being patient? What if she screamed and threw a fit? Would she and Jean know how to eat with silverware?
Then, to my horror, the meal was served in courses, with the soup and salad first. Not fast enough! If we didn’t get food into Aissa right away she would turn into a monster! And what did Jean know about the soup bowl, the salad plate, the silverware, the serve-yourself table of food?
I needn’t have worried. Aissa made a face at the salad, but ate a piece of bread happily enough, and Jean handled his soup and bread like a pro, with all the delicacy of the king of England. The entrée was served soon thereafter, and Aissa dug in to the rice and meat, which is something she LOVES, with her spoon. She cautiously scooped into her mouth, which opens only partially due to her wound, losing almost not a single grain of rice and waving me over to clean away those strays that dared to land on the tablecloth in front of her…
The Catholic sisters, having heard Aissa’s story called her ‘beautiful’, cooed and smiled at her while she obligingly acted cute. We had a nice table conversation and as they finished their meal they wished us well on our journey.
What, me worry? Never.
Then, to my horror, the meal was served in courses, with the soup and salad first. Not fast enough! If we didn’t get food into Aissa right away she would turn into a monster! And what did Jean know about the soup bowl, the salad plate, the silverware, the serve-yourself table of food?
I needn’t have worried. Aissa made a face at the salad, but ate a piece of bread happily enough, and Jean handled his soup and bread like a pro, with all the delicacy of the king of England. The entrée was served soon thereafter, and Aissa dug in to the rice and meat, which is something she LOVES, with her spoon. She cautiously scooped into her mouth, which opens only partially due to her wound, losing almost not a single grain of rice and waving me over to clean away those strays that dared to land on the tablecloth in front of her…
The Catholic sisters, having heard Aissa’s story called her ‘beautiful’, cooed and smiled at her while she obligingly acted cute. We had a nice table conversation and as they finished their meal they wished us well on our journey.
What, me worry? Never.
Takeoff!
Journal entry April 12th, 2010;
Well today was the big day. I woke early and went about finishing up the last minute projects that are inherent to a big trip.
All our bags packed, I headed over to the hospital to find Aissa. Many of my colleagues approached me, wishing me blessed travels, excited that the time had finally come for us to go. We shook hands and exchanged smiles, Aissa was the star of the moment.
After Aissa had enjoyed a nice long bath and had changed into clean clothes, we packed the car and made our way to the airport. Our time waiting for our flight was pleasant, Aissa thoroughly enjoyed her new crayons and coloring book and played with Josiah, Andy’s son who came along to keep her company.
Checking in and securing boarding passes, going through passport control and paying airport tax was effortless, a major answer to prayer. We ate a leisurely lunch and actually saw our plane land! Aissa was all excitement and we hastily swept away crumbs and shuffled our bags to the boarding area.
Jean was stopped by officials at the door of the boarding area, at the door heading to the tarmac as well as an attendant on the plane! Apparently he didn’t quite look like he belonged! I simply showed them his boarding pass and we sailed through. We found three seats together, buckled in and waited for takeoff! I will not lie, the flight was rough. Our first leg from Maroua to Garoua was especially rough with much turbulence. I think Aissa panicked a bit and began to strain against her seatbelt. We tried to encourage her to keep it on, but she was having none of it. She began to cry and yell until an attendant came by to say I could hold her in my lap. Thus began approximately 2 hours of Aissa the tornado.
This little girl hasn’t had to sit still more than 5 mintues in the past year, perhaps longer. Trying to keep her occupied was a real struggle, and I do not look forward to the upcoming flight. She was all over those three seats, she new every inch of them, she climbed, she jumped, she turned, she cried, she whined…
I had prayed the evening previous that God would provide us with kind people on our journey. He absolutely answered my prayer. On the first leg of the flight, the ladies in front of us complimented my Fulfulde, on the second leg, another set of ladies gave Aissa candy when she cried. We were seated next to a young mother with a lovely baby and they both smiled and cooed at Aissa. The attendant couldn’t have been more kind, waving to us on her way past with drinks, allowing me to hold Aissa on my lap to prevent a meltdown.
Upon landing, Aissa pushed and shoved to get to the front of the plane, but the other passengers were patient with her. Our luggage arrived safely and we found our taxi chauffer with no trouble. Douala is nothing like the north, where the weather is hot, brown and dry. Here, everything is lush and green, but with the high humidity, the sweat just pours off. I think Aissa was quite uncomfortable, which only increased the whining, demanding behavoir.
However, once we checked into our rooms, we found that the Catholic mission where we are staying has a pool! Praise be to God:-) After a bit of splashing about, a change a clothes and a cool night breeze, she was in a much better mood. And so now we wait for dinner, this girl can pack away more than me! God was so faithful today, so many things went very well, he is good and we are safe.
Hallelujah.
A photo with Aissa and Jean before heading to the airport.
Well today was the big day. I woke early and went about finishing up the last minute projects that are inherent to a big trip.
All our bags packed, I headed over to the hospital to find Aissa. Many of my colleagues approached me, wishing me blessed travels, excited that the time had finally come for us to go. We shook hands and exchanged smiles, Aissa was the star of the moment.
After Aissa had enjoyed a nice long bath and had changed into clean clothes, we packed the car and made our way to the airport. Our time waiting for our flight was pleasant, Aissa thoroughly enjoyed her new crayons and coloring book and played with Josiah, Andy’s son who came along to keep her company.
Checking in and securing boarding passes, going through passport control and paying airport tax was effortless, a major answer to prayer. We ate a leisurely lunch and actually saw our plane land! Aissa was all excitement and we hastily swept away crumbs and shuffled our bags to the boarding area.
Jean was stopped by officials at the door of the boarding area, at the door heading to the tarmac as well as an attendant on the plane! Apparently he didn’t quite look like he belonged! I simply showed them his boarding pass and we sailed through. We found three seats together, buckled in and waited for takeoff! I will not lie, the flight was rough. Our first leg from Maroua to Garoua was especially rough with much turbulence. I think Aissa panicked a bit and began to strain against her seatbelt. We tried to encourage her to keep it on, but she was having none of it. She began to cry and yell until an attendant came by to say I could hold her in my lap. Thus began approximately 2 hours of Aissa the tornado.
This little girl hasn’t had to sit still more than 5 mintues in the past year, perhaps longer. Trying to keep her occupied was a real struggle, and I do not look forward to the upcoming flight. She was all over those three seats, she new every inch of them, she climbed, she jumped, she turned, she cried, she whined…
I had prayed the evening previous that God would provide us with kind people on our journey. He absolutely answered my prayer. On the first leg of the flight, the ladies in front of us complimented my Fulfulde, on the second leg, another set of ladies gave Aissa candy when she cried. We were seated next to a young mother with a lovely baby and they both smiled and cooed at Aissa. The attendant couldn’t have been more kind, waving to us on her way past with drinks, allowing me to hold Aissa on my lap to prevent a meltdown.
Upon landing, Aissa pushed and shoved to get to the front of the plane, but the other passengers were patient with her. Our luggage arrived safely and we found our taxi chauffer with no trouble. Douala is nothing like the north, where the weather is hot, brown and dry. Here, everything is lush and green, but with the high humidity, the sweat just pours off. I think Aissa was quite uncomfortable, which only increased the whining, demanding behavoir.
However, once we checked into our rooms, we found that the Catholic mission where we are staying has a pool! Praise be to God:-) After a bit of splashing about, a change a clothes and a cool night breeze, she was in a much better mood. And so now we wait for dinner, this girl can pack away more than me! God was so faithful today, so many things went very well, he is good and we are safe.
Hallelujah.
A photo with Aissa and Jean before heading to the airport.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A fragrant incense
After our devotional time together this morning, the team gathered around me and prayed. They thanked the Lord for the time that we have been together, for all that God has taught me, for the way he is setting me free. We praised that Lord that while the work has been difficult, he has been faithful, we praised him that I have never been alone.
Placing the trip into God’s hands, we asked him to bless it, we prayed that he would be near and we would see his intervention in even the smallest details. We prayed that Jean and Aissa might be calm and at peace.
We asked that Jean and Aissa would be open to Jesus and that God would provide a translator on the ship who speaks their heart language. Our longing to see them whole, both physically and spiritually was laid out before the God who loves them.
Finally, we prayed over Aissa’s surgery. We prayed that all would go well, that her medical team would be blessed and that this little girl who came to us so near death, would be finally free of her bandages, that we would be able to see her beautiful face.
They committed me with their blessing to Mercy Ships, my new home for the next month, stating they were proud of me, affirming to me their love.
Amen.
Placing the trip into God’s hands, we asked him to bless it, we prayed that he would be near and we would see his intervention in even the smallest details. We prayed that Jean and Aissa might be calm and at peace.
We asked that Jean and Aissa would be open to Jesus and that God would provide a translator on the ship who speaks their heart language. Our longing to see them whole, both physically and spiritually was laid out before the God who loves them.
Finally, we prayed over Aissa’s surgery. We prayed that all would go well, that her medical team would be blessed and that this little girl who came to us so near death, would be finally free of her bandages, that we would be able to see her beautiful face.
They committed me with their blessing to Mercy Ships, my new home for the next month, stating they were proud of me, affirming to me their love.
Amen.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Adventure!
Today Andy went to Aissa’s village to pick up her Uncle Jean. They found him with no trouble at all and he willingly packed his bags to return to the hospital. He and Aissa will stay there together until we leave Monday morning.
Aissa was over the moon to see him! I haven’t seen her smile this much in a long time. She kept pulling everyone into their room to show them that her uncle had returned. It was great to see her happy.
She and I then went to the house where she has been staying these past months. She sang, and skipped, and shook a little bag of peanuts like a maraca as we walked. We collected her things to bring them to the hospital and on our way home, many people greeted her. It seems they all know little Aissa, star of the neighborhood and she waved and smiled.
I wondered how she would handle the changes in that were coming? She has been here in Meskine for the past year and the hospital, market and it’s surrounding houses have been the center of her universe. Now we prepare for a cross-country adventure! Will she be scared? Excited? When we return and she goes home to her village in the remote bush of Cameroon, will she be happy to be reunited with her sister and grandma? Will she miss her friends and neighbors?
Thank you all for your prayers, I will keep you updated.
Aissa was over the moon to see him! I haven’t seen her smile this much in a long time. She kept pulling everyone into their room to show them that her uncle had returned. It was great to see her happy.
She and I then went to the house where she has been staying these past months. She sang, and skipped, and shook a little bag of peanuts like a maraca as we walked. We collected her things to bring them to the hospital and on our way home, many people greeted her. It seems they all know little Aissa, star of the neighborhood and she waved and smiled.
I wondered how she would handle the changes in that were coming? She has been here in Meskine for the past year and the hospital, market and it’s surrounding houses have been the center of her universe. Now we prepare for a cross-country adventure! Will she be scared? Excited? When we return and she goes home to her village in the remote bush of Cameroon, will she be happy to be reunited with her sister and grandma? Will she miss her friends and neighbors?
Thank you all for your prayers, I will keep you updated.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Little bird
I saw Aissa in the market today. She was walking toward me, her bottom lip sticking out, her chin lowered just a little. She tends to pout when she doesn’t get her own way, she has become a bit spoiled during her time with us, perhaps someone didn’t give her something she wanted?
She had sand on the side of her face, and I brushed it away and stood with her for a moment. Were the other kids unkind to her? Did they push her down? She doesn’t understand my Fulfulde and I don’t understand her Mufu so actually verbalizing my thoughts was not possible. I simply took her hand and led her with me into the market. I stroked her now wooly head of hair, growing back after it was last shaved, and bought a sprite for me and a cookie for her.
We then walked to my office, she knows the way well. As I followed her down the crowded hallway to the door with my name on it, I wondered how much of this she would remember when she grew up? Would she remember the nice white woman who smiled at her and stroked her neck and bought her a treat? Would she remember calling out my name “Sadatou!” and cheerfully skipping up to me? Would she remember how we loved her? I hope so.
We entered my office, she slipped off her Mickey Mouse sandals and I lifted her onto the table. Hefted is more like it, this girl is solid! She has had no trouble packing on the pounds since arriving! I checked her ears and she watched my face, gauging my reaction. She has a habit of doing this, reading faces when she is being examined or having her dressing changed. She peeks at you out of the corner of her eye with a slightly worried expression, at least until you look straight at her and smile, then her face lights up, she knows all is well.
My exam finished, she hops off the table, mon petit oiseau (my little bird) as I have nicknamed her. Always chirping and singing the visit seems to have lifted her spirits and she walks to the door, smiling.
And I close it after her, with a smile.
She had sand on the side of her face, and I brushed it away and stood with her for a moment. Were the other kids unkind to her? Did they push her down? She doesn’t understand my Fulfulde and I don’t understand her Mufu so actually verbalizing my thoughts was not possible. I simply took her hand and led her with me into the market. I stroked her now wooly head of hair, growing back after it was last shaved, and bought a sprite for me and a cookie for her.
We then walked to my office, she knows the way well. As I followed her down the crowded hallway to the door with my name on it, I wondered how much of this she would remember when she grew up? Would she remember the nice white woman who smiled at her and stroked her neck and bought her a treat? Would she remember calling out my name “Sadatou!” and cheerfully skipping up to me? Would she remember how we loved her? I hope so.
We entered my office, she slipped off her Mickey Mouse sandals and I lifted her onto the table. Hefted is more like it, this girl is solid! She has had no trouble packing on the pounds since arriving! I checked her ears and she watched my face, gauging my reaction. She has a habit of doing this, reading faces when she is being examined or having her dressing changed. She peeks at you out of the corner of her eye with a slightly worried expression, at least until you look straight at her and smile, then her face lights up, she knows all is well.
My exam finished, she hops off the table, mon petit oiseau (my little bird) as I have nicknamed her. Always chirping and singing the visit seems to have lifted her spirits and she walks to the door, smiling.
And I close it after her, with a smile.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Child of my own womb
Jacqueline and I went to visit Mama Bello this afternoon.
Recently her sister Didja was hospitalized. Didja’s chest xray shows severe disease, with an ominous shadow taking over her entire left lung. Our diagnostic capabilities exhausted, we aren’t sure what to do but pray.
I helped to care for Mama's daughter Djanatou during Djanatou's hysterectomy in 2008. Mama refers to me as a “bingel jey reedu am” or child of her own womb. So in her time of need, fearful that her sister would die, she came to me.
Didja has since been sent home, and Jacqueline and I made a visit to Mama’s house today. Mama is a widow who lives with her three co-wives, their husband dead now for the past 6 years. They have a combined total of more than 30 children and their compound is a whirlwind of activity. Half-naked babies, wearing only t-shirts, their little bottoms hanging out, run amongst mothers putting laundry on the line, washing their faces with water from the big clay jug in the garden or preparing food on mats in the courtyard. A flock of preteen girls, all dressed in their finest on their way home from Koranic school, greeted us in turn.
We waded through the crowd while calling out a chorus of hellos and found our way to Mama’s room. We sat with her and Jacqueline who speaks flawless Fulfulde, asked questions about Didja. The situation has worsened, Mama is quite worried, and keeps asking us what can be done. We both know the answer, so Jacqueline turns the conversation back to God, reminding Mama that ultimately, He is in control.
After deciding that Mama would bring Didja to the hospital to see us the following week, I shared with Mama that I will be leaving soon. She hid her face in her hands for a few moments, and when she emerged, asked if I would be back to work again. I told her I would like to return to visit friends, but I was still praying to know God’s will.
She then took my hand and thanked me. I wondered at that moment why I would ever leave this place, leave the people I care for and have cared for during their times of pain and illness. I have been so blessed by their kindness and friendship. My time here has been precious.
I would do it all over again.
Samuel
Samuel has AIDS.
He was hospitalized from November of 2009 to January of 2010 with a collapsed lung due to TB. Despite continuous efforts to drain the fluid that fills up his chest, it collects again, the lung will not reinflate and the TB meds don’t seem to be helping.
In addition, he has a connective tissue cancer common to patients with AIDS that has started to cause his face and lips to swell. He is growing large tumors on his tongue and soon swallowing could become quite difficult.
Here in Cameroon, where your family is your health insurance, savings and retirement plan, he spent his entire hospitalization completely alone. Not one single visitor came.
He had a friend or “patron” who paid for his care during his time with us, and a work acquaintance in the village who brought him food occasionally, but otherwise he was on his own.
Despite his protests that he was not yet “healed” we had to send him home. I believe he is still coming to terms with his illness and came in to see me last week for a follow-up visit.
A new doctor who recently started working in Meskine examined Samuel’s mouth and suggested immediately that he go to Yaounde, the capital city in the south. But as we discussed this option the weight of poverty, fatigue and hopelessness settled over Samuel’s countenance and his face simply fell.
Treatment in the capital city is an unrealistic option for many of our patients. The cost of transport alone exceeds their meager means and for a man like Samuel, estranged from his family and already a burden to his patron, there was little hope of travelling south.
In that moment I understood that while treatment for Samuel’s body was important, care of his soul was critical.
So I locked the doors to my office, sat down and asked Samuel if he knew God. He told me yes, obediently reciting what he had probably been taught as a child. When I told him that Jesus came to die for him, because he, Samuel, was loved by God, he began to cry.
We talked briefly about the hope God gives for a future in heaven, the assurance we have of His presence in the midst of our pain, and His forgiveness of our sins. We then prayed together.
My prayer this week is that God, in His faithfulness and mercy would pursue Samuel.
I pray that God would set him free.
He was hospitalized from November of 2009 to January of 2010 with a collapsed lung due to TB. Despite continuous efforts to drain the fluid that fills up his chest, it collects again, the lung will not reinflate and the TB meds don’t seem to be helping.
In addition, he has a connective tissue cancer common to patients with AIDS that has started to cause his face and lips to swell. He is growing large tumors on his tongue and soon swallowing could become quite difficult.
Here in Cameroon, where your family is your health insurance, savings and retirement plan, he spent his entire hospitalization completely alone. Not one single visitor came.
He had a friend or “patron” who paid for his care during his time with us, and a work acquaintance in the village who brought him food occasionally, but otherwise he was on his own.
Despite his protests that he was not yet “healed” we had to send him home. I believe he is still coming to terms with his illness and came in to see me last week for a follow-up visit.
A new doctor who recently started working in Meskine examined Samuel’s mouth and suggested immediately that he go to Yaounde, the capital city in the south. But as we discussed this option the weight of poverty, fatigue and hopelessness settled over Samuel’s countenance and his face simply fell.
Treatment in the capital city is an unrealistic option for many of our patients. The cost of transport alone exceeds their meager means and for a man like Samuel, estranged from his family and already a burden to his patron, there was little hope of travelling south.
In that moment I understood that while treatment for Samuel’s body was important, care of his soul was critical.
So I locked the doors to my office, sat down and asked Samuel if he knew God. He told me yes, obediently reciting what he had probably been taught as a child. When I told him that Jesus came to die for him, because he, Samuel, was loved by God, he began to cry.
We talked briefly about the hope God gives for a future in heaven, the assurance we have of His presence in the midst of our pain, and His forgiveness of our sins. We then prayed together.
My prayer this week is that God, in His faithfulness and mercy would pursue Samuel.
I pray that God would set him free.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Ousmane
I’m doing research tonight.
One of my patients Ousmane, a tired teenage boy who is hospitalized for the second time since the beginning of the year has had to undergo approximately 7 blood transfusions. Apparently his bone marrow is tired too, and has stopped making red and white blood cells and platelets. The result is profound anemia, fevers due to the attack on his immune system, and regular nosebleeds due to his inability to clot.
He’s dangling on the edge, and so I’m reading about his condition.
He and his father have put their faith in us, and we are truly the end of the road. No hematology consult here, specialists are simply not available in our part of Cameroon, and travelling down south and paying to see a hematologist is out of their reach. We have conducted a bone marrow biopsy, but it will take 2 months to receive the results and having a diagnosis doesn’t guarantee that we will be able to treat him.
The prognosis isn’t good. Yet they look at me with hope in their eyes each morning as I enter the room.
As I read an article on his illness, the gardener outside my window sings a song while watering the plants and I am struck by the needs of the people who place their trust in us. We are the end of the road, if we can’t heal them, there is no other option. They rely on us.
The hopelessness is overwhelming, our impotence frustrating. I know that God is in control, but truth is not always felt and I am struggling this evening. I want this boy to be well, and I cannot make it so.
One of my patients Ousmane, a tired teenage boy who is hospitalized for the second time since the beginning of the year has had to undergo approximately 7 blood transfusions. Apparently his bone marrow is tired too, and has stopped making red and white blood cells and platelets. The result is profound anemia, fevers due to the attack on his immune system, and regular nosebleeds due to his inability to clot.
He’s dangling on the edge, and so I’m reading about his condition.
He and his father have put their faith in us, and we are truly the end of the road. No hematology consult here, specialists are simply not available in our part of Cameroon, and travelling down south and paying to see a hematologist is out of their reach. We have conducted a bone marrow biopsy, but it will take 2 months to receive the results and having a diagnosis doesn’t guarantee that we will be able to treat him.
The prognosis isn’t good. Yet they look at me with hope in their eyes each morning as I enter the room.
As I read an article on his illness, the gardener outside my window sings a song while watering the plants and I am struck by the needs of the people who place their trust in us. We are the end of the road, if we can’t heal them, there is no other option. They rely on us.
The hopelessness is overwhelming, our impotence frustrating. I know that God is in control, but truth is not always felt and I am struggling this evening. I want this boy to be well, and I cannot make it so.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Aissa update!
Aissa's tentative operation date is April 19-21st. At this time we will be traveling to Lome, Togo where the ship is currently located.
The Africa Mercy, our home for the months of April/May!
A cool bath on a hot day! Not much longer and she won't fit in this tub!
Thanks for all your prayers! I will keep you updated!
God bless, Sarah
Soureyatou
The following is an excerpt from my personal journal.
"Soureyatou was admitted in the beginning of January after giving birth 4 months previous. From the very beginning of her hospitalization, we were mystified by her strange mix of symptoms. It was obvious that she had heart failure in addition to a pulmonary infection and we debated as to whether or not to begin TB treatment. I went with her to the OR when the first pleural tap was performed. I helped to hold up her arm when she couldn’t. She called me a “sobaajo peulo” (a true friend) and seemed touched and relieved by my presence, thanking me profusely after the procedure was over.
The pleural tap came back clear, no blood, no protein. So after coordinating her care during her stay, we discharged her with treatment for simple pneumonia and post partum cardiomyopathy (heart failure) and I discussed her case in the doctor’s meeting, and individually with the physicians. She returned for a follow-up and was doing much better. We decided on a wait-and-see approach.
However, by her second follow up, the pain in her chest had returned and a second pleural tap revealed pus. So after advocating for her to the TB department, we began her on medications. She had been having difficulty breathing, but seemed stable enough, and lived close enough to return to the hospital in a hurry if need be.
Less than a week later, she came back with a horrible case of thrush (yeast infection of the mouth) due to all her antibiotics. She had weakened considerably and we admitted her. I reviewed the medications she was currently taking, add the necessary treatment to her carnet and checked on her in the evening before going home. I asked Doctor Jacqueline to go and see her which she did, making a list of propositions in the carnet, secured a room for her close to the nurse’s station and reminded myself to bring her a toothbrush the following morning, since she had left hers at home.
The following morning, despite receiving oxygen, she was struggling to breathe. That afternoon her sister found me and asked me to come quickly, stating that Soureyatou was not doing well. She was in cardiogenic shock, with a pulse of 92, no peripheral blood pressure and ice-cold limbs. I hastily added a fluid bolus, Lasix and hydrocortisone, but we were only able to conduct half of the requested care before she passed away.
She had been barely conscious, but her last words to me were to ask for a “sleeping medication”. With tenderness, I asked her to wait, and if she had trouble sleeping that evening, I would give her something. I praise God for enabling me to show compassion and love to Soureyatou and her family during this past month. I feel they knew that I cared for her and I believe God showed his love for them through me.
As I entered her room to pronounce the death her uncle, the bulwark of the family was directing her heartbroken and crying husband as they gathered their things to go home. Soureyatou’s daughter, a girl of about 5 years old stood in the middle of the room sobbing, a look of terror, pain and confusion on her face. After confirming the death I turned to her uncle and he shook my hand, crying silently.
I was a bit timid as I always am, not really knowing how the family was going to react. I gave them their space and waited at the nurse’s station. Eventually, all their bags packed, the uncle approached me and compassionately took my hand and thanked me. I gratefully accepted and rushed to gather nurses to remove Soureyatou’s body at his quiet request. The nurses hustled to the room and moved the body to a waiting truck. I followed, my own sort of funeral procession, and upon going outside saw a group of women huddled together off to one side.
I prayed about whether or not to approach them. God told me yes. As I walked over and knelt down, a woman I believe was Soureyatou’s mother took my hand and held on. She thanked me and stated “a habdi” that I had tried. Soureyatou’s young daughter wailed, and I tried to rub her back but she pulled away from my attempts to comfort. Two other women, perhaps sisters, each took my hand and murmured their thanks. Their kindness was such a relief and as I repeated the fulfulde phrases used in times of grief I choked up and we cried together.
In the moment of their greatest sorrow, they comforted me."
"Soureyatou was admitted in the beginning of January after giving birth 4 months previous. From the very beginning of her hospitalization, we were mystified by her strange mix of symptoms. It was obvious that she had heart failure in addition to a pulmonary infection and we debated as to whether or not to begin TB treatment. I went with her to the OR when the first pleural tap was performed. I helped to hold up her arm when she couldn’t. She called me a “sobaajo peulo” (a true friend) and seemed touched and relieved by my presence, thanking me profusely after the procedure was over.
The pleural tap came back clear, no blood, no protein. So after coordinating her care during her stay, we discharged her with treatment for simple pneumonia and post partum cardiomyopathy (heart failure) and I discussed her case in the doctor’s meeting, and individually with the physicians. She returned for a follow-up and was doing much better. We decided on a wait-and-see approach.
However, by her second follow up, the pain in her chest had returned and a second pleural tap revealed pus. So after advocating for her to the TB department, we began her on medications. She had been having difficulty breathing, but seemed stable enough, and lived close enough to return to the hospital in a hurry if need be.
Less than a week later, she came back with a horrible case of thrush (yeast infection of the mouth) due to all her antibiotics. She had weakened considerably and we admitted her. I reviewed the medications she was currently taking, add the necessary treatment to her carnet and checked on her in the evening before going home. I asked Doctor Jacqueline to go and see her which she did, making a list of propositions in the carnet, secured a room for her close to the nurse’s station and reminded myself to bring her a toothbrush the following morning, since she had left hers at home.
The following morning, despite receiving oxygen, she was struggling to breathe. That afternoon her sister found me and asked me to come quickly, stating that Soureyatou was not doing well. She was in cardiogenic shock, with a pulse of 92, no peripheral blood pressure and ice-cold limbs. I hastily added a fluid bolus, Lasix and hydrocortisone, but we were only able to conduct half of the requested care before she passed away.
She had been barely conscious, but her last words to me were to ask for a “sleeping medication”. With tenderness, I asked her to wait, and if she had trouble sleeping that evening, I would give her something. I praise God for enabling me to show compassion and love to Soureyatou and her family during this past month. I feel they knew that I cared for her and I believe God showed his love for them through me.
As I entered her room to pronounce the death her uncle, the bulwark of the family was directing her heartbroken and crying husband as they gathered their things to go home. Soureyatou’s daughter, a girl of about 5 years old stood in the middle of the room sobbing, a look of terror, pain and confusion on her face. After confirming the death I turned to her uncle and he shook my hand, crying silently.
I was a bit timid as I always am, not really knowing how the family was going to react. I gave them their space and waited at the nurse’s station. Eventually, all their bags packed, the uncle approached me and compassionately took my hand and thanked me. I gratefully accepted and rushed to gather nurses to remove Soureyatou’s body at his quiet request. The nurses hustled to the room and moved the body to a waiting truck. I followed, my own sort of funeral procession, and upon going outside saw a group of women huddled together off to one side.
I prayed about whether or not to approach them. God told me yes. As I walked over and knelt down, a woman I believe was Soureyatou’s mother took my hand and held on. She thanked me and stated “a habdi” that I had tried. Soureyatou’s young daughter wailed, and I tried to rub her back but she pulled away from my attempts to comfort. Two other women, perhaps sisters, each took my hand and murmured their thanks. Their kindness was such a relief and as I repeated the fulfulde phrases used in times of grief I choked up and we cried together.
In the moment of their greatest sorrow, they comforted me."
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Thank you CCBC!
Our team was so pleased to receive your most recent gifts!
Andy and Kari say thank you for their coffee! The kids, Josiah and Elizabeth really liked their new toothbrushes, Lightening McQueen is Josiah's favorite!
Scott and Lee were amazed at their HUGE bag of M&Ms!
Ever the chocoholic, Dave was so pleased with his goodies. I'm sure he'll share with Patsy:-)
Jumbo bag! Danny and Frances will be snacking on their Reeses for quite a while!
The kid's ornaments were great! I didn't quite have room on my mini-tree, so they are cheerfully decorating my living room instead:-)
I feel as though I write the same words every time, but they are genuine. Your faithful friendship has been such an encouragement and a blessing during my time in Cameroon and in particular, during this holiday season. My team is impressed by your love for me and so appreciated your kindness toward them as well. What a lovely family you are. I look forward to seeing you in the new year.
God bless you as you have blessed me, Sarah
Andy and Kari say thank you for their coffee! The kids, Josiah and Elizabeth really liked their new toothbrushes, Lightening McQueen is Josiah's favorite!
Scott and Lee were amazed at their HUGE bag of M&Ms!
Ever the chocoholic, Dave was so pleased with his goodies. I'm sure he'll share with Patsy:-)
Jumbo bag! Danny and Frances will be snacking on their Reeses for quite a while!
The kid's ornaments were great! I didn't quite have room on my mini-tree, so they are cheerfully decorating my living room instead:-)
I feel as though I write the same words every time, but they are genuine. Your faithful friendship has been such an encouragement and a blessing during my time in Cameroon and in particular, during this holiday season. My team is impressed by your love for me and so appreciated your kindness toward them as well. What a lovely family you are. I look forward to seeing you in the new year.
God bless you as you have blessed me, Sarah
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Merry Christmas
There is no one like Him. Not a new concept, perhaps, but one that was driven home during my time in Africa.
What did I learn? What did God teach me? That He is to be praised, adored, honored and glorified. That He is worthy of this praise, because there is no one like Him. He created a way back to Himself, we are reconciled to Him.
What an incredible gift. Nothing else compares.
On my face in praise, overwhelmed with gratitude and His loveliness, all I can manage is to sob out “Hallelujah”
Hallelujah.
I have seen patients who should have died, pull through and live. Their healings were nothing short of miraculous, God saved their lives. Others have been delivered from the demons that tortured them with waking nightmares and fear.
Still others found the truth of Jesus and it changed their lives as nothing else ever could.
God has intervened in my own life during this time. He has provided for my needs in overwhelming ways, proving to me His love, His ability as my Father. He has demonstrated His faithfulness by showing me my sinfulness and areas that He wishes to heal, with the divine purpose of restoring me to Him, restoring me to the woman he intended me to be.
He has comforted me when I faced difficult choices, when I faced the poverty, suffering, illness and death surrounding me.
But none of this compares with who he is. WHO HE IS! What an astounding, perspective changing, life altering realization, His beauty, His power, His goodness.
Him.
Beautiful.
Hallelujah.
What did I learn? What did God teach me? That He is to be praised, adored, honored and glorified. That He is worthy of this praise, because there is no one like Him. He created a way back to Himself, we are reconciled to Him.
What an incredible gift. Nothing else compares.
On my face in praise, overwhelmed with gratitude and His loveliness, all I can manage is to sob out “Hallelujah”
Hallelujah.
I have seen patients who should have died, pull through and live. Their healings were nothing short of miraculous, God saved their lives. Others have been delivered from the demons that tortured them with waking nightmares and fear.
Still others found the truth of Jesus and it changed their lives as nothing else ever could.
God has intervened in my own life during this time. He has provided for my needs in overwhelming ways, proving to me His love, His ability as my Father. He has demonstrated His faithfulness by showing me my sinfulness and areas that He wishes to heal, with the divine purpose of restoring me to Him, restoring me to the woman he intended me to be.
He has comforted me when I faced difficult choices, when I faced the poverty, suffering, illness and death surrounding me.
But none of this compares with who he is. WHO HE IS! What an astounding, perspective changing, life altering realization, His beauty, His power, His goodness.
Him.
Beautiful.
Hallelujah.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)