Prayers for A

I have fallen face first in love........Yes, it’s true. Someone here in Africa has captured my heart. 

I call her Baby A, and she isn’t really that much of a baby, but a 4 year old beautiful girl. We admitted her on Monday for a biopsy for the tumor that is growing both inside and protruding out of her nose. The tumor has only been growing for five months, and she can no longer pass any air from her nasal passages. She was brought to us by her loving uncle, who until last night I thought was her father. This wonderful man has been taking care of her ever since the tumor started showing. Her mother is his youngest sister, and she doesn’t have the time to both care for her and make a living. Unfortunately like so many of the stories here, her father abandoned her when it started showing...Through it all though she is just a joyful little thing. From the minute I saw her and she gave me a wave with a twinkle in her eye, she stole my heart. Jonathan, one of the dayworkers actually started referring to her as my daughter yesterday because he doesn’t see us apart much. She spends her time playing and coloring while on my lap and pretending to type while I work on the computer for my charge nurse duties. She spends some quality time here and there strapped to my back, snuggling up as we fall fast into the rhythm of one another’s heartbeat. Yesterday we had a bit of praise for another patient on the ward and she was giggling from my back while I danced up a storm. She knows how to blow kisses, and just bats her eyelashes for anything she wants. She does this thing where she sighs, like its all just too exhausting, and thats when emotion bubbles up in me. Its just the same as the little boy in bed 6 that I told you about during the beginning of the outreach. This is the part where no matter what I do, I can’t save her. All I can do is love her, pray for her, and ask God to make her tumor something that we can change. She has so much love to give, and such a bright future and it wrecks me to know that these things may never happen for this beautiful girl. Last night after I put her to bed with a kiss and tucked her in just like my parents did for me when I was a kid it really hit me. This wonderful little girl may be labeled with an ugly word in the next 2 weeks: Cancer. Because she wouldn’t fall asleep and kept getting up and reaching for me I took an extra hour after my shift to snuggle her, to hold her close, and breathe words of life upon her. So there she sat on my lap, snuggled up with her legs wrapped around mine, rubbing my arm, and blowing kisses at my friend Jen. I can’t kiss her enough, love her enough, or tell her how wonderful she is enough. This is where I have to shrink back, give it up, know that My God has it in control, and that HE is the only thing that is enough. So please, if you can take a moment for Baby A over the next few days, just ask God to make this tumor something that we can surgically fix. Thanks for all the support you show this big hospital ship in Guinea, both I, Baby A, and all the other patients need you... 

Taking T home......

Last Friday, I had the honor of making a very special trip, one that I wouldn’t have missed for the world. I was invited to accompany T home to his aunt’s house here in Conakry. She lives about 50 minutes from the ship by Landrover, and will be a crucial step for him making his way back home to his village. This is a test to see how well he can care 100% for himself, and how his wound will continue to heal in a real Guinean environment. So after a long night, I walked myself home (all 50 steps), splashed some water on my face, and grabbed a cup of coffee. I wanted to be in tip top shape for this adventure, so I had to take a moment to pull myself together after 3 night shifts in a row. I headed out to the tent a tad early, and asked if he wanted to head into the ward to say an official good-bye to the dayworkers and nurses. YES! He shook his head excitedly, and took off towards the ship without his mother. The half hour we had on board was amazing. We happened to get to the wards in perfect timing, and our hospital chaplaincy team was beginning morning praise. T was given a hero’s welcome, because let’s face it--he is a legend on this big white ship. I daresay he has hit celebrity status and invaded the hearts of all those who have met him! He was able to sing, dance, and thank each of the nurses, hugs all around. As we were leaving he said, “what about Dr. Gary”? I told him Dr. Gary was in surgery so we wouldn’t be able to see him today, but then another dayworker happened to have spotted him in the screening room. I headed down to ask if he had a few minutes to see T. Dr. Gary was so excited, he bounded back up the hall and had a mini examination/consultation right there in the middle of the hallway. This is what I love about this place, Dr. Gary, one of the VERY best surgeons in the world has dedicated his life to caring for these people. He takes every opportunity to be with them, and is so tangibly excited by their success. His love just oozes out, and I wish honestly I could work with him forever. He takes every moment he can for teaching, both us and the patients and does it in such a genuinely loving way. Even with simple things like his word choice, he makes each person to feel important, holy and dearly loved. So after they guys had their moment in the hallway, we were given a royal send off---with all the chaplaincy team walking him to the door of the car and we set off for outer Conakry. It was a bumpy ride, but thanks to our Landrover and local driver we made it without delay. There we were also given such a warm welcome full of hugs, kisses, and hand holding. It seems that everyone in the area of her home made it out to welcome him back. Lots of men, aunties, children and even his grandma. We took a tour of the area, got to love on some kiddos, and I got to hold his grandmas hand for a good solid amount of time. It’s funny how even in Africa Grandma’s just have something special about them. In their beautifully lined faces, their soft skin, and the way they hold onto you. Since I didn’t get to love on my grandma this year for her birthday or Thanksgiving, I held T’s just that much tighter--thinking of all the grandma’s who give up time with their grandchildren so they can go and follow their dream to serve abroad and how their faith is similar to those here in Africa who put their loved ones into our hand, without hesitation hoping that we can change their lives. They both want what is best for their babies, sacrifice their own time because they want them to have a bigger and brighter future. (thank you grandma!)

After a few interviews on the media team’s side, a few pictures demanded by T, and lots of hugs, we piled back into the rover and headed home. It was great to see where he has started the next phase of his recovery, and to see his loving family. This man gets to make a future, to start over, a new lease on life. When we asked him what is next, his only thought was that maybe, just maybe, he would like to become a taxi driver. I am here to tell you that I would give anything for that man, and would happily let him drive me all over this beautiful green country. 

December is here!

I apologize for shutting you all out for almost 2 weeks! When I flipped to my blog today thinking “I should write an update” I had no idea that it had been that long since my last post. It’s amazingly easy to get caught up in the day by day here, working shifts, hanging out with friends, and forget that I have a group of faithful supporters who want to hear about what has become my new “normal” in my African home. These past two weeks have been wonderful, as most of the others have been also since my arrival onto the Africa Mercy. So sit back, relax, and prepare yourself....this will be a long one, jam packed with thoughts, stories, and pictures from Guinea. 

The 1st of December was a tough day around here. Two rocks in my Africa Mercy family headed home. Beth and Becky are two of the most loving, amazing, faithful people I have ever known. They were not rookies to the Africa Mercy, and took us all in- playing a key part in our little family. They were great examples of what it looks like to pour our hearts out on our patients, and an excellent reminder of God’s goodness and plan. I could rave about them all day, but the bottom line is this: Good-byes are exceptionally hard here. You live in a super tight community 24-7, eating three square meals a day together, working alongside them, worshiping with them, playing games, watching movies, relaxing, and de-briefing with them. It was said to me after first arriving that you could get closer to these people in three months than ever imaginable--and I see now, that is true. I will miss them something terrible, and It makes my gut hurt, knowing how many more of these will happen in the coming weeks. 

So after a proper AFM send off, what do you do when your heart is heavy and you’ve said a tough good-bye? You hug someone who is still here, be thankful for your blessings, and craft! We spent from 3-11 pm Sunday crafting the newest addition to the 3rd deck hallway. It was a fun, fantastic way to bring us all together on an otherwise gloomy feeling day. 

The idea of leaving, moving on, and trusting God with the plan has been a constant topic of conversation over the last few days. As I laid out on the deck with my dear friend Maura, looking at the stars, chatting about the past few months, it doesn’t seem real. God used so many different things to bring us all here, in his perfect timing. We all had to make the choice to leave our happy, safe, normal lives behind to come to a place where we knew no one. Here we made life long friends, had experiences that only we can understand, and then have to say goodbye. It’s exhausting, and so challenging to give so much of yourself over and then watch it walk off ship and back into your Western world. I wouldn’t trade a minute of it away, and I know that there will be many familiar faces returning and new friends to come, but as my wise friend Jasmin says-- “The amazing thing about traveling is that you get to befriend people from all over the world---but the other side of that is that no matter where you are in the world, no matter the adventure, you will always be missing someone”. So as heavy as my heart is, I have  been impacted and changed by these wonderful friends--

Ward Updates: Every day down in the ward makes my heart soar, and I feel so lucky to be a part of it.  B (our outgoing woman with the trach/feeding tube) has gone home, and been back several times to visit. Every time she barrels in with a new hairstyle, hugs everyone, dances around a bit, and then shuffles back out--all of our hearts leaping for joy over her success. 

S--the patient from the Peanut M&M’s story has made a miraculous recovery and he left Friday for the Hope Center. The night after his surgery his Mom kept a careful watch at his side, never once shutting an eye. When I sat next to her and asked why doesn’t she try to get a little sleep while he is resting, her answer was this. “Today I’m not hungry, I’m not thirsty, I’m not tired, I have no needs....Today is the day my baby has been changed, and I just want to sit here and look at him”. How’s that for powerful at 2am? Heart swelling, I understood. For so many of our patients we get to witness the day they never thought would ever come. For her, she thought she would witness her sons premature death after a long fight with a tumor so far out of their control, but instead she  is able to witness him blossom, rejuvenated, new life gained. Every day we had Mr. S I teased him, just to hear his laugh. I would cover him in stickers, blow bubbles at him, or tickle him, just to see his smile. He, like T, has a lot of extra skin to shrink back over the coming months. Even in the week and a half after his surgery his lips have amazingly shrunk to less than half their pre-operative size. To put it in perspective it was enough to make even Dr. Gary joke that he should have measured them for a research study. This last week he was regaining control of his facial muscles, and he has the most beautiful smile. He doesn’t have one of those little smirks, but literally a gigantic smile that lifts the corners of a mouth far stretched from the trouble that almost took his life. 

What is happening here is impossible to describe. Just yesterday, during an 8 hour shift as charge nurse in the wards I was faced with so many thoughts. We sent five people home, ranging in age from 1-40 and we brought in three new people who all have a story to tell. Of these three, two have already impacted me. The first was a woman who I received a call about at 6pm. She was late to the assembly area and missed the Mercy Ships shuttle through the port to the ship. She ran through the port, trying not to be left behind and then sat outside for almost 2 hours because unfortunately, I didn’t know she was there---so when I found her she was tearful, and worked up. When I walked outside to find her, I took one look at her and was hit square in the chest by the emotion on her face.  Desperation, fear, worry, and defeat. I can think to when I am racing a deadline, and that rush of adrenaline that hits. But for her, it was so much more. She was running,  scrapping to gain to control and then sitting with this thought--That if I am late, if I don’t make it onto that ship, that my chances of having this surgery, of having this life changed could be squashed. Gone in an instant because I was a few minutes late. After settling her in and getting her a solid meal I think she felt better, but the amount of desperation, of her future depending on this surgery....whew, its exhausting! How’s that for an emotional load to carry?

The second is of our newest cleft lip patient. She is joyful, excited, and a little ball of energy. As I played with her, finding coloring books and stickers, bubbles and balloons this thought crept in... I was born into a country that regardless of my physical appearance or mental ability I was given the right to receive an education- No questions asked. For the beautiful 6 year old girl in bed 10 that has not been an option. Education is what her grandmother, grinning ear to ear yesterday, was most excited for. She told me within 10 minutes of meeting her not only how blessed I am and how she is asking God to change my life for changing her grand-baby’s lip, but that because of Mercy Ships she will now be allowed into school--and that’s the part that dug into me. It’s easy to get used to the physical changes we are making here, to get wrapped up in the day to day, and forget all of the other things under the surface. The emotional healing, spiritual healing, and practical opportunities these changes create.

I recently had a friend ask how I have the energy to connect with every patient. And my honest answer is this-- I don’t, and as one person I couldn’t possibly carry that load. I don’t connect with every patient, and as many as I tell you about have gone by without me really ever getting to know them. There are beautiful stories happening in our ward and the other wards that I am not a part of and I will never have the insider perspective on. I tell you about the ones who impact me, and even though I don’t connect with every single patient, thankfully there is one of us who does. God has put different patients on different hearts to care for, to pour out his love on, and to make know that they are special, not forgotten-but dearly loved by him.

With all of that said, I think I owe you all this confession: My soul fits here, it feels like home, and I feel as though this is the exact place I am supposed to be. I don’t feel a stirring saying “its time to move on”, “you need to be doing more” or find myself  doubting my chosen path. I finally found my place. The place where I can connect the service I am passionate about and the skills that God gave me to be a nurse. I’ve said a lot since graduating that I’m not sure I want to be a nurse forever, but If I could do this job every day then I would be complete. One way that I know I am where I am supposed to be, is that I am in this beautiful tension of missing home, but not able to bear the thought of leaving here. My soul feels pulled here, rooted by both gravity and Jesus. I am not finished yet, my work is not done, and I have barely made it half way through my journey. 

Looking forward, here are a few things to be excited for: 

• The return of Beth and Noemie two Africa Mercy favorites, and the arrival of my dear friend Allison from STL coming to spend one month on board! 
• The amazing adventure that will happen when a small group of us get to spend Dec 27th to Jan 1st trekking far upcountry during our vacation time.....
• And my favorite of all--something I need prayer for, is that there is a possibility myself and Brenda (The Outpatient Team Leader) will get approved to make a trip to take T home to his village....how amazing would it be to meet all the faces he has known for years and be welcomed into his home. To see his impact on all of them who doubted his survival, and to witness their initial first glances at a changed man. 

Thanks for being faithful, and for sticking with me to the end. I hope each of you is having a joyful start to the holiday season!