also the work of bed 10
Saturday, June 30, 2007
on the catwalk
Sitting in a hospital bed can be a bit boring, so the ladies of the faith ward started a knitting club. Michelle, a ward nurse, was their teacher. Some had a hard time, some were naturals. I felt like I was at a senior high event.
Bed 10, my patient, was obviously experienced. She knit a beautiful grey hat for our charge nurse, Laura, in a span of only two hours. As I finished my shift last night she had begun a new project with beautiful red yarn.
"It's for you. I'll have it done tomorrow."
The alarm clock played it's sing song tune at 6:20 AM. Throughout the night I had woken up every hour, scared of sleeping through my soft-spoken travel alarm clock. Rolling out of bed I threw on my grey scrubs and headed up to the cafeteria for some pre-shift coffee. I made it to the ward by 6:45 Am. The 30 foot commute is amazing.
Bed 10 was waiting for me with a red hat in hand.
Of course I made a huge fuss over it.
Later in the morning, when things were settled, I tried my hat on. I stepped out of the bathroom to big smiles and applause. The ladies of the faith ward like my hat.
There is a large aisle that divides the ward beds. Today it was my catwalk. I strutted through ward modeling my new red hat. The woman smiled and laughed. One lady even told my she liked my face.
I love my job.
Bed 10, my patient, was obviously experienced. She knit a beautiful grey hat for our charge nurse, Laura, in a span of only two hours. As I finished my shift last night she had begun a new project with beautiful red yarn.
"It's for you. I'll have it done tomorrow."
The alarm clock played it's sing song tune at 6:20 AM. Throughout the night I had woken up every hour, scared of sleeping through my soft-spoken travel alarm clock. Rolling out of bed I threw on my grey scrubs and headed up to the cafeteria for some pre-shift coffee. I made it to the ward by 6:45 Am. The 30 foot commute is amazing.
Bed 10 was waiting for me with a red hat in hand.
Of course I made a huge fuss over it.
Later in the morning, when things were settled, I tried my hat on. I stepped out of the bathroom to big smiles and applause. The ladies of the faith ward like my hat.
There is a large aisle that divides the ward beds. Today it was my catwalk. I strutted through ward modeling my new red hat. The woman smiled and laughed. One lady even told my she liked my face.
I love my job.
Friday, June 29, 2007
history
Are you able to read? No
Are you able to write? No
Did your husband leave you after your fistula? Yes
Number of Pregnancies: 1
Number of Deliveries: 1
Number of living children: 0
Time in labor: 4 days
Fetal outcome: stillbirth
Date of delivery: 1989
This is from an admission history of a VVF patient. It could be any one of them.
There histories are almost uniform. Fifteen seems to be the median age at time of delivery. The baby was stillborn. The husband left.
Many of these woman are thirty or forty now.
Last night I cared for three VVF ladies. We had a hard time understanding each other. I am told Liberians speak English but I don't believe it. Fortunately we have translators in the ward to bridge the communication gap.
There was a distinct stench of urine in their room. A smell these women have learned to live with.
One of my patient's was a little sassy. She tried to trick me into giving her extra towels. I felt at home.
We read stories and it is easy to compartmentalize them into a fictitious part of our imaginations. But theses are people. Individuals. They like to laugh (a few ladies found my miscommunication funny at times). They like watching TV. They get board because they are stuck in the ward all day.
Working with these ladies is wonderful. They have such sweet spirits. My heart was broken as I read their histories and thought of the weight of their past experiences. How broken their hearts must be.
We all pray for their mending.
Are you able to write? No
Did your husband leave you after your fistula? Yes
Number of Pregnancies: 1
Number of Deliveries: 1
Number of living children: 0
Time in labor: 4 days
Fetal outcome: stillbirth
Date of delivery: 1989
This is from an admission history of a VVF patient. It could be any one of them.
There histories are almost uniform. Fifteen seems to be the median age at time of delivery. The baby was stillborn. The husband left.
Many of these woman are thirty or forty now.
Last night I cared for three VVF ladies. We had a hard time understanding each other. I am told Liberians speak English but I don't believe it. Fortunately we have translators in the ward to bridge the communication gap.
There was a distinct stench of urine in their room. A smell these women have learned to live with.
One of my patient's was a little sassy. She tried to trick me into giving her extra towels. I felt at home.
We read stories and it is easy to compartmentalize them into a fictitious part of our imaginations. But theses are people. Individuals. They like to laugh (a few ladies found my miscommunication funny at times). They like watching TV. They get board because they are stuck in the ward all day.
Working with these ladies is wonderful. They have such sweet spirits. My heart was broken as I read their histories and thought of the weight of their past experiences. How broken their hearts must be.
We all pray for their mending.
first day
Today was my first day as a ward nurse. I had a total blast. It is quite possible that I took care of two of the cutest little boys in Liberia. I took the 5 y/o for rides down the corridor in the rolling chair. He had the biggest smile and the most beautiful brown eyes.
My three VVF ladies were equally lovely.
I did however feel my thus far greatest pang of homesickness. Euphoria was running through my veins and I had no one to tell. I was a bit of a sad four year old.
My three VVF ladies were equally lovely.
I did however feel my thus far greatest pang of homesickness. Euphoria was running through my veins and I had no one to tell. I was a bit of a sad four year old.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
thoughts
I had thought about keeping a written journal this year but seeing that I often cannot decipher my own hand writing, typing just makes more sense. So forgive me if my thoughts meander but you have been fairly warned.
Yesterday was my birthday. I am 24. I am dealing with the wretched thought that in six years I will be (gasp) 30. It may seem like premature dread but 6 years ago I was 18. And I can vividly remember 18.
I have only been in Africa for a 1.5 weeks, so all friendships at this point are seedlings. But you would not have known that yesterday. I am truly surrounded by lovely people. Someone made me a cake. I got cards and little presents. Four friends even endured almost 4 miles of walking on a dirt road during rainy season so I could purchase African fabric at the market. How nice.
The market was an interesting. I love experiencing the culture. During our walk it started to pour rain so we took cover under the awning of a local shop. In Philadelphia we probably would have been told to leave. But here, the owner gave up his seat and scrounged up some plastic chairs so us five white ladies could have a proper seat (as the English would say). It's good to know that chivalry is not completely dead.
As week walked, the streets were lined with people just sitting on the road. Not working. Because there is no where to work. There is very little economic opportunity of any kind. Our pale skin easily distinguishes the crew as Mercy Ship workers. And as you walk through the streets people will often yell with a reflective intonation, "Mercy Ships."The men often make a high pitched pucker sound when you pass, which I have decided is the Liberian equivalent of "Hey Baby".
Tonight I became a bit of a pirate, I boarded the Anastasis and pillaged hangers from the closets of empty rooms. The Anastasis has been Mercy Ships flagship for almost thirty years. It has brought medical care to thousands of people. Soon, it will be making it's final sail to India where it will be scrapped.The ship was originally an Italian cruise line. It's design and character are lovely.
As I walked through the now empty corridors I thought about it's history. I am unsure how long it takes to build a ship, but I imagine it is a long and tedious process. It must be designed, assembled, equipped, and tested. The hands that built the Anastasis thought they were building a cruise ship. They intended to provide rich Italians a delightful place to take a holiday (another English term). In their wildest dreams they could never have imagined the vessel would be taking her final sail from a third world country in Africa. Or that it would provide hope and healing for thousands of the world's poorest inhabitants. Or that her crew would be made of people from over 40 nations and almost every walk of life.
But so often that's what happens.
The things we build in our lives our used for completely different purposes than we intended. We have no idea how God will use today's experiences tomorrow. Our lives could take on an entirely different purpose in a moment and suddenly we see how the orchestrated past enabled a new beginning. God's intentions are beyond our understanding and it is beautiful to watch Him breath meaning and life into our vessels.
I love that we never really know what is going to happened next. It makes life so much more exciting. It makes difficulties worth enduring. It makes the sheep dependant upon the shepherd.
The real beauty of the Anastasis is not found in her frame or design, but in how she was used. The spirit of mercy is the remembered beauty. Likewise, when we reach the end of our journey, it will be remembered how our lives were used .
At a funeral the most touching remembrances are,
"She was a loving mother."
"He had a gentle spirit."
"He had a generous heart."
People don't often remember the dead with
"She was able to fit into size four jeans her entire life."
"He graduated 2nd in his high school class."
"Her yard was always the most meticulous in the neighborhood."
We will leave something behind.
Let us store up treasure where moth and rust do not corrupt.
Yesterday was my birthday. I am 24. I am dealing with the wretched thought that in six years I will be (gasp) 30. It may seem like premature dread but 6 years ago I was 18. And I can vividly remember 18.
I have only been in Africa for a 1.5 weeks, so all friendships at this point are seedlings. But you would not have known that yesterday. I am truly surrounded by lovely people. Someone made me a cake. I got cards and little presents. Four friends even endured almost 4 miles of walking on a dirt road during rainy season so I could purchase African fabric at the market. How nice.
The market was an interesting. I love experiencing the culture. During our walk it started to pour rain so we took cover under the awning of a local shop. In Philadelphia we probably would have been told to leave. But here, the owner gave up his seat and scrounged up some plastic chairs so us five white ladies could have a proper seat (as the English would say). It's good to know that chivalry is not completely dead.
As week walked, the streets were lined with people just sitting on the road. Not working. Because there is no where to work. There is very little economic opportunity of any kind. Our pale skin easily distinguishes the crew as Mercy Ship workers. And as you walk through the streets people will often yell with a reflective intonation, "Mercy Ships."The men often make a high pitched pucker sound when you pass, which I have decided is the Liberian equivalent of "Hey Baby".
Tonight I became a bit of a pirate, I boarded the Anastasis and pillaged hangers from the closets of empty rooms. The Anastasis has been Mercy Ships flagship for almost thirty years. It has brought medical care to thousands of people. Soon, it will be making it's final sail to India where it will be scrapped.The ship was originally an Italian cruise line. It's design and character are lovely.
As I walked through the now empty corridors I thought about it's history. I am unsure how long it takes to build a ship, but I imagine it is a long and tedious process. It must be designed, assembled, equipped, and tested. The hands that built the Anastasis thought they were building a cruise ship. They intended to provide rich Italians a delightful place to take a holiday (another English term). In their wildest dreams they could never have imagined the vessel would be taking her final sail from a third world country in Africa. Or that it would provide hope and healing for thousands of the world's poorest inhabitants. Or that her crew would be made of people from over 40 nations and almost every walk of life.
But so often that's what happens.
The things we build in our lives our used for completely different purposes than we intended. We have no idea how God will use today's experiences tomorrow. Our lives could take on an entirely different purpose in a moment and suddenly we see how the orchestrated past enabled a new beginning. God's intentions are beyond our understanding and it is beautiful to watch Him breath meaning and life into our vessels.
I love that we never really know what is going to happened next. It makes life so much more exciting. It makes difficulties worth enduring. It makes the sheep dependant upon the shepherd.
The real beauty of the Anastasis is not found in her frame or design, but in how she was used. The spirit of mercy is the remembered beauty. Likewise, when we reach the end of our journey, it will be remembered how our lives were used .
At a funeral the most touching remembrances are,
"She was a loving mother."
"He had a gentle spirit."
"He had a generous heart."
People don't often remember the dead with
"She was able to fit into size four jeans her entire life."
"He graduated 2nd in his high school class."
"Her yard was always the most meticulous in the neighborhood."
We will leave something behind.
Let us store up treasure where moth and rust do not corrupt.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
VVF
Yesterday the hospital opened. 60 VVF surgical candidates were screened. Journalists and media documented the historical day which was eight years in the making. It was exciting for everyone.
Except for three women.
VVF stands for vesico-vaginal fistula. During a pro-longed labor pressure from the head of a fetus can cause internal tissue to become necrotic. A fistula develops between the bladder and vagina and causes a constant leak of urine. More severe fistula's may include the rectum and feces will leak as well.
Western medicine has eliminated this condition in the developed world. But in Africa at least 2 million women are leaking.
They leak because girls are forced to marry before they have fully developed pelvic bones. They leak because their bodies are malnourished. They leak because maternal care is not accessible. Often, a woman will endure five of six days of unattended labor. Her efforts produce a dead baby and a solemn memorial.
I have watched an American child die. We support bereaved parents.
VVF women are societies outcast's. Husbands leave. Friends ignore. Unable to control their stench they are left to carry their burdens alone. Many become severely depressed.
60 women arrived yesterday with hope. Hope that they might regain their lives.
57 are still hoping.
3 went home.
This morning during our crew meeting we prayed those three women. And we continue to hope for the other 57.
Except for three women.
VVF stands for vesico-vaginal fistula. During a pro-longed labor pressure from the head of a fetus can cause internal tissue to become necrotic. A fistula develops between the bladder and vagina and causes a constant leak of urine. More severe fistula's may include the rectum and feces will leak as well.
Western medicine has eliminated this condition in the developed world. But in Africa at least 2 million women are leaking.
They leak because girls are forced to marry before they have fully developed pelvic bones. They leak because their bodies are malnourished. They leak because maternal care is not accessible. Often, a woman will endure five of six days of unattended labor. Her efforts produce a dead baby and a solemn memorial.
I have watched an American child die. We support bereaved parents.
VVF women are societies outcast's. Husbands leave. Friends ignore. Unable to control their stench they are left to carry their burdens alone. Many become severely depressed.
60 women arrived yesterday with hope. Hope that they might regain their lives.
57 are still hoping.
3 went home.
This morning during our crew meeting we prayed those three women. And we continue to hope for the other 57.
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