Get comfortable-- it's a long one!

This has been one crazy week. It has been a week full of highs, and a week full of lows. I have felt so many emotions, and honestly feel pretty drained by the roller coaster. I am going to try to walk you guys through a few highlights of it, but forgive me if I leave things out or don’t make the clearest picture. As much as I want, I just can’t possibly tell you all of my thoughts or every moment of the day. I will warn you that one story in particular may be hard to read. I just want to be real with you, let you hear my thoughts, and for you to see what I am doing here in Guinea. A few of you have asked for pictures to see what life is like here, and I promise to try and post them soon. I shouldn’t make excuses, but its just really difficult with the slow internet connection to upload anything-- maybe I can catch it when a lot of people aren’t on the system!?! :) So here we go--lets dive into my life since the last post.

I began my first stretch of night shifts this week. Here we work on a rotating schedule so that no one is ever set on one shift. For example we may do a week of nights, a week of days, a week of evenings, and then start over. For my first full week of shifts I had 4 busy nights in a row caring for 7 or 8 patients. Exhausting, but they are my only nights for this whole month! They were insanely joyful and heart wrenching all at the same time---clearly the root of my roller coaster heart for the week. I have been captured by several different patients in the ward, all for very different reasons. Because I cannot tell you names or full stories for privacy reasons, I will refer to these lovely people by bed number.-- enjoy!

Do you need to use the toilet? ---Bed 12

One thing to know is that nighttime and daytime in the wards are a very different thing. During the night, people for the most part are sleeping or quiet. Once 530am hits, everyone is up and ready to seize the day-- and this is when the best and worst of personalities come roaring out. Try to imagine the scene-- a very crowded ward with 15 patients and about 7 caregivers, a mix of both kiddos and adults and exactly ONE bathroom. Have you ever shared a bathroom with family, siblings or friends? If you have, you can imagine the ridiculousness that ensues. In the wards it might not appear so, but there really is a particular order for who gets to clean up first. The priority goes to those who need to be showered by 630am for surgery. But, when you are working with kids, someone will undoubtably have to use the toilet in a moments notice. There are people milling about, kids crying for various reasons, we are running about trying to take vitals, trying to find someone to translate, pass early morning meds, along with any other task that arises. Hopefully, you get the picture- Controlled Chaos. In bed 12 lives one very grumpy man whom I had the pleasure of taking care of for 3 nights. He was grumpy when he was in pain, grumpy when kids cried, and especially grumpy when he couldn’t go to the bathroom at the exact moment he wanted. He was very verbal about all of these dislikes shouting and gesturing at anything or anyone who would listen. At one point he met his match and was angrily shushed by me. It was one of those perfect storms when everything aligns and he caught my temper off guard. He just happened to be yelling at the papa of my favorite kiddo who was crying because he was simply hungry--and at that moment something boiled up in me. I transcended all language barriers with a direct point in his direction and an angry SHHH! hand motion and all. He immediately got the message, put his hands up as in “sorry!” and sat down quiet for the rest of the shift. My face instantly was red with the realization of what I had done, but trust me it was a good laugh later for us down on the wards. (on a side note, I didn’t hurt his ego too much--the next morning he was right back at his shennanigans)

Lost in translation,--Bed 1

I learned more than I ever wanted to this week about the confusion that can occur between a patient and myself when there is a middle man, who most likely has no medical background. Have you ever played a game of telephone? A game of charades having no idea what the other person is trying to tell you?  It can be similar to that, but much more serious if things aren’t translated correctly. Patients don’t understand what I am trying to tell them, and they may be confused about why we are doing something or the importance of certain procedures. For bed one, this horrible situation became a reality. I had taken care of lovely bed number one every time I had worked, and we had grown in our affection for one another. We bonded when I admitted her for surgery, I took care of her for again this week, and it seemed like we just couldn’t catch a break. She fainted in the bathroom one morning, which as you can imagine was a full fledged ordeal. It was hard for me also, not really knowing where all my equipment was, and honestly I left my shift just feeling really worried about her. Lots of tests later and a full day of rest she was back to herself. I came back that night thinking this MUST be a better night, but nothing is this simple. In her sleep she accidentally pulled out her Naso-gastric tube that was necessary for nutrition, hydration, and medications after her massive jaw surgery. As I sat with her in the middle of the night trying to help her understand while this was necessary all she had was tears. I could see her shutting down emotionally in front of me and it was heart wrenching. After 1 hour of discussion about reinsertion, I decided to let it go. I would figure out a way in the morning to convince her this tube was necessary for her health, and hopefully she could remain pain free until we had access again. It was horrible to not be able to tell a patient what I wanted to first hand, and to not be able to talk with her. I let her rest for awhile longer, but then I noticed she was crying. I had Joseph, a different translator work with me, and it turns out that she was not getting ANY of the words I had been telling her. There was a massive break in communication and she thought that someone had pulled her tube to be mean, only to put it back down again. As Joseph spoke with her, she was yelling and pointing, and I was in silent tears. I just kept thinking, “I never wanted her to feel like that, I tried so hard to comfort her, oh my gosh, she hates me, she must feel trapped”. How scary for her that she thought we were torturing her, and then I found out she was not angry with me, but with the first translator. She told us that he was not listening to her, she felt like he was not telling her everything I was saying, and it turns out he was just completely confused. Here she and I were, sitting next to one another,literally touching, both feeling upset, helpless, and completely unable to change the situation for each other. I learned a lot that evening about effective ways to communicate here. I learned which translators I can depend on, and that before I let them say anything I need them to repeat it back to me.  I cared for her one more night, and saw her again a few more times. I am overjoyed to report that our relationship is back to how it was. She told another translator that she “trusts me”, and It felt so good to still have this relationship with her. She asked me to come and meet her family Friday night, and I was able to meet two sisters. The smile on her face was priceless, and she was so proud to show off all her new friends. She was discharged today, but will come back over the next few months for follow up appointments and maybe more surgery. She promised to find me when she is back and after everything we had been through this felt like a very happy ending. 

Photo time--beds 1, 2, 4, 5, and 7 

Friday evening when I headed down to the ward to visit bed number one before I headed out with friends, I had no idea that I would feel like a celebrity. Every single patient I had cared for who was still there wanted to visit, and they wanted to take pictures “for remembrance”. There were many different poses, a ton of group shots, a few of just the two of us, some of just the nursing team, and a few of just a very close up of my face. (The close ups were awkward, but hey-- I’ll probably never see them again.) It was a perfect end of the week with them. Knowing that I will forever be remembered and appreciated for what small time I could spend with them. Little do they know how much they are impacting me, transforming corners of my heart that I didn’t know existed, each leaving their own mark. 1 full week in, and I am constantly amazed by how my heart can overflow for these people. 

The Obama Cafe--- Mercy Crew

The Obama cafe has become one of our favorite places to adventure after a long week. It is a little stick shandy on a sort of pier over the water. It’s one of those places that during the day you really don’t understand how it’s still standing with the waves crashing at its stick pillars--but by night it’s transformed by beautiful music and moonlight. It has cold drinks, a friendly staff who speaks French along with local languages, and a young reggae band. It is even complete with a framed photo of the beautiful First Lady. Yes, Michelle Obama is an 8X10 prime feature of the Obama cafe. (Picture to follow!) I’m sure I’ll have many more stories to tell from this place, but for this week I will leave you with this little jewel. About 5 minutes into our wonderful little dance party my night was made. And If you know me at all, you will realize that in my opinion this is one of THE BEST compliments EVER.  I was told BY an African that I, Hannah Wysong, DANCE like an AFRICAN.  (Yes!!!!!!!)

The streets of Africa-- 

I am a people watcher to the core. I LOVE sitting around, watching people carry out their lives. I love watching facial expressions, actions, and just never knowing what to expect. This weekend has been full of walking, taxi and car rides on our adventures to tour a school/alternative living situation, eat lunch on the beach, and attend my first African church service. I am still amused by the faces of people when they see a taxi full of white people, or a gaggle of walking “foo-tees”. Its shocking to some, and others instantly smile and cheer “Mercy Ships!”. 

The school we believed at first to be an orphanage, but it became more clear once we got there that SOS village is something very different. After speaking with one of the host mothers while playing with about six kiddos, we learned that it is a place where most children live 10 months out of the year. Out of the 120 kiddos ranging from toddlers-teens only about 20 of them are truly orphaned. The other 100 are kids whose families cannot afford to feed them or educate them. It is a place that takes in children, cares for them, feeds them, clothes them, and educates them. They live in “family style” houses and become a nuclear family during their time. They have a host mother, chores, meal times, and responsibilities. This is an alternative for many people to sending their children to an orphanage due to financial ability. Because SOS encourages parents to stay in the picture, they can still have a relationship with their kids but give up a majority of their rights due to poverty or illness. They are able to bring them to live with them during the two “vacation” months when they are out of school for break. It’s really a very interesting concept that I am still figuring out, and hope to visit again to get a grasp of what they are all about. ---I’m sure I’ll have another post later.

It has been great to get off the ship, stretch our sense of direction, and take in the sights and sounds of Guinea’s capital city. I have learned that the further out of the city you get the more the lizards come out to play. (I’m talking 1-2 feet long lizards) And like every other creature here, they are NOT afraid of humans. At one point I honestly was fearful for my pinky toe as one scurried over to snatch up a scrap of food before it ran away to devour it. 

The church service was really nice, despite the length and heat. It was about 2 hours long, and I’m told this is VERY short for an African service. Bockarie, one of our day workers, picked us up, took us to watch him preach, fed us a snack of  Pringles and Fanta, and brought us back to the ship, round trip--> 5 hours. He preached in English (even though the 4 of us were the only native speakers) and another Pastor translated into French. They were quite a show the two of them, playing off one another both in their booming voices. We were well received, and after everyone wanted to greet us. We were even asked to stand up and say something. If it had been in a room of more than the 30 people I may have froze. But out of those thirty I had three other girls beside me and the friendly faces of 3 other dayworkers I know from the wards. The songs were loud, full of praise, clapping, and a lot of fun! Even though their are stark differences in the settings, the types of music, or the language used. It is great to be with a group of people around the world who worship and praise the same God.

Whew! so that was a ton of information, all in little pieces. A few highs and a few lows and a little in between......I hope that you enjoyed a glimpse into my last week, and I hope this coming week treats you all well---Please feel free to email, or write. I cannot tell you how much words can do for me here. I received my first letter in the mail this week, and I sat in my bed and cried with joy. So happy to have a beautiful taste of home and a wonderful picture from my 4 year old friend Morgan to hang on my wall..

What I am going to leave you with has been the very hardest part of my week. Not because I want to leave this on a sad note, but because I want it to marinate with you. I want you to read it and take the time to think, not be swept right back up with one of my lighter stories. I don’t even know how to do his story justice, or how to communicate with you my feeling from the week. But I will try. I feel like he deserves to have his story told half way across the world, and that you all deserve to know where my heart has been this week.

Bed 6---the little guy with so much love

When I walked onto my shift Tuesday night, I instantly recognized the little man in bed six. After I glanced back, I realized that I have actually already mentioned him in a blog post. He is the two and a half year old little boy I saw with the massive oral tumor at screening. He is the face I have been thinking of since that day, and will now forever be etched in my heart. I remember watching his Dad feed him bread at screening and thinking “how is he even able to eat?” “How is this precious kid going to survive much longer?” He was brought in Tuesday for a CT scan and biopsy to see what our plan would be for this little one. He went to have his scan under sedation so that they would be able to take quality pictures without him moving about as kids tend to do and then biopsy the floor of his mouth while he was still under. Time frame for these two procedures was allotted 1 hour-- It ended up taking almost 5. They had a lot of airway complications due to the size of the tumor, the location at the entrance to his oral cavity, and had to fiber-optically nasally intubate him. For all my non-nursing friends that means that they used a tiny camera to pass a breathing tube down into his lungs by way of his nose. Even in the states, this type of treatment is typically reserved for only last resort. Even with all the fuss, he came through all of the sedation and biopsy well and when I saw him that night he was still a tad drowsy.

It should have taken 2-3 weeks for the official biopsy, but we all knew that he realistically didn’t have 2-3 weeks at the rate in which it was growing. He had presented to screening with a 2 month old tumor, and just one week after screening it had grown almost another 25%. Simply the growth rate told us more than we wanted to believe. It was a harsh truth we all knew, but didn’t want to say or let linger too long for fear we would be right. The team decided to do just an initial cytology and it came back as we all feared it would, malignant. 

One of the harsh truths of this country is that there is no chemotherapy or radiation available. For many here healthcare depends on your financial status, but not even money can get you this treatment here in Guinea-It simply does not exist. For two more nights I cared for him, not really wanting to think of his future. Instead I watched him in this moment. I watched one of most loving and dedicated fathers care for him. I watched his poppa soak bread in tea to make it a consistency that he could consume. I watched him spoon feed him water, rock him to sleep, and walk him tied to his back in the middle of the night to calm him until the Tylenol could kick in. This little guy is his ENTIRE world, he too was abandoned by the the baby’s mother when she chose to leave after his birth. He also knew the stares of strangers all too well, he was born with a deformity in which he actually walks on the top of his foot. Two peas in a pod these guys were-them against a superstitious culture. They are strongly rooted together, just simply being 2 feet away from his Dad’s side is too much for him- as if pulled together by this invisible life line. Over the course of the nights I watched the two of them curled up together in bed, Dad waking to his every little stirring, making sure that he was comfortable and in a spot to help his breathing. I watched this little guy sleep in peace, knowing that it would not be so peaceful for him soon as his body betrays him. I watched the realization in his Poppas face after he was told that we could not help his beautiful son. And there I stood, wrecked in tears, and angry. I am angry-- Angry that this is the reality for this little man. Helpless in that I cannot change his future. Unable to take back what I wish this world had not given him, and honestly angry because his Dad took it so well. Had he replied in an outburst maybe it would be easier then the humble acceptance and “thank you for trying, thank you for your care”. He did not even fight it, he accepted it, and that might be one of the hardest parts--He is used to heartbreak.   After an ugly mess of tears on my end, and a lot of deep conversations between a few nurses here on the ship I am reminded of truths. The first is that we live in a broken world. That this is not the life that God intended for us, and that He does not wish to see His children suffer. That every thing that touches our lives comes to us after going through His hands. Yes, He could stop it, but it is all a part of his plan and this little guys purpose. I am selfish. If I look at what I wish would happen the stark reality is this: That If I am so set on him surviving then I am asking for this little guy to live in a third world, where his tumor may have continued to grow over and over, and where he would face the reality of West Africa. I would be sentencing him to maybe never have enough to eat, never enough clean water, never enough clothing or education. Instead, In the next few weeks this little guy gets to go and be with the Lord where this is no more suffering and he will have a glorious eternity, healthy and happy. Maybe the purpose of this was all for LOVE. When he leaves this world all he will have ever known is LOVE. The insane love that his poppa has for him and has taken care to surround him with. The way that this love touched every single one of us in the hospital. The way that we all will forever remember his face, and will mark our time here in Guinea with his memory. Most people who live their life well into old age, will have known far harder things than that simple reality that LOVE wins. He will never grow to see hardship, he will never grow to feel poverty, he will never grow to be wrecked by cholera or malaria. He will slip into heaven with only the feeling of LOVE---All consuming love reaching to the depths of his soul. Through bringing his son to Mercy Ships- his Dad was able to come to a place where he was cared for. Where all the staff, patients, and dayworkers think so very much about them. Where people want to help, and want to love on his son despite the large tumor. Maybe this community of believers will help to carry him through these next days, knowing that he is not alone.

Friday we sent them home with palliative care. It was the hardest thing leaving work, knowing that I would never see his cute face again. And as I struggled. I had to give up. I had to give it up to God and rest in that as MY realization of my abilities here on this earth shrink more and more, that I need to fill that space with God. I need to rest in the knowledge that He ultimately is the one who heals, not us or our western medicine. That He is the one who has been with him all of his days, not us trying to intervene, and that He will now have his beloved child back in his arms. 

As much as my heart aches, I know that I can’t help everyone. We cannot fix every body that needs mending. We cannot change the entire world, but for some of these people we will change THEIR entire world. I desire so much for these people. I desire that every person will feel loved, that every person will feel cared about, and that every person will know that they can make a small difference in the world maybe without even realizing it. Two different times this week I have been thanked for what we are doing, both times I felt my heart reply, “but that’s how it SHOULD be”. You shouldn’t be shocked that I would look someone in the eye and treat them like a human being even if they have a tumor or disability. You should’t be in awe that I would give up my comfortable life and give to someone I don’t even know. This should be normal, and for the West Africans it is so far from normal. I hope that through our actions and words they can realize that there is so much more for them, that through education and empowerment we can slowly change Guinea.