Bed 13

Here is a quick patient story from the past week--

So there is this patient in Bed 13 who I adore. He is from Sierra Leone and having his second surgery aboard our ship. He injured his eye 9 years ago and has no vision in his left eye. His first surgery a year ago didn’t take due to infection in the eye after the ship had left his home country. So he made the day journey to Guinea to see if Mercy Ships could help him once again. Once arriving on the ward, he was one the most stoic people I have ever met. You had to drag words out of him, and at that sometimes all we could get was a shake of the head or a hand gesture. Up until last week I hadn’t had him as a patient yet, just interacted occasionally with him. Then one wonderful day I had him as a patient, and from there on out had him for about 4 straight shifts. He eventually warmed up a little and I seized the opportunity to interact with an English speaker. I began forcing him to talk, not taking simple responses for an answer. At one point I may or may not have even said “use your words”. I was at the end of my rope, so I resulted to plan B-- just basically pestering him for awhile until he opened up. One day I was sitting next to his bed doing wound care, and I honestly got trapped between the two beds and the team of people rounding on the patients. The result was me sitting there for about 20 minutes, and at the time I honestly thought “arrg! I have so much to do, I don’t have time to get stuck!”.  But there was definitely some divine intervention in this moment. Because I could not leave I just relaxed and decided to make the most of our time, and it turned out to be a gift from God.  I somehow asked the right questions and he just began to talk in full sentences. I heard about the educational system in his country. His hopes to go for business school and eventually to study in Europe or the US. He is amazingly intelligent, and we had fantastic conversations. He began asking me about the Lord and what I believe. Over our time together he was constantly searching for new things to read in the Bible and to strike up a conversation about the Lord. Over his stay, he even began interacting with the other patients and caregivers. It was fun to watch his personality transform, and I hope that he will remain this way. With his fantastic English, it was hard to remember that he is actually a native Krio speaker. (Krio is the language of Sierra Leone and is basically a mix of broken basic english and Creole words) When he would speak with the other Sierra Leone natives I would honestly do a double take, it was weird to hear his beautiful English broken down to the basic speech. He just makes my heart so happy, and is one of those patients I will never forget. It’s stories like his that I want you to hear, and know how much good is happening here.  On a fun note, the thing I enjoyed most about my time with bed 13 is that he and I had face off’s on the memory game. He was a stellar opponent, and loved to play at any free moment. He would call me over, and say “Hannah, quit doing nursing work, it is time for me to WIN you at memory”. No matter how many times I would say, “You are going to BEAT me” he never mastered that phrase. So “I’m going to win you” stuck. The pictures below are from one evening when the charge nurse had out her camera taking pictures for patients. He yelled “Deb! take our picture while I am winning Hannah!” But then he couldn’t hold it together for her to take one. Instead what we ended up with are a bunch of him laughing and falling all over the place and me laughing at him. In my opinion they turned out perfectly. 

It's been awhile--

Looking back on last week and the weekend I realize that I need to share with you all more often. It’s hard to take the time to sit down and write when things are going so well. I didn’t have any major heartbreaks, but rather a week full of joy! Every time I took a moment to reflect, I realized I was constantly feeling my heart overflow with happiness for my friends, patients, and environment. I was not so sure after last weeks heartache what moving forward would look like, but it has been a constant high here! Working mostly dayshifts I have found that it truly is the MOST fun part of the day--everyone is playing, people are heading off to surgery to have their lives changed, people are being sent home, doctors are rounding. Yes, we are tripping over one another but we are constantly smiling. The days are full of joy, excitement, and genuine smiles all around. So here I am now, Tuesday evening of the next week trying to narrow down why I love my life so much. Here are a few of my thoughts and stories---

I had the honor of taking my very first patient to surgery! Here on the Africa Mercy we take the patients all the way to the door of the operating room. We sit there on a bench in the “hope hallway” and wait for the OR nurse to come out. Sitting here with my patient we were able to talk about his past, why he had waited so long for surgery, and his dreams. (Did I mention that he was from Nigeria and therefore spoke perfect English?--added bonus!) We made an amazing connection and I prayed with him before he headed into surgery. It brought tears of joy to my eyes as I walked back to the ward, holding his shoes. He came here for an opportunity to be changed, and we were able to do this for him. He got to spend 2 days in a place where we love one another, and as he put it “things are just different”. He got to see us care for every single patient and caregiver, and strive to know about his past, what he wants in his future, and Him in the present. I was able to receive him back from surgery and discharge him the next day. He just brought the whole experience full circle, and as he departed I received one of the tightest bear hugs of my life! I just cannot tell you how much life is different here. I feel REFRESHED to work, I know that every time I head into the ward I AM making a difference. Working five shifts a week at home would be so draining, but here it really is GIVING me life. At the end of every day shift we take an hour to take the patients a few flights up from the hospital to the oasis that is deck 7. In this hour, the kids get to run, jump, play and just breathe fresh air. It might be my favorite part of the day to see all the kiddos with bow legs jumping rope, to see patients who shouldn’t be able to walk riding tricycles, and to see the older patients enjoying the sunshine and talking amongst one another. This is a time for them to share their experiences, to look out at the ocean and have it all put in perspective. To feel the hot African sun on their skin, and know that the next time they feel the full heat of the sun on their faces they will be made new, going home changed by this big white ship and its precious medical staff. It’s after days like this that I understand why some of the crew here simply never leave. 

On a side note, the patient I told you all about last blog who walked away in tears on discharge showed back up last week-- twice! I had a feeling he couldn’t stay away, and was overjoyed each time I got to see him. On Wednesday evening I was sitting in a presentation by the Orthopedic team here when I was passed a note. All is said was this, “Bed 5 is here and requesting to see you”. I couldn’t have run to the ward fast enough. I rushed in, gave him a huge hug, and then we just sat close to each other all of a sudden remembering that we are unable to communicate. It was funny to be sitting there, me in my street clothes, him in a suit (which I am very certain is probably the nicest thing he owns) sitting among the other patients who had become our family. We can smile, attempt language charades, and chat when a translator is free but mostly it is silence on my end or his. To sit next to someone and know that you want to share so much but can’t is heavy--But it really was just wonderful to Just BE with him. 

A huge part of joy in my week is that we have two little munchkins on the unit who have been here since day one. They have become like brother and sister, and like any 5 year old siblings they fight. One of them is from Sierra Leone and speaks Krio, the other from Guinea speaks French. But none the less, they just understand one another. They fight over chairs, toys, crayons, which nurses lap to sit on, and everything else under the sun. They kind of have become “king of the mountain” and lead the other children on the unit. They both can be sillier than silly, the loudest screamers when upset, and the most smiley people under the sun. I love them both so much, but sometimes all I want to do is tell them something, correct a behavior, or tell them how much I care about them and I can’t! Thank goodness tickles, laughing, silly faces, stickers, and tone of voice are universal. Our little French speaking girl has picked up on a TON of English, even if she pretends not to when she particularly doesn’t like what we are saying. I can say “go get your shoes” and she walks right over and puts them on. I can say “no cry” when she’s throwing a temper tantrum and she gets it. She knows all the basics such as: up, down, toilet, yes, no, outside, bedtime, hungry, drink. It’s kind of amazing really how influenced they are by their environment. By spending one month in a place she is learning the “nurse language” aka English. By understanding basic commands and body language we somehow get through the day with our patients, hour by hour. 

 A definite highlight of my week in the wards was last night. The little guy I shared a picture of last time in the head wrap and I were standing across the ward from each other playing our favorite game. He will begin this game by catching my eye and smiling, I smile back and it begins. He does his first “salute” right arm straight out--I copy. He quickly switches to the left out, and again I return the motion. He then bends down to touch his toes, awaits my motion then stands up with his arms over his head. Once I have returned this final motion it’s on---he RUNS full force and catapults himself into my arms I spin him in a circle twice while he squeals, set him on the ground, and he runs back to his starting position dizzy and laughing until he almost falls over. We can repeat this game for nearly 20 minutes before he gets tired, or if I’m honest with you- I tell him I need a break to go some actual nursing work, he I am sure could play all night. I think my family, especially my father will best understand this game to be something like the “leap of death” from my childhood. In this game (my favorite, not the favorite of my mother) I would have a similar pattern of salutes before I would leap off the kitchen counter into my Dad’s arms knowing that EVERY SINGLE TIME he would lovingly catch me and set me back upright.  This game is not only about fun, but it’s about trust. I trust my Dad so very much, and this little guy over his time has found a safe person in me. I love the way he says “annah” and just lights up when we are together. (I may or may not have mentioned that this is the way everyone says my name here- “annah” as though my first H is invisible.)

As much as I adore my life in the wards, getting off the ship for a walk is a huge blessing, and I have had two treats this week and it’s only Tuesday evening. Yesterday, after a long walk and a few “African directions” which included a few landmarks and a goofy drawing, we found this little piece of wonderfulness. A French bakery, smack in the heart of this fast paced, dusty, overcrowded downtown area. The bakery was off the chain, complete with AMAZING pastries and an expresso machine. Unfortunately since I was a sweaty mess I opted out of the warm coffee, but had a delicious treat with two fantastic friends. I have a feeling this place will become our haven here in the city to discuss life and forget the poverty stricken city outside the window. Treat number two happened tonight. We left the ship around 5 and went to a restaurant about a 20 minute walk away that a few friends had heard about. After a nice drink and about a 2 hour wait for food, we had a great meal of chicken and plantains. If you have ever had fried plantains, please be jealous. They are amazing here, and quickly becoming one of my favorite foods. Our evening entertainment was a group of guys out on the beach who appeared to be practicing for a rap performance full force. They were holding NOTHING back, singing and dancing to the ocean as if it were a sold out stadium (granted they had NO IDEA we were watching). The sun set before we had our food, and I will say it’s hard to eat chicken off the bone in the dark but honestly you can see why we didn’t mind. It was a great time of fellowship, and the night ended with 8 of us piling into a small taxi to head home, because here in Africa- there is ALWAYS room for one more. 

It's picture time!!!!

I promised that I would post--so here are a few pictures of life in Guinea this far!

 Line wrapping up and down the coast as people waited to get inside the compound for screening day!

More lines

This is the "history" taking area that I worked on screening day. People patiently shuffled themselves chair to chair until they reached the front. 

This girl was ALL smiles, ALL day! I can't wait to see her when she returns for surgery

 This is one of my favorite patients down on the wards--she was the one who wanted me to meet her family!


                                     

This lovely man was in our ward for 6 days and he became a father figure of the unit. He was constantly encouraging other patients, cheering them on through their treatment, settling disputes, and welcoming each new face showing them the lay of the land. I had the honor of caring for him every shift I worked, and yesterday I was able to discharge him. As I walked him out to the dock he kept thanking me, telling me he would miss us, and after our last of many hugs he started to cry. Of course my eyes welled up also, and as he walked away I watched him wipe away the tears streaming down his face. Today he stopped by the ward to say hello--I don't think he will be able to stay away---not that I mind :) 

This little guy is the sunshine in our unit. He is such a snuggler, and LOVES to play. He is very ticklish, silly, and energetic. He LOVES coloring, bouncing balloons, and washing his hands with the automatic hand sanitizer dispenser!  He had a large tumor removed from his eye socket and is still sporting the bulky dressing that has become such a part of his goofy smile. When he and his poppa head back to Sierra Leone the ward will miss them so very much. For now, I will just enjoy every single minute I have with him!!!!

I hope you all enjoyed the pictures~ Hannah

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. 

Check this out!

I don't have time to write a whole blog, but I stumbled upon this and felt like I had to share. You should take the two minutes to see what screening day looked like for Guinea. (it was done by our video team here on board) I will continue to post photos as I come across them- Enjoy!!

Guinea 2012 Screening Day in 2 Minutes www.youtube.comOn September 3rd, 2012, MercyShips held a mass screening day in Conakry, Guinea. Over 3,500 people came to the event that kicks off the 10 months of free sur...

Welcome to the wards!

Yesterday was my first shift on the ward! To be honest, I have been a bit nervous to begin working here. I haven’t had to use my nursing skills for almost a month and a half, and I have NEVER had to be a pediatric nurse. (Kids and sick kids are very different in my opinion) I was told that nursing here is very different from home, but me--the worrier, decided that maybe it would be difficult. Maybe I would be bad at it, or maybe I wouldn’t like it.  Turns out that everyone was completely correct, and that yes in fact nursing is VERY different than what I am used to at home, and really fun (in a chaotic 40 people in a small space, playing a game of language charades kind of way.) Due to being a surgical specialty hospital, we select patients who do not have a large number of medical problems, so our patients come basically with their only issue being what we are about to fix. In addition to their health, our patients are very grateful, humble people who honestly don’t want or require much attention. A few times my patient said, “but what would I possibly need?” after my asking for the 50th time if they were okay.

For my first shift I had a very light load, just two patients. Yes, for all my SLU Hospital friends, that is t-w-o patients who are healthy! Definitely a change of pace! On the ship, there are a total of 4 different wards with about 70 beds between them all and a 5 bed ICU. For now we only have 2 wards open, and the one I am working in only has 12 patients filling our 15 possible beds. Once things pick up we will have a typical load of 4-6 patients, and if I am needed in the ICU it will be a one nurse to one patient ratio. (a super light load!)  My assignment for the evening shift was to admit one patient, and take one patient back from his surgery---It was so fantastically easy and joyful! 

A typical admission goes like this: An admission nurse brings them down to the ward from the dock, shows them to their bed and assembles their chart. With the help of our AMAZING dayworkers/translators we introduce ourselves, orient them briefly to the ward and then help them to look through their bag that they are given on arrival. The bag contains some brand spanking new GREAT stuff! It has a towel, handheld mirror, soap, lotion, toothbrush, toothpaste, balloons and crayons for playing, and a shower sponge (aka a “loufa” as we call them in the US --which every child and adult has thus far decided must be some kind of a toy, because what need would you have for that while bathing?!?!). The looks they have given them are priceless!    

All patients, caregivers and siblings must shower before they are allowed to sit on the beds. (This is required to basically get rid of any bugs they bring in before they begin living so closely to open wounds, and the 30 other people in the ward.) After showering we do a quick set of vitals, feed them dinner, and then they just hang out until the next day. During this down time we are trying to prepare them on what to expect after surgery, the importance of washing their hands, what kind of diet they will be on, what kind of surgical drains they might have, and how long they will be expected to stay on the ship to heal. Then we begin playtime!! There are kiddos running around, the mommas are talking with one another, the dayworkers translating, the nurses doing their tasks, and it is ONE BIG BEAUTIFUL MESS in a small small space. Let me give you a mental image of what is typical--At one point during the shift the cutest most mischievous little toddler was running around stark naked, squealing in laughter bouncing a ballon and peeing on the floor. He was scolded by his mamma for that one, but it really was truly hysterical at the time. (He is here for his cleft lip to be repaired)  His momma and little brother are staying on the ship with him and sleeping under his bed at night so she is a great extra hand for him. Later in the shift, my other patient came back from surgery for a massive tumor removed from his forehead. Within 10 minutes of arriving he was walking to the bathroom, chatting up a storm, and later even graced us with a few jokes. He got a little jealous watching the little ones playing a game of balloon volleyball, so he joined in. He was by far the best balloon spiker that I have ever played against! His smile was contagious, and he was possibly having more fun than the 6 year olds, instead of his feeling his 68years. By the end of the shift we had them all tucked into their beds sleepy from playing, and handed off to the oncoming night nurses.  

Something I love so much about our ship is that we literally put a mattress on the floor under the beds for the caregivers to sleep on. In addition to sleeping arrangements, while their child or parent is in the wards, they are provided all of their meals and showers. It’s a great set up and the best family centered care I have ever been a part of!We are able to teach them about the surgery, wound care, what to expect, and from day one they are involved. They are avidly watching, listening, practicing, and taking notes so that when they take their little ones go home they can continue to care for them. In addition to surgery specific teaching from the nurses, the dayworkers are educated on Malaria, cholera, hand washing, and other health topics. During downtime they can teach their own people and have pride in “taking charge” of some of our impact here. It’s really great to see them raising up their own people, and truly they LOVE doing it!

 As all good nurses do, we needed a “wind down period” so we headed up to the top deck to relax. We ended up sitting for about an hour and a half, listening to Pat strum the guitar, chatting, and watching the stars. It was truly an excellent end to a day that I had built up so much anxiety over. I think that nursing here will be great and that I will learn so much from our wonderful Guinean hosts! It seems that I will have the time to do all the teaching I want, will be able to really connect with my patients, and will just receive so much joy from them in return. I’ll keep you all posted as more happens, and I’m sure I’ll have great stories as I begin working my 4-5 shifts a week. 

One last tidbit of info before I head to dinner. -- Today, because we are low on patients at the beginning of the field service, I was assigned to a “special project” instead of a nursing shift. Turns out that myself and one of my bunkmates got to be Starbucks Baristas for a day! My working knowledge of coffee was definitely a huge help, but we got a quick 15 minute inservice before the morning rush came. As a corporation Starbucks donates thousands of dollars in syrups and coffee to Mercy Ships each year. Because of their generosity, coffee is DIRT CHEAP on the ship. Let me tell you, $1.00 for a latte brings out the masses! It seems that during the 2 time slots that it is opened during the day almost every person on board stops by for a drink. It was a ton of fun, a great way to meet new faces, and it turns out I don’t make it too terribly. So my dream job of hanging around and working at a coffee shop might just come true! 

I really hope all of you are well, feel free to ask if you want more information on a specific thing, and thanks for taking the time to read what’s going on with me!!! Have an excellent weekend!

Screening Day!

Monday was one of the biggest days of our outreach, screening day! This is the day we have been preparing for throughout the past week. For several on the ship they have been preparing for weeks, and the advance team had been preparing for almost 6 months! The plans were in place, the procedures written, and the word had been spread throughout Guinea that we were here to serve their people. The line began forming on Sunday evening, and many waited all night in the heat and rain for a chance to have their life changed. Many volunteers patrolled the lines all night, passing out water and food to those who were waiting with the hope that we could help them. I cannot even begin to imagine standing in the rain throughout the night to receive desperately needed medical care for myself, my child, or my loved one. I am an impatient American- just waiting in line at the DMV, or waiting for my morning cup of coffee tests my patience. Never in my life have I had to wait for years to have a chance to see a doctor. Actually I honestly don’t think that I have ever had to wait more than a day to be seen. Here in Guinea, before the sun had even risen, I was already deep in reflection for the privileged life that we live in the US. 

We left the ship at 5:30am in a caravan of Mercy Ship Land Rovers, driving through the city before it had began to wake. It honestly felt like we needed a soundtrack to our day. I’m not sure what song would have played, but definitely something inspirational, building in gusto as we entered the “compound” our security staff had created. It was very organized, we felt like precious cargo being transported under the cover of night. Even driving through the gates, we could see the long line that had formed, and then quick, the gate snapped behind us. We entered the building using our headlamps and  flashlights, very secret mission-ish. The day was already filled with overwhelming moments, before the sun was even up, realizing the task that faced us. After meeting with our translators, the day began as soon as we had the sun’s light to see our patients and read the paperwork. Praying before hand was beautiful, it is encouraged that we pray in our own languages here. So there we stood, about 20 nurses and 20 translators praying in several languages but all to the same loving, caring, amazing God.

The progression of the day went like this: After waiting in line for hours, they were seen by a “pre-screener” before being allowed to enter the building. This role was filled with nurses who knew the specific criteria we had based on the surgeons available. They have the hard job of saying, “I’m sorry, but we cannot help you” to so many people who come for medicines. Medicines for cholera, high blood pressure, body aches, head aches, or infections. Because we are a surgically based hospital, we simply do not have the resources to help all those that we would like to. I am so very glad that I did not have this job. My heart would have been so overwhelmed, and it breaks just talking to some of my friends who had that task. After being allowed in, they sat with “registration” and were give 2 pieces of paper for the day labeled with their name, contact information, languages spoken, and a number. They then came to the “histories” station where I was serving. It was here that they sat, patiently waiting. They moved down in chairs one by one, snaking their way to the front. After reaching the final chair, many celebrated. I have never seen so many people excited to step on a scale. They were thrilled, because after moving through more than 50 chairs, they took off their shoes, they got their weight on the paper, and then they were able to come and talk to one of us! We did a set of vitals, asked a series of questions regarding their medical conditions, and their reason for coming in. For some it was a very visible problem, for others it wasn’t until the lifted up their long robes that their deformity or tumor was visible. It was here that I sat for 8 hours. I learned after the 3rd patient, that EVERY SINGLE person here has had malaria. After that I started phrasing my question not “have you had malaria?”, but “WHEN was the last time you had malaria?”. For many they said “always”, or “two weeks ago” rarely did I hear a time more than a month prior. It was here that I saw blood pressures well over 200 consistently for adults and only once found a patient on medication to control it. This is their normal-- so so far from what I am used to! I saw people literally starving and dehydrated because their tumor does not allow them to eat or drink. I saw a child who could barely swallow with an oral tumor that had only been growing for 2 months--another 2 weeks and I guarantee this toddler would not have survived. I talked with a mother of a little girl who literally has 6-10 seizures a day in addition to her cleft palate, unable to obtain medications to slow or stop them. I saw grown adults with cleft lips- something unheard of in the states where surgeries begin weeks or months after birth to correct this birth defect. I can honestly say that I have never physically seen an infant with a cleft lip. Each and every one of them were BEAUTIFUL. When they smiled their little split lip just touched my heart. And their mommas, what beautiful women who came bringing their babies and children to be cured and spared from a lifetime of ridicule. The patience and determination that it takes to feed these little ones is insane. Because they are not able to breastfeed due to the inability to create a suction, they must be spoon fed almost constantly to provide for the caloric need. We saw goiters the size of soccer balls, facial tumors the size of softballs and limbs unable to be used to to burn contractures. I talked to a patient with such limb complications that she could not physically sit down. I saw such severe bow legs that their gait was twice the size of normal. Once they release photographs from the day, I can share with you all so that you can visualize the people who will forever be engraved on my heart. 

I saw countless men, women, and children who were desperate. Desperate to be helped, desperate to be seen as a human being with worth, and desperate to be looked at in the eye despite their disfigurements. I had many wonderful translators, and for many of them it was overwhelming as well. Some said that they did not know there were this many people in their country needing medical help. These people are usually hidden, afraid to be out with everyone else for fear of harsh words, looks, and the reminder that many believe them to be cursed. I saw many people talking as they waited. Mommas of children with similar conditions chattering away, people who had come in with their tumors covered, began taking off the coverings as if proudly saying “at last I am around people where I belong”. We saw people sitting with people of similar conditions. Adults uncovering their cleft lips for each other. I was talking with friends later, and we discussed what it must have felt like. Remember with me for a minute a moment in your life when you were vulnerable to those around you. It was uncomfortable, but you did it--and then you found out so many other people around you had the same thought, struggle, or feeling. How freeing it was to be able to SHARE your load with someone. To feel KNOWN at your core of being, to be ACCEPTED.  For them to see that they are not the product of a “curse”, but that there are people who WILL care for them. I believe that even as emotional of a day it was for me, that the feelings I experienced were merely a fraction of what some of them felt on Monday. 

After they left my station they were sent to the specialties where the surgeon examined them and they were given a physical to determine whether they were surgical candidates. Once the surgeon saw them, they had a few different courses. What a mix of emotions for each station!

--Some were sent directly to schedule their surgery and were given a patient card which allows them access to our hospital ship. Celebration! We are going to help them and change their lives! Their date was determined based on their condition. For those with life threatening conditions, they will begin coming today to be admitted and have surgery. For others, the date of their surgery is a few months from now. Ohh the joy we feel and the anticipation to see them again! To have them here with us, and the learn about their lives, hear their stories, and to see so many spirits transform- both ours and theirs! I cannot wait....

-- Some were sent to schedule CT scans, X-rays, or Labs to determine our ability to help them. We are hopeful that we CAN help them....prayers that their tests have this outcome. 

--Unfortunately we cannot help every single person here in Guinea. This is what breaks my heart, that even though we are doing so much good that we have to tell people that we can not help them.  Many are sent to the palliative care team to help them live out the remainder of their days with dignity and respect with the best care they could possibly have. This is the part of any job that is hard. To have a desire in your heart to help, and to be unable to. This is the part where you can get stuck. We can question what we are doing here, why does this have to be the reality for so many people, and why can we not fix every single problem. But we must remember that we live in a broken world. That we are not God, and that his heart aches MORE for his children. That though we are unable to help every single person in our path, that we are able to change the future for so many. That I will be a part in changing the path for some, and that MY life with be changed by having a part in this story. 

As of now, here are the numbers that have been released. 4,500 people came to the screening on Monday. 3,500 of them were patients. Almost 2,000 of them entered the long process I described, and without further testing about 850 surgeries were scheduled for our 10 month outreach. Hundreds will be coming for further testing, and we are leaving space for those who will show up on the dock and those we will find on our adventures inland. 

As this outreach officially begins today I ask for your prayers. Prayers that surgeries are completed safely and accurately. Prayer for us taking care of them after their surgery and their recovery, prayer for their spirits as their lives change aboard this big white ship. Prayer that I can figure out how to be a pediatric nurse, and prayer that my heart is soft. Prayer that I do not become overwhelmed, but inspired and changed.  I know that my story is just beginning here, and I pray that I can reflect in the moments ahead and give praise for all that is happening around me, in me, and through me. 

One last fun fact for the day. I saw on one of of scrolling TV’s in the dining galley that there are 32 nationalities represented by the crew this week- How amazing! 

I hope this post finds you all well today, and that I was able to describe for you what is happening in this journey.  I hope that you can take a minute in your busy lives to think of us in West Africa, and to know how much I appreciate your support. I am so thankful--Grace and Peace

One week in my new home...

One week ago I arrived in Guinea! What a LONG week! It has been jam packed with meetings, orientations, long conversations among new friends, adventurous walks, tons of games among crew-mates, a few french lessons, and many many emotions. It has been so interesting living in a place where you are constantly smiling, on your best behavior, and forging friendships that may last the remainder of your life. During all of this, at least once we have all confessed to feeling very overwhelmed. Taking a few moments to process and reflect has been essential. It has been best described as the “freshman” experience---but it is starting to wind down. We are comfortable with each other....we are forming a normal routine...and tonight, after spending 9am-10pm together, it felt like a home. I feel known by these lovely ladies and a few brave men. We can just “be” together, and it feels right. It feels that God has brought us here all for different reasons, but that we came and are forming a beautifully woven life for ourselves. 

Saturday we had originally planned on heading out to an island to adventure. The plan changed though when we found out that many locals drowned in a boating accident on the way to the island Friday. During our morning walk Sunday we learned that there were actually about 24 locals who died, and a large majority were women and children. It was heartbreaking to walk past where all the crowds are gathered, still waiting to see if they can find their loved ones bodies. We actually were present while they were rushing the shore, we said a silent prayer- aware that they had probably found someones mother, daughter, child or friend. We were told by locals that even the President stopped by to pay his respects, a few even said that he was crying. What a loss for these people. We hope that this horrible accident could maybe cause life jackets to be worn, or to be even that they would become an option in these boats to prevent future accidents. We hope that the Guinean people will be comforted during this terrible time. 

As for our adventure Saturday, we decided out of respect and safety to keep our feet on solid ground. We were led by two day workers here on the ship out to explore the city of Conakry. Dayworkers are men and women from the community who are working on the ship in various departments. Some of them work in laundry, the cafeteria, as deck hands, and many as translators in the wards. This is yet another part of Mercy Ship’s mission that I love. We come and hire the locals, give them a vital role in what we are doing and pay them a living wage. It is amazing that we DEPEND on them, what pride to know that you are helping to change the lives of your fellow countrymen. Without them, we could not translate to so many of the patients who do not even speak French, but tribal languages. All of the dayworkers I have met this far are wonderful, and are so helpful! They want to “show off” their country, and make sure that we have a true “Guinean experience”. 

Daniel and Morlai showed us the way. They took us first to a museum. The Museum de Conakry! It was so wonderful to learn more of the culture and what life looked like here during the French colonization. The matron of the museum was very happy to show us around and tell us so much of their rich culture. One of our nurses here on the wards is from France, so she served as a translator for the group. Did I mention there were 19 of us? Yes- thats 19! What a herd of “foo-tees” (white people) we were traipsing around the town. On a side note, we did pay the “stranger” price of 10,000 Guinean Franks, which is roughly $1.50, and double the entry fee of a local. (We were all very happy to contribute to the museum, even if it was double the normal fare)  We learned of the many officers and governors who brought different things to Guinea, like a railway, healthcare, and some western practices. We heard about the different parts of Guinea, the ethnic groups of the lower, middle, upper, and forest regions of the country and a little about life there. I found it really interesting that in the Forest region of Guinea the teen boys are sent out to the forests for seven years to live. It is in this time that they are to learn to be members of society, learn a trade, and learn to survive. For 7 years they rely on the protection of a legendary figure, and are said to be the only ones to see this mythical man. Upon returning to their families they are considered men and will take a wife to begin a family. We saw many large drums and learned a bit about the way they communicate between villages. The tour guide made a joke about transportable drums as “mobile phones” and the tree sized ones to be “land lines”. The tour was great, we learned so much about the cultures, their traditions, and their history.  It was a wonderful lesson about this place we are calling home. 

We then had another 45 minute walk through town to a cafe where we could sit beside the ocean and relax, enjoy a soda, and visit. The entire walk it was pouring down rain, but hey--once your soaking wet it’s just a part of the adventure! While walking it is great for people to recognize why we are here, and show appreciation for what we plan to do. As we walk through the streets many want to say hello, all the children want to touch our white skin, and many will just shout “Mercy Ship!” then smile and wave. We really are a white skinned parade! Once reaching the cafe,we sat for a bit trying to dry under the thatched roof. We were given a special musical presentation by a band consisting of 6 young men who played their heart out on local instruments, the beautiful ocean behind them. While leaving the cafe, a little boy came running over, trying to touch our hands. After getting closer we realized that he had the typical features of Down’s Syndrome. This little man looked so loved. We were so happy that he appeared to have family caring for him, and it brought up a lot of interesting conversations about the prevalence here of various birth defects and syndromes. I think because we know the reality that many children are cast out for being different, we all were so delighted for this little guy, he was happy as a clam. 

Once leaving the cafe we took another 30 minute trek over to one of the markets. It was a large mix of food, cleaning supplies, cloths, and crafts. We did not stop long to look, but merely made a trip through. I think we walked more quickly then we might have on any other day because of the mud and relentless rain. After walking for nearly 4 hours our feet were all soaked in mud. Just a few days after our class on cholera, worms, and parasites- we felt the need to not let our feet marinate just yet. We will go back though, and I cannot wait to see what we can find tucked away in the markets. 

Walking through the streets we were able to get a glimpse at life here. I really don’t know how to tell you all the things going through our head. Some would instantly say that it is so impoverished.  Yes, this is definitely true to our standards. There is trash standing everywhere, standing water appears contaminated, buildings are abandoned half built, people are living in shacks, and there are dogs and vultures littered about. But, if you look closer, they seem so rich and the streets so alive. Rich with culture, rich with love for their country, and rich with love for one another. Every woman has a baby strapped to her back, something balancing on her head, and is working hard in order to make a way for her family. Yes, there is trash, there is mud, and there are many diseases killing people for lack of clean water. There is heartache and there is crime, but there is also a sense of hope for what is to come. I honestly cannot put it all into words, but Conakry has a beautiful story to tell, and it has already found a special place in my heart. 

Tonight we are making 1800 peanut butter sandwiches to take to the screening tomorrow. They are handing out bread and water throughout the night to those who have been waiting in line since Sunday afternoon for a chance to be seen. These people waiting in long lines come full of hope. Hope that their life can be changed by this group of westerners on a big white ship. Hope that they will then be reaccepted into society. Hope that their family will care for them once again, and hope that their children will not grow up as outcasts. For some, this is the last time they will have this hope before their illness takes their life. We will see people who are literally suffocating from their tumors. We will see babies who are dying from malnutrition due to a cleft lip and palate. We will see kids with leg deformities, scars from burns, things we would never dream of seeing in the United States.  As shocking as this will be to so many of us, the worst part is that we will not be able to help them all. We will take the infants into our feeding programs, attempt to get them to a safe weight for surgery- but there are no guarantees. We will agree to treat all that we can with these suffocating tumors, but since there is no place for chemotherapy or radiation here in Guinea, we will not be able to treat those determined to be cancerous. Instead we will match them up with our palliative care team, and treat them with dignity and respect, caring for them in their last days. So we need prayers. Prayers that we can help many tomorrow, prayers to stay strong ourselves while seeing such devastating conditions, and prayers to keep us safe.  Through all of this emotional overload, we should not forget to give praise that we have been given this amazing opportunity. To love and serve those who have been forgotten by so many others. I hope to post next with details from our screening.