I promised I would tell you all about him, and I will do my very best although I know my words cannot do him justice. We will call him “T”. Attached is the only picture I have of him, it is from the screening day. Since then his tumor has grown significantly. For now this other one will do to allow you to see the man who is just pulling on all our hearts. Just looking at this picture you can see the large lump on his face, what you cannot see beneath the bandana that he constantly wears is that his tumor actually protrudes from his mouth stretching the skin until it reaches down to his chest. What you cannot see in this picture is his bony body. He has gained a few pounds and is now up to 49kg, but how much of that is tumor weight we cannot be sure. His thigh is about the size of my upper arm and I can count every bone in his rib cage. What you cannot see is that we have to feed him small amounts and often, cautious that we could actually cause harm if we re-nourish him too quickly (and he is NOT happy about this--I mean who wants to feel hungry?) What you cannot see in this picture is that he has terribly kind eyes and a sense of humor. What you cannot see in the picture is the way he works, pushing himself to the limits in order to get better. He is an exercising machine and puts the rest of us to shame. He uses a 1/2 liter bottle of saline for weights, and does at least 200 arm curls a day. Yesterday evening I was asking him about his weight lifting for the day and through motions he told me he had exercised his legs, but that he hadn’t done his arms. When I asked why he motioned he couldn’t because he didn’t have a bottle. I tried to hand him one and he stopped me, it was only half full. He wanted a FULL bottle to do weights with......well excuse me Mr. T I said, I shall get you a full one. He laughed (as much as one can laugh with a tracheostomy. Because you cannot make sound --all you get is the silent motion of laughter.) What you don’t see here is that even with being outcast for 5 years he still has a heart for children and the affection of other people. The kiddos here somehow have an amazing peace with him. They don’t run afraid, but actually come to him. To give him a high five, shake his hand, or just sit next to him with one of us. He plays with babies and you can see the desire in his eyes for one to call his own, maybe this will happen for him one day....maybe. He is kind of brilliant and beats everyone at checkers, chess, cards, and truly wishes we had books here for him to pass the time. What you can’t see are the pictures his mother has shared of him prior to the tumor when all he worried about were football and fun. What you don’t know is that his mother describes him as a “light” to all those around him, constantly working to improve his surrounding and help the future generations. What you can’t see is that even on his best days when his mood is at its prime, he still gets anxious. When he gets anxious he also gets stubborn, but really what control does he have right now? I cannot imagine what it is like to live each day knowing that this surgery is your only hope. That even with this surgery you may not make it. To know that you will go into a surgery next week that you may never come out of. But for him, there is no other option. He either goes for the surgery and takes the gamble or will surely die a slow suffocating malnourished death. How would you live knowing that essentially your days are numbered? How do you spend the last week you may be alive? How can anyone ever do enough for you? It has been hard to watch him, but I cannot imagine taking an ounce of my care back. I will be wrecked if his outcome is not what I pray for--but I will know that I did everything in my power to show him love. To show him his worth, and to show him that people care. I know that God has used him so much to change my heart and maybe, just maybe I am being used to change his. I have earned his trust, and even tonight as I was training to become a charge nurse he congratulated me. We are invested in each others lives-- every time he coughs we all jump, ready to suction him if he needs it. He gives us a “stay” motion, or a “come” motion. It truly is a charade that somehow works. We try so hard to keep him calm, distracted, but naturally it just creeps up sometimes. How could it not? For now I will leave you with a snapshot of our moment the other day. I ask that you will keep him in your thoughts and prayers, and pray that God will bring him through this surgery for his glory.
Friday T blessed us all with a glimpse of God’s beauty and peace. The patient life team here on board is made up of 8 locals who visit the wards, provide worship time, and play games with the patients. They come in about 10am every day to sing, strum a guitar and beat a drum to the African beat. There are some songs that we do daily with little dance motions and some that are newer to us all. The patients love this time, and I think I may love it a little more. Its a time for dance, to tie a kiddo on your back, get people out of bed and moving to the sounds of their normal life away from this ship. On Friday the team was playing a song I had never heard before. The words were simply this, “Every day I wake and see the rising of the sun, and I say Thank you Lord, Thank you Lord”. We started with a fast beat, moving about and dancing, clapping, just repeating the words over and over. As I was going around grabbing kiddos and adults out of bed convincing them to dance I walked by T’s bed and held out a hand to him. To my surprise he reached out, took off his monitoring devices and blood pressure cuff and got out of bed. He came with me around the corner to where it was all happening and joined me in dancing. The joy in the room was uncontainable. Every one was clapping, dancing, cheering him on. It was a HUGE day for his spirits and beautiful to see. At one point he turned me towards him and started dancing with me in a ballroom fashion--laughter filled the room and again, the joy in his face was overwhelming. We continued dancing for awhile and then slowed it down to a harmonious wail. There really wasn’t a dry eye in the room, tears streaming down peoples face as the presence in the room was so heavy. It was a beautiful moment, one that is imprinted in my mind-- I am simply unable to put it into words. After awhile, he motioned he needed to go back to bed and he sat there exhausted, spent by his morning. I can’t tell you enough, but what I can tell you is that I am convinced that God is working in this place, smiling down at his children and changing our hearts.
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