i would like to say each time has gotten progressively easier...but that wouldn't be the truth.
the truth is, it is still almost too much for my heart to handle.
mathias' mom finally had surgery to repair her broken femur this past week. her femur that was broken in JANUARY...just got repaired this week. 3 entire months later. she has been lying in a twin sized, flat bed in a room with no air conditioning, next to a window that looks out on other buildings of the hospital and the morgue, for 3 entire months. and don't even kid yourself into believing there's a TV in the room. yeah right. think about what you have done since january. and think about this lady, someone's mother, being in this room and lying on this bed with a broken femur and other various injuries for months. it's impossible for me to imagine.
as we were walking through the hospital, i began thinking of this time last year. this time last year, my dad had a very invasive surgery to remove a tumor that was between his lungs, under his sternum. my dad had one of the best surgeons in the nation operating on him at the Oklahoma Heart Institute and was taken care of at an amazing medical facility. due to a few different negligent situations, i was not the kindest to some of the medical professionals though. as a nurse, i expect other nurses to provide the same excellent care that i try to provide to my patients and their families. as a pediatric nurse, i have never just been my patient's nurse, i have tried to provide excellent care and compassion to the entire family. it kind of became a joke when my dad was in the hospital that those nurses would watch for me coming down the hall. and of course, he's telling them i'm a nurse and in nurse practitioner school...so they were always eyeballing me and saying, "so, you're the one in nurse practitioner school?" i did not care in that moment what the nurses had going on outside of my dad's room or honestly what they thought about me. why? because i love him. i want what's best for him. i don't want him to be in pain. i want him to be able to sleep well. i want him to be well taken care of. just like the family next door felt about their loved one. and the family down the hall. they just wanted their loved one better and home and healthy.
this is no different than the families i have met at the hospital here in Sakete, Benin.
all these moms want is for their child to be healthy.
all these wives want is for their husbands to come home.
all these children want is for their parent to not be in pain.
it's that simple, really.
but unfortunately, it is not simple at all for these patients.
if they need blood...someone in their family must drive an hour to the first bigger city, Porto Novo, to buy blood at a blood bank for their family member. and then drive back and pray they make it in time.
if they need an x-ray, it has to be done on monday, wednesday or friday. break your arm on saturday morning? you're waiting until monday for an x-ray to be performed.
if the need pain medicine, a prescription is written by someone at the hospital and a family member must go down to the pharmacy in town and pick up the pain medicine. no family members to go get you the medicine? guess you're lying there in pain...
ashley and jon know many of the nurses and physicians at the hospital very well. she is good friends with a few of the nurses and they were working this past week when we went to visit. i was shown all over the hospital and graciously welcomed by all the staff. it was a nice visit and i left feeling pretty proud of myself for keeping it all together and taking it all in. we didn't see any pediatric patients during that visit though.
this saturday, while the kids were busy taking their showers before dinner at the orphanage, we packed up the car and went to the hospital to check on mathias' mom and to see some more of the hospital because a few of her good nursing friends were working that day. her friend, jacquelyn, usually takes care of the few beds that are in the "post-op" unit. this night, she was busy helping the midwife over in maternity. we heard the woman in labor screaming from outside the door. in that moment, i looked over at ashley and said..."all my children are being adopted. no way will i ever go through all that..." seriously. jacquelyn came out and then BROUGHT US IN THE ROOM WITH HER! oh man. the room was large. there were 3 exam tables lined up parallel to one another with a partition dividing them each. we washed our hands and then sat as this young, village girl laid on the table alone, having her first child. we were only in there for a few minutes and then left to find the boys who had come with us. they had found a bench a good distance away from the maternity room...they definitely got the heck out of dodge!
the anesthesiologist who i met on wednesday was there that evening also and he is so friendly and welcoming! we talked with him for a bit and he told us that he had just inserted an IV in this sick child who no one could get an IV on. he said the family was on their way to Porto Novo to pick up blood because her hemoglobin was 4. they were just praying the IV stayed patent while the blood was being transported so this child could be given the blood that was so emergently necessary to her survival. jacquelyn took us into the pediatric building following our maternity adventure. we went into the room where this little girl was lying, being watched by a nurse who was sitting at a desk next to the bed. she was lifeless. i was thankful to see that the blood was infusing already, so the family had been able to get it without much complication. we talked with the pediatric nurse for sometime. well, ashley spoke with them in french and i couldn't take my eyes off this sweet, baby girl. she was probably 3. could have been older though. age is hard to decipher here due to malnutrition. she did not move at all, other than her rapid, shallow breathing while we were in the room. my eyes were welling with tears and all i wanted to do was pick her up and cuddle her and take her somewhere else. somewhere that has blood waiting for her. that has all the equipment needed to save her life. that has all the resources needed to run adequate tests to determine why her hemoglobin was dangerously low.
i could not do this.
all ashley and i could do in that moment was pray for her. ashley laid her hand on her sweet, still legs and i grabbed her cold hand. i wrapped my fingers in hers and began praying for her out of desperation. that the Lord would see her here, in this hospital room, alone. and that He would comfort her. that He would provide healing and that this blood transfusion would breathe life into her lifeless body. her name is DeAnn. and today, a few days later, i am unsure what ended up happening with DeAnn...but that night when i got home and began processing, again, all i had seen...my heart had an assurance it has not felt before. i may never know what happens with DeAnn, or the thousands of other children who so desperately need adequate medical care, but the Lord sees them.
He loves them.
and i have to rest in that assurance. i may want to pick them all up, take them all home with me, nurse them back to health, feed them nutritious meals, shower them with love...but i cannot actually do that. that is silly to think. even though in those moments, it takes all my will power to not just scoop them up from that cold, hospital bed and escape with them. to something better. to something adequate. to something lifesaving. i cannot do that.
i can, however, kneel down beside their bed and whisper prayers, on their behalf.
i can, however, take an ice cold shower while hot tears pour down my face, on their behalf.
i can, however, try to find words to share their story.
i can, however, do something for one person.
i can, however, provide laughter where laughter is needed.
i can, however, provide the touch that people so desperately crave.
i can, however, provide an encouraging smile to let them know they are loved, cherished and not forgotten.
i can, however, continue to love these children i am blessed to spend every single day with.
i can, however, continue to be filled with joy and hope, even when the situation is not joyful or hopeful.
i will continue to do these things. i will continue to provide these things. and i will continue to go back into that blue building, filled with sick pediatric patients in Benin, and hold their sweet hands, and pray.
and i will continue loving these little rascals...
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and regardless of what else you put on, wear love.
it's your basic, all-purpose garment.
never be without it.
let every detail in your lives - words, actions, whatever - be done in the name of Jesus.
thank God every step of the way.
((colossians 3:14))
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