After two monthes of living on a hospital ship, I have adapted these things into my schema of normal.
The weights in the weight room are in kilograms.
The routine series of beeps on the overhead proceeded by and Arnold-swartzaneger-like voice saying “this is a test of the alarm”.
A translator teaching parents malaria prevention in the ward.
“When did you last have malaria” being an admissions assessment question.
Seeing at least three men a week peeing in broad daylight.
Eating cheese sandwiches. Seven days a week.
Two minute showers.
Having your head hit the top of the ceiling whenever your driving in a vehicle.
Fitting over seven people in a four person taxi.
Drinking coca-cola light (rather than diet coke).
Always wearing a name badge.
Seeing UN workers with large guns outside the window.
Identifying myself as from America rather than Bucks County.
Being very excited about going to the tailor.
Paying 50 cents for a cappuccino.
Sharing a small-small room with five other woman.
Never exposing my knees before 6 pm.
Experiencing a nuetella love-affair.
Hearing the water rush through the plumbing system every time someone on the third deck flushes a toilet.
Never seeing a full length mirror.
Wearing jeans and being considered “dressed up”.
Meeting children who have never seen white skin.
Having people think I am cool. Oh wait, they still don’t think that.
Monday, August 6, 2007
reflections of an over-active mind
I moved today.
I’m still on a hospital ship in Liberia. I am still in cabin 3426. But now I am in the back room rather than the front. I actually sort of have a room rather than a glorified closet now. Exciting.
“Moving” was a bit rushed seeing that our roommate did not leave until 2:30 PM and our new one is going to arrive at any moment. Hospitality was beating down the door to make the bed a 3:00 pm. A girl has to move fast to get what she wants in this world.
I am feeling a bit saturated at the moment. Trying to grasp the dichotomy of being a westernized girl in westernized bubble in a third world country. On the ship you can forget your in Liberia.
We work on a hospital with a cat scanner and x-ray room and wall suction. There is 24 hour internet (even if the connection is unstable an slow). We have a star bucks. And uno cards. And phone lines.
But yesterday I went to church and sat with my little friend who doesn’t have a mom. The building in which the service was held is home 200 displaced people. They stated downstairs while we had church upstairs. One of the members was offered a chance to live in the building but she didn’t want to because it was not very safe at night.
Many of the church children has streaks of gold colored hair amongst their black braids. Some adults had this too. It’s a sign of protein deficiency. Most of the children here are very malnourished. If they do eat, it’s generally simple starchy foods like rice and cassava (a potato- like root). Forget about Flintstone multivitamins.
And here I sit tired of peanut butter and worried that I am going to gain weight.
I think the real struggle I have is not so much with outward circumstances but my inward reflections on my situation. The struggle to find a balance between giving of yourself and enjoying what you have been given.
I am becoming more convinced that life is really about the journey. Our destination is fixed. If we continue to live we will all face death. I think that’s why we often make ourselves so busy. We don’t want to recognize out frailty of consider our own mortality. But at some point it will be considered.
I am so grateful for the perspective I am gaining here. Meeting people from around the world has further convinced me that who we become and how we think is largely determined by the environment from which we come from and the experiences which we have in life. Another reason to not be easily offended . Another reason to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I also feel that the idea of a nine to five life is being forever ruined for me. Not that I think it is wrong. I’m not a fan of classifying people and what they do into “A” and “B” teams. But we only spend a short time here. And we are very frail indeed.
We must choose our paths wisely. I don’t want to have any regrets in forty years.
I’m still on a hospital ship in Liberia. I am still in cabin 3426. But now I am in the back room rather than the front. I actually sort of have a room rather than a glorified closet now. Exciting.
“Moving” was a bit rushed seeing that our roommate did not leave until 2:30 PM and our new one is going to arrive at any moment. Hospitality was beating down the door to make the bed a 3:00 pm. A girl has to move fast to get what she wants in this world.
I am feeling a bit saturated at the moment. Trying to grasp the dichotomy of being a westernized girl in westernized bubble in a third world country. On the ship you can forget your in Liberia.
We work on a hospital with a cat scanner and x-ray room and wall suction. There is 24 hour internet (even if the connection is unstable an slow). We have a star bucks. And uno cards. And phone lines.
But yesterday I went to church and sat with my little friend who doesn’t have a mom. The building in which the service was held is home 200 displaced people. They stated downstairs while we had church upstairs. One of the members was offered a chance to live in the building but she didn’t want to because it was not very safe at night.
Many of the church children has streaks of gold colored hair amongst their black braids. Some adults had this too. It’s a sign of protein deficiency. Most of the children here are very malnourished. If they do eat, it’s generally simple starchy foods like rice and cassava (a potato- like root). Forget about Flintstone multivitamins.
And here I sit tired of peanut butter and worried that I am going to gain weight.
I think the real struggle I have is not so much with outward circumstances but my inward reflections on my situation. The struggle to find a balance between giving of yourself and enjoying what you have been given.
I am becoming more convinced that life is really about the journey. Our destination is fixed. If we continue to live we will all face death. I think that’s why we often make ourselves so busy. We don’t want to recognize out frailty of consider our own mortality. But at some point it will be considered.
I am so grateful for the perspective I am gaining here. Meeting people from around the world has further convinced me that who we become and how we think is largely determined by the environment from which we come from and the experiences which we have in life. Another reason to not be easily offended . Another reason to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I also feel that the idea of a nine to five life is being forever ruined for me. Not that I think it is wrong. I’m not a fan of classifying people and what they do into “A” and “B” teams. But we only spend a short time here. And we are very frail indeed.
We must choose our paths wisely. I don’t want to have any regrets in forty years.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
tension
“Tension is too be loved when it is like a passing note to a beautiful chord.”
Today was a busy day. I feel adequately tired.
Weekends are fun here. They provide a much needed opportunity to leave the confines of our hospital ship and breath some fresh air. Seeing that I am working 6 of the next 7 days I felt it was important to take full advantage of my opportunities to leave the ship.
So I did.
This morning I went to an orphanage. There was 50 kids ranging from 3 months to sixteen. As we walked into the room the children immediately ran to our sides soaking in any physical affection we would give them. I started a huge game of ring around the rosie followed by the clapping game “going on a bear hunt” (except I made a slight substitution- we were hunting for lions).
We sang songs and handed out balloons. I kissed all their faces. African children are just so kissable. I held one little boy, Emmanuel, in my lap for almost and hour. He even passed up an opportunity to receive a hand-crafted balloon sword to sit with me.
When I was a little girl I remember my mom waking me up by rubbing my back. It made me feel safe. There are studies that show the need children have for physical affection. These children crave it. Being at the orphanage made me want to get my NP so I could start my own orphanage. One of the ten master plans I have for my life at the moment.
One of my roommates is leaving on Monday. Michelle B. It will be very sad to see her leave. When I first got here, I was told there were two words you needed to get used to at Mercy Ships, hello and goodbye. I am not so keen on all these goodbyes. And this is just the beginning. It was also I a friend’s birthday. In honor of them we went out for ice cream.
But I am trying to stay away from junk food. Today I was having a “I-am-eating-to-much-bread-here-and feeling-very-bloated” kind of days. At home I am constantly reminded that I am not a size two. It always kind of bothers me, makes me feel a little insecure, makes me think I should skip dessert. In Liberia I don’t have those reminders. There are no full length mirrors. I basically only ever know what my face looks life. The women here have figures. And it’s acceptable.
However, today I meandered on gap.com (just to see what is in style) and I felt the size 2 pressure. So I skipped dessert tonight.
My mind cannot grasp the dichotomy of ship life. Here I am worried about gaining a few pounds while I am surrounded by malnourished children.
There is so much tension in this experience. The tension of living in a western bubble in a third world country. The tension of living and working with people of all ages and walks of life from over 40 countries. The tension of giving what you have while gaining what you need. The tension of missing home while loving where your at.
But tension is not a bad thing. I just wish my mind could grasp the concept of my experiences. I’m going to bed.
Today was a busy day. I feel adequately tired.
Weekends are fun here. They provide a much needed opportunity to leave the confines of our hospital ship and breath some fresh air. Seeing that I am working 6 of the next 7 days I felt it was important to take full advantage of my opportunities to leave the ship.
So I did.
This morning I went to an orphanage. There was 50 kids ranging from 3 months to sixteen. As we walked into the room the children immediately ran to our sides soaking in any physical affection we would give them. I started a huge game of ring around the rosie followed by the clapping game “going on a bear hunt” (except I made a slight substitution- we were hunting for lions).
We sang songs and handed out balloons. I kissed all their faces. African children are just so kissable. I held one little boy, Emmanuel, in my lap for almost and hour. He even passed up an opportunity to receive a hand-crafted balloon sword to sit with me.
When I was a little girl I remember my mom waking me up by rubbing my back. It made me feel safe. There are studies that show the need children have for physical affection. These children crave it. Being at the orphanage made me want to get my NP so I could start my own orphanage. One of the ten master plans I have for my life at the moment.
One of my roommates is leaving on Monday. Michelle B. It will be very sad to see her leave. When I first got here, I was told there were two words you needed to get used to at Mercy Ships, hello and goodbye. I am not so keen on all these goodbyes. And this is just the beginning. It was also I a friend’s birthday. In honor of them we went out for ice cream.
But I am trying to stay away from junk food. Today I was having a “I-am-eating-to-much-bread-here-and feeling-very-bloated” kind of days. At home I am constantly reminded that I am not a size two. It always kind of bothers me, makes me feel a little insecure, makes me think I should skip dessert. In Liberia I don’t have those reminders. There are no full length mirrors. I basically only ever know what my face looks life. The women here have figures. And it’s acceptable.
However, today I meandered on gap.com (just to see what is in style) and I felt the size 2 pressure. So I skipped dessert tonight.
My mind cannot grasp the dichotomy of ship life. Here I am worried about gaining a few pounds while I am surrounded by malnourished children.
There is so much tension in this experience. The tension of living in a western bubble in a third world country. The tension of living and working with people of all ages and walks of life from over 40 countries. The tension of giving what you have while gaining what you need. The tension of missing home while loving where your at.
But tension is not a bad thing. I just wish my mind could grasp the concept of my experiences. I’m going to bed.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
goodbye
Goodbye is a frequently spoken word in Mercy Ships. People come. You become Friends. Then they leave. It's very sad actually.
Dr. Ned and Dr. Paul were my neighbors for the past two weeks. They left for the states today. They were both older gentleman who I believe are retired at the moment.
Dr. Ned has a deep older man voice. When they first arrived, at 2 AM, it was heard quite loudly though our cabin walls. I am certain he had no idea we could hear him.
Someday I am going to write a book entitled "Honest, Clear, Communication." I think if everyone read it it might solve most of the worlds problems (*disclaimer* I don't actually think that )
In the spirit of that book, I was obligated to knock on the door the next day when the walls were talking and my roommate, who just worked night shift, was trying to sleep.
Anyone who has ever gone to a retreat or Coatsville with me is probably laughing right now. I promise I refrained from reading them the sleepers bill of rights.
Although there was great hesitation, I made a fist and knocked on the door. I plead my roommates case. The surgeons were so lovely. They had no idea we could hear them. They even apologized for the night before. I assured them it was no big deal.
Another problem solved by honest, clear, communication (wouldn't that be a great book?).
After that greeting, we became friends. I bought them some Liberian donut's. Dr. Ned proofread an article for me.
Our crew consists of people from all walks of life, of all ages, and from all over the world. An incessant stream of hello's and goodbye's.
It's like an international space station. Sort of (not really).
Dr. Ned and Dr. Paul were my neighbors for the past two weeks. They left for the states today. They were both older gentleman who I believe are retired at the moment.
Dr. Ned has a deep older man voice. When they first arrived, at 2 AM, it was heard quite loudly though our cabin walls. I am certain he had no idea we could hear him.
Someday I am going to write a book entitled "Honest, Clear, Communication." I think if everyone read it it might solve most of the worlds problems (*disclaimer* I don't actually think that )
In the spirit of that book, I was obligated to knock on the door the next day when the walls were talking and my roommate, who just worked night shift, was trying to sleep.
Anyone who has ever gone to a retreat or Coatsville with me is probably laughing right now. I promise I refrained from reading them the sleepers bill of rights.
Although there was great hesitation, I made a fist and knocked on the door. I plead my roommates case. The surgeons were so lovely. They had no idea we could hear them. They even apologized for the night before. I assured them it was no big deal.
Another problem solved by honest, clear, communication (wouldn't that be a great book?).
After that greeting, we became friends. I bought them some Liberian donut's. Dr. Ned proofread an article for me.
Our crew consists of people from all walks of life, of all ages, and from all over the world. An incessant stream of hello's and goodbye's.
It's like an international space station. Sort of (not really).
Friday, August 3, 2007
platted hair (braids)
On Monday one of my patients was a fifteen year old girl. She was shot several times during the war. We were going to remove the bullet that was still lodged in her left thigh as well as clean up several other scars.
Being a patient in the hospital can be a little boring. I thought she might find braiding my hair amusing. So I retrieved a comb and rubber bands from my room.
When I returned she got shy. She didn't want to braid my hair. Which was fine. I didn't care about the braids, I just thought it might be nice for her.
But before I could put away my comb, James mom spoke up.
"I want to plat (braid) your hair."
I really like James mother. She was my age and a little sassy in the best kind of way. If we were in school together I am pretty certain we would have been friends. Maybe even kindred spirits.
So she platted my hair. Carefully she divided my hair into neatly segmented squares.
People have been asking me how long the process took but I am honestly not sure. We would start and stop and then start again. After about 25 minutes of platting I generally had some nursing duty to perform. I went to dinner with my hair half-platted. Good thing I don't really care about looking silly.
But at the end of the night my head was transformed into a Medusa-like collection of braids. And it was a hit.
"Your hair looks fine," was the general consensus of the Liberian mothers and translators in the ward. My friend even got hers done the next day. She told me she felt a little guilty having it done while she was working.
I didn't.
It really wasn't about the braids. I would have been fine with my normal afro-bedhead look. It was about friendship. validation. About giving someone the opportunity to do something for you. About letting James mom have something to give me. It made our relationship mutualistic.
It's funny how a very small gesture can mean alot to someone. The next day I wore my African skirt to match my African hair. Three of the translators sat with me at lunch. They had never done that before.
How to reach someone is not something you can find in a textbook. It's something you find in your daily life. We are surrounded by opportunities to validate a person's worth.
Maybe it's a kind word. Maybe it's laughing at a joke. Maybe it's listening to what someone has to say.
Maybe it's having your hair platted.
Being a patient in the hospital can be a little boring. I thought she might find braiding my hair amusing. So I retrieved a comb and rubber bands from my room.
When I returned she got shy. She didn't want to braid my hair. Which was fine. I didn't care about the braids, I just thought it might be nice for her.
But before I could put away my comb, James mom spoke up.
"I want to plat (braid) your hair."
I really like James mother. She was my age and a little sassy in the best kind of way. If we were in school together I am pretty certain we would have been friends. Maybe even kindred spirits.
So she platted my hair. Carefully she divided my hair into neatly segmented squares.
People have been asking me how long the process took but I am honestly not sure. We would start and stop and then start again. After about 25 minutes of platting I generally had some nursing duty to perform. I went to dinner with my hair half-platted. Good thing I don't really care about looking silly.
But at the end of the night my head was transformed into a Medusa-like collection of braids. And it was a hit.
"Your hair looks fine," was the general consensus of the Liberian mothers and translators in the ward. My friend even got hers done the next day. She told me she felt a little guilty having it done while she was working.
I didn't.
It really wasn't about the braids. I would have been fine with my normal afro-bedhead look. It was about friendship. validation. About giving someone the opportunity to do something for you. About letting James mom have something to give me. It made our relationship mutualistic.
It's funny how a very small gesture can mean alot to someone. The next day I wore my African skirt to match my African hair. Three of the translators sat with me at lunch. They had never done that before.
How to reach someone is not something you can find in a textbook. It's something you find in your daily life. We are surrounded by opportunities to validate a person's worth.
Maybe it's a kind word. Maybe it's laughing at a joke. Maybe it's listening to what someone has to say.
Maybe it's having your hair platted.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Collin
A member of our crew drowned on Sunday afternoon. His name was Collin. He was 21. He was my neighbor. His cabin was on the right. Sometimes at night I heard him and his bunkmate laughing through the walls. Once I interrupted a guitar session to ask a dumb question. He didn’t seem bothered.
I didn’t really now him very well. He had just graduated from Texas A & M with a pre-med degree. He was Texan. He was only staying short term. We arrived the same week and were a part of the same new crew orientation.
Living in a small community you kind of know everyone. At least a little. At least a smile or hello in the hallway.
On Sunday morning I thought we would be unable to transport one of my patients to the ward church service down the hall. So I frantically started searching for a gourd shaker so I could sing songs with my bedbound patient. En route to my room I bumped into Collin and his roommate Rob. They were dressed in beach clothes. I asked Collin a question.
“Do you guys have an gourd shaker I can borrow?”
“No, I’m sorry, we don’t have one.”
Then we both went our way.
Two hours later while I was eating lunch on the port, I heard the emergency medical team paged on the overhead paging system. I went to reception and found a flurry of moving medical professionals. Apparently there was a near drowning of a crew member at a local beach. They were performing CPR.
My stomach became completely raw. My heart hit the floor.
Two hours later the captain asked on the overhead that everyone would come to the international lounge. We then learned that Collin had died.
Last week I wrote a blog called Burn out Bright. I think it’s so appropriate to Collins situation.
He Burned out Bright.
There is a lyric in the song that has hit me this week
If we only got one life
If we’ve only got one try
If time was never on our side
Before I die I want to burn our bright
Time is never on our side. When we hold time up to the light of eternity is becomes transparent. We can’t hold onto it. Even if we lived to 80 or 90 years, it’s a only a vapor.
John 17:3 says
And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent.
Collin is knowing Christ fully right now. His mind is fixed on the only reality the universe contains.
I have found that so challenging this week. Do I really believe that Christ is eternal life and that this eternal thread can be experienced here on earth? The implications are deep, dividing that which is soulish and that which is spiritual.
But when I die, I’d like to burn out bright too. I’d like to follow Collins example.
Please pray for his family as I cannot imagine the pain they are going though. His service will be on Friday. Also, please pray for our crew members who were with him at the beach. They are traveling to Texas to attend the service. Please pray for their emotional healing and safe travels.
I didn’t really now him very well. He had just graduated from Texas A & M with a pre-med degree. He was Texan. He was only staying short term. We arrived the same week and were a part of the same new crew orientation.
Living in a small community you kind of know everyone. At least a little. At least a smile or hello in the hallway.
On Sunday morning I thought we would be unable to transport one of my patients to the ward church service down the hall. So I frantically started searching for a gourd shaker so I could sing songs with my bedbound patient. En route to my room I bumped into Collin and his roommate Rob. They were dressed in beach clothes. I asked Collin a question.
“Do you guys have an gourd shaker I can borrow?”
“No, I’m sorry, we don’t have one.”
Then we both went our way.
Two hours later while I was eating lunch on the port, I heard the emergency medical team paged on the overhead paging system. I went to reception and found a flurry of moving medical professionals. Apparently there was a near drowning of a crew member at a local beach. They were performing CPR.
My stomach became completely raw. My heart hit the floor.
Two hours later the captain asked on the overhead that everyone would come to the international lounge. We then learned that Collin had died.
Last week I wrote a blog called Burn out Bright. I think it’s so appropriate to Collins situation.
He Burned out Bright.
There is a lyric in the song that has hit me this week
If we only got one life
If we’ve only got one try
If time was never on our side
Before I die I want to burn our bright
Time is never on our side. When we hold time up to the light of eternity is becomes transparent. We can’t hold onto it. Even if we lived to 80 or 90 years, it’s a only a vapor.
John 17:3 says
And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent.
Collin is knowing Christ fully right now. His mind is fixed on the only reality the universe contains.
I have found that so challenging this week. Do I really believe that Christ is eternal life and that this eternal thread can be experienced here on earth? The implications are deep, dividing that which is soulish and that which is spiritual.
But when I die, I’d like to burn out bright too. I’d like to follow Collins example.
Please pray for his family as I cannot imagine the pain they are going though. His service will be on Friday. Also, please pray for our crew members who were with him at the beach. They are traveling to Texas to attend the service. Please pray for their emotional healing and safe travels.
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