It
was a Sunday afternoon. I had already had an incredibly frustrating morning
that involved rotten meat, poop and a really poor attitude on my part. (Just keepin' it real folks!) I
finally had Dori laid down for a nap and I put on an episode of Friends and
laid down on the couch to try to grab a little Sunday afternoon nap myself. My
phone rang...
“Hello?”
“Tata.”
– the line cut because the person calling didn’t have credit loaded on their
phone to support a phone call. I called back, still not knowing who it was.
“Hello,
who is this?”
It
was the young uncle of a set of twins in our Infant Formula Program. His nephew,
Victor, was sick. He didn’t say much, I didn’t ask much, I knew if he was
calling me on a Sunday afternoon that it must not be great. “Bring him to the
center now. I’m at home but I'll meet you there.”
After
calling sweet Augustin to come be with Dori until she woke up and making myself
a strong cup of coffee (I knew I was going to need it…) I jumped in my car and
got to the center. Victor and his grandmother and uncle came up to the house
soon after my arrival. I could see the look of desperation in her eyes. And Victor was
lying very lifeless in her arms. I quickly triaged him in our clinic, did a malaria test that
was positive and got a basic history of what had been going on. The family had
already been at the hospital in town when they called me but didn’t yet have
the bloodwork back. His uncle went to get the results and came back. His
hemoglobin was so critically low the staff at the hospital in our village told
the uncle to take him directly to the capital city (an hour away) with the hope
of finding blood to transfuse him there as there was NO blood at the hospital
in Sakété.
Our
pastor was in the middle of a Bible study with all of our children in our large
meeting room and I carried Victor in there with his family to pray over him
before they got on the road to Porto Novo. “Let them find blood.” “Keep this
baby with us.” Our children and staff prayed. The grandmother cradled him in her arms. I sent them ahead of me in a public taxi to the clinic we
use in Porto Novo so that I could settle some things at the center and talk it
all over with Justin and Rachel. I wanted them to get there as soon as possible
with Victor and not be held up by me trying to get my act together.
I
left several minutes later, Rachel following me out to the car, “Don’t worry
about anything here. We’ll take care of everything and Dori. We’ll be praying. Let us know
what we can do.”
I
got in my car and started the drive to Porto Novo. My whole body was tense. I
wanted to cry but didn’t/couldn’t. I was worried. Worried about Victor. Worried
about whether blood would be found. Worried that we had literally fought to
bring this baby back to health after the death of his mother during childbirth
to watch him suffer and die from malaria as a 12 month old. I was questioning so much and if I’m
really honest right now, I was worried that there would not be funds sufficient
to cover Victor’s medical bills. He is sponsored through our Infant Formula
Program but that money covers his formula…not a stay in the ICU of a private
clinic in Porto Novo. (Read also: Expensive)
As
I was driving and singing and thinking and praying, I felt very impressed in my spirit to
ask family and friends to pray for him. When I arrived at the clinic, I went in
and he was already being treated. I spoke with the doctors and staff, whom we
know very well thanks to the relationships Jon and Ashley have established
throughout their years here in Benin, and ran out to my car to get some water.
I posted a quick picture and update on Facebook. Asking for prayers to be sent
up on his behalf that specifically blood would be found. Back in the clinic I
went.
His
father was now there with his grandmother and uncle. They didn’t know the
procedure of looking for blood and the staff in the ICU handed me the small
cooler that blood is kept in and said, “Can you go? It might be better if you
go.” Seraphin was there and he knows the procedure for looking for blood very
well so off we went to the large, public hospital in Porto Novo to try to find blood
at their blood bank.
The
room was full of people when we arrived. Every chair was full. The line was
long of people standing, waiting to even give their order for blood to the one
person working in the blood bank. “You better just be patient”, one lady told
me, “I’ve been here since 3pm waiting.” It was already well after 8pm by this
point. I stand in line, holding the empty cooler, trying to patiently
wait…trust me when I say this is not my forte.
A
big ruckus breaks out as the people in line are frustrated and there’s
seemingly no blood at this blood bank but no one is really saying that. We
could just continue down the road to Cotonou, to look for blood at their
hospitals there, but since the order was written at a hospital in Porto Novo we
must first be refused at a blood bank in Porto Novo before we have the right to
go look for blood in Cotonou. This is a true story. They must literally write
on the order “NO BLOOD RECEIVED” and sign it at the blood bank in Porto Novo
before we could go on to Cotonou. So I keep trying to kindly ask, “Is there
blood here? If there’s no blood here, that’s fine, but we would like to go on
to Cotonou to look there.” I was afraid I would stand in this line for 3 hours
and then be refused and then still have to go to Cotonou, an hour away, and try
to find it there. It was like a ticking time bomb. Literally. My whole chest
was pounding. For hours. Thinking of this baby boy lying lifeless on the bed in
the hospital. Needing this blood so desperately. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
I
mean, let’s be real, I stick out like a sore thumb in this setting. A white
lady in a room filled with mainly men, most of whom are waiting for blood for
one of their children who is sick with malaria. It’s the season. The time of malaria, as they say. The moms are
with the child in the hospital room and the dads/uncles/big brothers are
waiting for blood in the blood bank. I struck up a conversation with a young
father, his daughter was Dori’s age, and his friends. He spoke really great
French and we were bantering back and forth about just life and this process.
He was frustrated, rightfully so, but felt very helpless in that there was
honestly nothing he could do. He was waiting. As were the dozens of others.
Blood
finally arrived and the people who had been there all afternoon and now into
the night were given their blood. Those of us in line were finally able to at
least give our order to the attendant. She took them all. “Sit down. Be
patient.”
Now
that there were chairs available since those waiting had left with the blood
that was so desperately needed, we all sat. There was music playing from
someone’s phone. A man beside me was whispering prayers over and over and over
again. My heart was heavy as I sat there. My phone was dead by this point so I
literally just sat there. Some small talk was occurring between those of us
waiting when a man came to the entrance of this room and said something in a
tribal language that I didn’t understand.
Every
single person in the room sucked in their breath. Gasp.
I
looked at Seraphin. “What? What did he say?”
And
I saw the young father that I had been talking to earlier stand up from his
seat, fall on the ground and stayed there…paralyzed in shock.
“His
daughter died.”
I
couldn’t hold back my tears. I’m the only woman in this room of men. Their
mouths are gaped open. Their heads fall down. The dad in front of me is shaking
his head with his eyes closed. The man beside me intensifies his prayers. My hot tears fell down to
my chest.
This
young dad left with his friends and no one in the room spoke again.
Devastating.
Eventually,
around one o’clock the morning, Victor’s name was called and a small pouch of
dark red blood was placed into the cooler I had been holding. I honestly didn’t
know if he was still alive or not. My phone was dead and we had no way of
contacting the clinic or the family. We left the hospital and ran into the
clinic once we arrived. The doctor on call was waiting for us, sleeping on a
bench in the waiting room.
She
sits straight up when we walk in, “Did you find it?”
I
hold up the cooler and just shake my head yes.
“Thank
God. Go. Take it to the ICU. I will be right there.”
I
walk into the room and there he is. This small, precious body lying on a huge
hospital bed. I hand the cooler to the nurse and put the side rail down. I
kneel down beside his bed and cradle his little head in my hands. The tears
continue to fall down my cheeks. “God please heal this baby boy. Please provide
everything he needs to recover. Please let us know what we can do to help this
family and help this baby boy.”
I
don’t really have another option and I just really want to be home by this point. So at 2 in
the morning I get in my car to make the drive back home to Sakété. Likely not
my smartest move ever (Sorry mom!). I called Rachel from Séraphin’s phone
before leaving to let them know we had found blood and that I was coming to
Sakété now. “Message me when you get home.” Were her final words to me before I
hung up the phone.
Once
I got home the first thing I did was shower. I wanted to wash away this crazy
day. But my heart was so broken from the reality of life here that I had
encountered today. I’ve never been to a blood bank here in Benin until this
summer. Jon is the one that has always done this since my arrival and it’s
almost like I’ve been protected from the harshness of it all. Jon’s pretty good
like that. But as my heart broke for this family who lost their daughter and my
mind thought only of Victor and if he would be alive in the morning when the
sun came up….I remembered that I had posted on Facebook and I wanted to give a
quick update before going to bed.
My
phone was charged enough to use it for a little bit before finally closing my
eyes to go to sleep. Hundreds of people were praying for this baby boy. My
heart was overwhelmed. I sent some What’s App messages to Jon and Ash and my
family and then continued to look on Facebook for a few minutes, finding it
hard to sleep.
I
pulled open my messages and had one from a friend of mine who is on staff at a
church in Owasso, Oklahoma. Their church has been incredibly supportive of Tree
of Life’s ministry and myself since the very beginning of my time in Benin and
their church’s VBS had raised funds specifically for Tree of Life USA.
Trent:
“Hey, we have the check ready from our VBS offering. Where do we need to send
it?”
I
give him the logistics and he says something along the lines of, “What do I
write in the memo? We really don’t care where the money goes. Where is it needed most?”
I
respond with about 5 different options of how the funds can be designated. He
quickly responds back that they would like it to go to cover the medical bills
of some of the babies who have been sick recently. Victor was now our second
baby to be critically hospitalized due to malaria in a matter of 3 weeks.
“Yeah,
we’d like to help cover some of those costs for their medical bills.”
As
I start typing, “That’s great. We just hospitalized another baby tonight and
the first baby who was hospitalized had a bill of around $600 US dollars.”
He
types at the same time, “It’s exactly $600 US dollars that the kids raised.”
I
didn’t even have words to respond.
My
mouth was hanging open.
New
fresh tears poured out of my eyes.
What
a miracle.
What
an answer to prayer.
What
a provision of our needs.
I
don’t want to forget this. Ever.
I
don’t know why I doubt. Why I question.
But
I am so thankful that time and time and time again the Lord shows up in very
mighty ways and provides exactly what we need. Exactly when we need it.
May He and He alone be glorified.
Death could not hold you
The veil tore before you
You silenced the boast of sin and the grave
The heavens are roaring the praise of Your glory
For you are raised to life again
You have no rival
You have no equal
Now and forever God you reign
Your's is the kingdom
Your's is the glory
Your's is the name above all names
