out live your life.

I am a pediatric nurse.

Well, I guess now, I am a pediatric nurse practitioner.

But I will always be a pediatric nurse.

I have wanted to work with sick children always. I have never wanted to do anything else, actually. When I was in 1^st grade, for a journal entry at school, I wrote that when I grew up I wanted to be a pedestrian (pediatrician). My heart has never veered from that calling.

Taking care of sick children and their families is what I was created to do.

Since becoming a pediatric nurse almost 5 years ago, I have seen many horrible things. I have seen traumatic injuries. I have seen children die. I have held the hand of a scared teenager who is too prideful to cry. I have hugged parents when there are no words to say for the situation they are enduring. I have rocked babies in the middle of the night who have no parents there to love them. I have raced in the hallway with little boys pulling an IV pole behind them. I have colored pictures. I have started IVs. I have changed dressings. I have made kids cry. I have watched parents cry. I have cried.

Today, I went with Jon and Ashley to the local hospital in Sakete. I have talked about Mathias before. His birthday was earlier this week and he is an employee of Arbre de Vie. His mother was involved in a horrible moto accident back in January. She suffered a traumatic brain injury, a broken femur and was in critical condition for weeks. Jon shared with me today that there was a time when he honestly was not sure Mathias’ mom would recover from this accident. (Side note: Jon is a RN. I’m not sure if I’ve said that before or not.) With my arrival and things kind of being crazy around the orphanage lately with the construction of the new road, Jon and Ashley haven’t been to see Mathias’ mom in a few weeks. So this afternoon we piled in their car, along with Katinka, Bernard and Louisette, and drove to the hospital to visit with her.

Some things need to be explained before going on with any of this post. When I say hospital, please do not envision anything you have ever, ever seen in the United States before. When I say medical staff, please do not envision anything you have ever, ever experienced in the United States before. Mathias and his siblings provide basically all the care for their mother, even though she is still hospitalized. This is standard for Benin. People who don’t have any family to take care of them, basically just lay there in the hospital room and die. Mathias’ sister stays with their mother all day, in a small room that has 2 beds in it. There is not a roommate in the room right now, so it is just his mother in her bed by the window and his sister sits and sleeps on the hard floor. Mathias finishes with his workday at Arbre de Vie, comes by the orphanage every night for dinner with the kids and then he spends the night at the hospital with his mom and sister. His sister goes home on the weekends to be with her small children and their youngest sister, who is 21 and still in high school, spends the weekends at the hospital with their mom. They have been doing this since January. Providing her meals. Changing her. Caring for her dressings. Everything. And yet, they still have to pay the hospital for the room (obviously) and other expenses accrued.

Nurses don’t hand out medication. No. The doctors tell the family what medications the patient needs and the family is responsible for going to the pharmacy and getting the medications. And then giving them to their family member.

It is absolutely unreal.

I feel like I could go on and on right now.

But I’ll spare you.

Mathias’ mother has not had surgery on her broken femur yet. Hopefully, in the next week or so, the hardware will arrive for the internal fixation of her left femur and surgery can be done. This will also cost quite a bit of money. But money should not be an object, because the surgery is necessary. But, like everything, money is always the object…

We visited with Mathias’ mom and his sister for quite sometime. Jon and Ashley were very pleased with how well she appears to be doing. She is now eating and was able to communicate some with us. Although her memory and speaking still have a long way to go in the recovery process, everyone is hopeful that she will regain full function in the months ahead.

Jon is hoping that they can do the surgery in the next few weeks and then she could hopefully be home within a month. That way him and I would have a few weeks to work with her at her house providing some therapy and rehab that she so desperately needs.

We prayed with her and Ashley graciously showed me around the rest of the hospital. Ashley and Jon are very familiar with this hospital and especially the pediatric wing. Ashley asked a nurse if it would be okay for us to go in the pediatric wing and we did. As we entered the blue door, my heart began to race. I thought about the hundreds of times I walked through the entrance of the children’s hospital I worked at in Tulsa. And the stark contrast overwhelmed me.

There was no gift shop.

No playground outside.

No café with refreshments.

No elaborate art work.

None of that.

But there were sick kids.

And there were parents who desperately want their sick child to get better.

(the "equipment" room of the pediatric wing. 

one set of bilirubin lights and one suction machine.)

The first room we walked into had 7 beds in it. Each bed had a patient in it. And most had a family member beside the bed with them. There were no sheets on the beds, just fabric that is provided by the family for their child. There were no machines, just a wire cage hung from the ceiling to hold IV fluids. There were no X-Boxes and TVs. But there were sick kids.

My heart was overwhelmed.

Literally.

I felt nauseous.

And could only think, these kids deserve better than this.

They deserve all the luxuries of the children I take care of in the United States.

But who cares about luxuries at this point…

They deserve adequate healthcare.

Plain and simple.

I am reading a book by Max Lucado.

Out Live Your Life.

In this book Max talks about our once in history opportunity. Life is racing by, and if we aren’t careful, you and I will look up, and our shot at it will have passed us by. And then what? What do we all want? I know what I want. And Max said it well…I don’t want to just do well, I want to do good. I want my life to matter. I want to live in such a way that the world will be glad that I did.

But the cold, hard to swallow truth is where do I start?

What do I do?

In the few minutes it has taken you to read this post, ninety children died of PREVENTABLE diseases. More than half of all Africans do not have access to modern health facilities. Because of this, 10 million Africans die each year from diarrhea, acute respiratory illness, malaria and measles.

Because of this, I saw this little girl today …

Lying on a cold bed.

By herself.

She has malaria.

She is very sick.

Because of this, I saw this 21-month-old baby girl today…

 

Lying in her mother's arms.

She has diarrhea.

She is malnourished.

They are unsure what to do.

I don’t really know how to end this lengthy post. All I know is tonight, my heart is sad. Tonight, I wish I could be in that hospital room, with those kids, loving on them and providing excellent nursing care to them. But even if I was there with them, they do not have the medical supplies and equipment necessary to provide adequate treatment.

Today, as Ashley prayed with them before we left, tears streamed down my face. And all I could keep thinking was surely, surely this breaks the Lords heart as much as it breaks mine. Surely, surely He finds it just as unjust and unfair as I do. That these children are lying here in Sakete, Benin, West Africa without hope for a better tomorrow while children I took care of in Tulsa, Oklahoma, are angry their hospital room doesn’t have an X-Box.

It is all so backward.

It is all so unfair.

Help me to see the needs You want me to see,

to react in a way that honors You,

and to bless others by serving them gladly with

practical expressions of Your love.

 (Max Lucado)