New Doctors . . .

Some new doctors were spotted down on Deck 3:

"Be afraid" come to mind!  (:

Grace, Bernice and

Grace was seen on the ship Tuesday.  Her feeding tube had fallen out at home, so Esther and Anthony made the long trip from Benin back to the ship three days early. Our feeding program coordinator, Jess, stopped by D Ward to see if there were any pediatric nurses around who could place a new tube and Ali was quick to volunteer.  Here's her story:

"I gathered my supplies and headed out to the dockside tent where Grace's small family was waiting. I got huge hugs from both of them and quickly got the nasty part over with.

Once Grace's new tube was taped firmly in place, I stole a quick snuggle. With her tucked my arms, I got the chance to ask her parents how things were going. It turns out little Grace isn't quite as little as she used to be; she's gained a whopping two hundred grams since we last saw her. It doesn't change the way her heart looks, so it doesn't mean that we can do surgery, but it's more than we expected. We caught up on family news, learned how excited the other girls were to have their sister back, and sent them home again. I'll keep you posted with her story if I hear more about how it's unfolding. Anthony would like me to thank you all for praying. He was speechless for a moment when I told him about all your comments and e-mails and then just ducked his head and said, You need to thank them for me.

Down on the ward, Bernice had a new blue cast put on Tuesday and went home on Wednesday, her caregiver laughing and hugging her thanks to all of the crew.

Baby Bernice

It's hard, sometimes, to let them go. Harder still when you know they're going back to an orphanage with sixty-one other kids who all need love and care. Hard to trust that they'll watch over her vigilantly enough, clean her mouth well enough, make sure she eats the right foods. I found out today that Bernice actually does have a mama, but that her real mama wants nothing to do with her. She rejected beautiful Bernice when she was born with a cleft lip and palate, unable to see past the deformity, unable to imagine that her child could ever be worth anything.But Bernice is anything but unloved. She's had affection poured into her little soul from every angle over the last week and she's been soaking it up. It was finally my turn for a cuddle today during morning worship. I had her in my arms, her head on my chest, her bum resting comfortably on my tummy. As the drums beat and the music swirled around us, her tiny hands patted my back in time with the rhythm, her fingers soft as little feathers.Eventually the singing slowed and I handed her off to the next willing set of arms so that I could finish writing her discharge orders.There's a rhythm to this place. They come, we fall in love, and they go. As Bernice's caregiver was collecting their things, four year-old Mounira rolled back into the ward from the recovery room. The steri strips on her lip mirrored Bernice's, and I saw Bernice's caregiver nod knowingly.

Here's another one saved, that nod seemed to say. Saved from a lifetime of rejection and ridicule before she's really old enough to realize that she's different. Mounira's papa stood by her side, his own smile wide as he looked down at his sleeping daughter.Here's another one who doesn't have to hide her face, another one who gets to look like all the rest of us. This is how it should be."

Imagine . . .

Our pastor asked me today if we were fully funded yet and I said, "Don, you haven't been reading our blog, have you?"  He smiled sheepishly and said, "No."  Then I shared with him how God has richly blessed us through you, and you are changing lives . . . With the funds we have received above and beyond what we need, Mercy Ships will be able to provide . . .

• 112 eye exams or
• 70 malnourished babies can be fed and made ready for life-changing surgery or
• 11 cataract patients will have their sight restored or
• 11 cleft lips/palates will be repaired or
• 5 tumors can be removed 

And that's just today - stay tuned.  To God be the glory!  Amen.  

In just thirty minutes . . .

There is a young person who is serving with us this summer who shall remain nameless who did not turn in his information for the summer program parent letter and did not turn in his information for the summer program parent letter and did not turn in . . . until last night!  When I e-mailed him and said, "Send your pic and info for the parent letter SOON or I'll have you do all the arts and crafts the first week!"  No lie, my friends - I had it in THIRTY minutes - and he's not from the States!  (:

The Smile Train

Smile Train is a charity that funds cleft surgeries around the world, and Mercy Ships is partnering with them in West Africa. We provide the doctors and nurses and the hospital in which the operations takes place, and Smile Train provides the finances. It's a win win all around.

Smile Train patients are one of the highlights of working on Mercy Ships. The transformation that takes place in a patient before and after cleft surgery is absolutely lovely.  It definitely helps that the majority of them are babies and small children - except for one gorgeous, tiny old lady who had her lip fixed last Friday after living with a face split wide for more than fifty years. She wasn't a child, but I hear she was still pretty cute.  I only wish I had a photo for you . . .

In His Time . . .

There is no better time, than in God's time.  Let's go meet Baby Bernice.  She's two and she has no mama or papa. She lives in an orphanage and the woman who brought her to the ship is one of the workers there. On Thursday, Bernice was scheduled to go to the operating room when Melissa, her nurse, found that her leg was hot and swollen. Little Bernice sat in her big bed, staring up at the staff with big, wide eyes, surrounded by a whole team of doctors and nurses as they talked through what might be wrong. It was decided to hold off on surgery until they could figure it out.

An x-ray of the sore leg made the path forward much easier. Bernice's little femur had been fractured, probably a couple of weeks ago judging by the film, but there was no reason she couldn't have surgery to fix her cleft lip and palate. In fact, as the crew discussed their options, they realized that yet again, God had placed the right people on the ship at just the right time.

The general surgeon who has been operating on hernia patients in A Ward just so happens to be a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, too. Except that they're not doing orthopedic surgery this outreach; six months just isn't long enough to ensure good physical therapy follow-up afterwards. There was no reason for an orthopedic surgeon to even be on board, but God made sure that they had not only the correct specialty, but also one who is trained in pediatrics.

So Bernice had a full afternoon on Thursday. Dr. Gary closed her palate and carefully stitched together her lip while Dr. Alex busied himself with her leg, correctly aligning the bones and placing a long cast from hip to toes. Instead of a lifetime crippled from an unhealed injury, she now has the chance to run and play again. She's been recovering in D Ward since then and is much happier now than she was at first. She's still a solemn little thing, but she reaches up to be held and carried, and the nurses are more than happy to oblige.

To Lee . . .

Lee caught me at church today and said she'd read my blog this morning and just cried as she read little Grace's story, so it's time for a bit of comic relief. 


Here in America, someone with red hair is called a carrot top.


In Africa . . . let the picture speak for itself!  Hugs . . . 

Show them Grace . . .

I took this from Ali's blog . . . The continuation of Grace's story:


"I am exhausted in body and soul, but I need to tell you more of Grace's story before I can go to bed.

The past two days have been hard, dark days down in the hospital. All of a sudden, it seems, things got sad. One of our long-term patients who's been with us since the start of the outreach went to be with Jesus last night. We rejoice in her complete healing, but the ache of her passing is strong, especially among the team of nurses who threw themselves so wholeheartedly into her care.

On D Ward, a shadow seems to have crept quietly across the sunshine that we've been enjoying. There is an edge of pain starting to sharpen some of the stories we've been watching unfold, but none cuts so deep as Grace's.

After her first good day, Grace took a turn for the worse. Yesterday her breathing started becoming more laboured, her little body struggling harder and harder. We took an x-ray and found something that none of us had expected. We knew Grace was damaged; we just didn't know how badly. In addition to her club feet and cleft lip and tiny bottom jaw, Grace was also born with a heart that's massively enlarged. We don't have the technology to diagnose the problem any further than that, but the silhouette on the screen confirmed the path ahead.

Grace will not be able to have surgery. Her body would not be able to withstand the anesthesia, so even if we could get her fat enough, there's nothing we can do.

We had many talks with her parents over the last twenty-four hours. Long, wrenching discussions where the truth sits between you, dark and heavy. This baby is too broken. There's nothing we can do.

Anthony, Grace's dad, came up to me around lunchtime today and told me that Grace's three older sisters were missing her, that they wanted to see their baby sister. I asked him how old they were, and he told me ten, eight and five. I asked their names, and his smile broke wide.

Testimony. Miracle. Favor. And the small one is Grace.

He asked if they should make the long journey from their home in Benin and come to the ship to see Grace, and when I told him that there was nothing more that we could offer them and that it's best if the reunion happens in their home, he paused for a long moment. So what does this mean, he asked me, hope and fear fighting in his eyes. What will we do now?

We talked again about Grace's problems, about the fact that even in America this would be a badly broken baby. We agreed together that medicine holds no more promise for Grace, especially not here in West Africa, and then I saw the hope win out. 

So we will take her home and we will trust God for the miracle.

The rational, medical side of me wanted to contradict him. To shake him and make him understand that his baby might not survive the trip home, that she is very, very sick and that we will all be surprised if she is still alive to come to the appointment that they desperately want next week with the Feeding Program. To make him admit that coming back, getting another chest x-ray and finding a normal heart is the most unlikely thing in the world. That's it's impossible and useless even to hope.

Instead I found myself nodding, agreeing, speaking out words of life over Grace and her family. Because the thing is, miracles aren't miracles because they happen every day. It's not a miracle if you can plan it, explain it, expect it. The rational side of me knows that, barring a direct intervention of the hand of God, Grace will not live much longer. She has days, weeks at the most, before her tiny body just gives out. But the rest of me, the side that's seen the unexplainable more than once before? That side joins her parents in pleading God for the miracle of her healing.

And so we taught them to give her formula through the feeding tube, packed bags full of supplies and sent them home to Testimony, Miracle, and Favor. They thanked me over and over for what we've done, little as it seems to us. We prayed together for that miracle, and I gathered small Grace in my arms and walked with them down the gangway to the waiting car. Next week, they called to me as they drove away. We will bring you a fat baby next week.

Before they went, Anthony came to me, sleeping Grace tiny in his massive hands. He held her out, proud papa that he is, so that I could take photos of her. Show them, he told me. Show the people who are praying the baby they are praying for. Show them our little Grace.

You're praying, aren't you? You always do. I know that and it sustains me in the long nights when I lie awake, wondering whether my pager will go off, whether something tragic will happen. Pray for our little Grace. Pray for the miracle, and pray for strength for her parents if God chooses a different path."

Not Every Story Ends . . .

With "and they lived happily ever after."  Heather is a nurse from Canada who shared the following story:


Chantal came to us with open wounds.  A few years ago, she had severe burns that had contractured, pulling her arm to her side and her chin down.  They had released it with grafts and she healed up beautifully.  Then a year or more ago, something happened... a scratch, a wound, something.  And an infection took over, slowly ate away all of that new skin.  And wouldn't go away.  And so she arrived on screening day, and we knew we had to try and help.

It started with healing the infection, looking for a cause.  Sadly, the most publicized killer in Africa, HIV, was wrecking havoc with her system.  We knew healing wouldn't be easy, but decided to try anyways.  So antibotics, dressing changes, and finally, new grafts were done to help form new skin.  So much pain, so many hard days.  And slowly we grew to love her.  

The stream of visitors meant there wasn't a day without at least 5 to 10 people coming around just to spend time with her, encourage her.  Cards and decorations on the ceiling that she could look up at, taped to the side table, and added to her chart.  Positive reinforcement for everything from managing to finish her meals to getting up and walking.  

One of the first times she got up and walked to the bathroom by herself, the other patients noticed and they all cheered and clapped.  THE WHOLE WARD CLAPPED!!  LOVE IT!  There is something to be said about community!!!  

There were a lot of ups and downs in the last 3 months, lots of bedmoves, lots of medications, a couple surgeries, lots of physiotherapy (painful, but very important).  One day, about a month ago, she accepted Christ.  And the change in her was so sweet.  She became happier, smiling more, singing randomly.   The light in her eyes was so go to see after so much dispair.

And we continued to hope for her.  But God had his plans before we had ours.   God wanted her for himself, wooed her, pursued her, and finally, has taken her home.   We all saw it coming in the last week.  There was no denying the change, and the fact that our one step forward, two steps back in health wasn't going to get us to the finish line we were originally expecting.  And so there were many talks, and peace was made with the next step.  

Every effort was made for comfort, from pain meds to taking her out on deck for fresh air.  Family came in to visit.  Plans were made to send her home.  Before that happened, she deteriorated and died.

It sounds so harsh, but it's true.  She died on the ship.  It's not something that's supposed to happen.  And yet it is.  Why shouldn't we allow someone to die with dignity, with love, without pain.  Why shouldn't we make the exception so someone can be at peace.  It may be a surgical ship.  Specializing in care that makes people look more normal, makes them able to be accepted again.  But we're also here to love on people.  To show the incredible love that we have been shown by a Saviour who wants to reach the lost and the broken... like us.  

Some may argue we never should have tried.  But we didn't just try.  We succeeded.  We saw a life changed.   I just pray her family will find peace.  That her family would understand what happened here, how her life changed.  That there would be no bitterness.  I pray for her little girl, 4years old, that she would know love and acceptance, that she will have a future, that someday she would have a God encounter to bring her to a saving knowledge of God.  And I am thankful that God holds all the details and answers, and I don't need to know them.

You're Not In America Anymore . . .

Six weeks from today we will arrive in Lome, Togo.  I just had to share some of the sites that we'll see . . .

We can't wait to get on the road again!

I was wrong . . .

Turns out only a portion of our supplies are currently on board the ship - the arts and crafts portion.  All the fun stuff we sent over for programming is scheduled to arrive on May 1, so don't stop praying!

Grace.

I copied this post off of Ali Chandra's blog.  She's a nurse on the ship and her job is so way different from mine.  Take a moment and spend some time with Ali and see what she faces down on the ward:

"Most days, being the Ward Nurse Maxillo-Facial Team Leader doesn't mean a whole lot out of the ordinary. I lead rounds, write orders, cover lunch breaks. I do all the same things the evening charge nurse does, just with a fancy title tacked onto my badge. Things can fall into an easy routine and I forget that I'm really in charge of anything.

Until someone comes asking for my input, because I'm one of the ones who can say yes or no.

Today, as I was getting ready to leave, one of our hospital physicians came into D Ward looking for me. There was a little baby with a cleft lip and palate waiting in C Ward. She was being seen by the feeding program and just wasn't gaining weight. 

When I introduced myself to the baby's parents, they smiled up at me, eyes full of hope. I placed the oxygen sensor on her little foot, and as I bent to assess her, I asked her name. Her mama answered simply. Grace.

Grace. An undeserved blessing. At ten weeks old, she weighs just a hair over six pounds (if that), despite her parents feeding her as much as she can handle, a few drops every half hour. Too much of that formula seems to be going into her lungs rather than her stomach, and the telltale signs of a baby in distress were easy to see when I unwrapped her to check her oxygen levels. Add to all this a congenital condition that caused little Grace to be born with an underdeveloped lower jaw, further increasing the work she has to do to breathe, and it's no wonder that she's very sick.

The problem is, we're not a medical hospital. That may sound strange, but it's really more accurate to call the ship a floating specialized surgical centre. We're set up to do surgeries, lots of them, and our patients are, for the most part, perfectly healthy apart from whatever body part we're operating on. Grace is far too small for surgery right now, and this close to the end of the outreach we're not even sure we can get her fat enough to withstand the operation to close her cleft lip before the ship pulls up anchor and sails away.

It's wrenching being caught like that between a rock and the very hardest of places. Yes, we could admit her to the wards, put in a feeding tube and help her gain weight. But every day she spends in a bed is another day that someone else might not get to have surgery. New patients show up on the dock every single day with tumors and cleft lips and a myriad other conditions; we could stay here for years and not come to the end.

In the face of such overwhelming need, how do you triage? How do you decide who gets to come on board and who gets sent home? How do you choose one life over another? And, once you've made the decision, how do you sleep at night?

Sometimes it's all I can do to stop my mind from racing through the day's decisions, replaying every conversation, questioning every move. Tonight is not one of those nights.

This evening, Grace is under the watchful eye of a pediatric ICU nurse in D Ward. There's another PICU nurse working tonight who will take over her care, and one of the nurses working tomorrow morning is the one who used to run the feeding program before the current dietician took over. God knew Grace was coming to us today; it seems He set up the schedule long in advance to make sure the right nurses were working at just the right time, just like He's done so many times before. Grace's papa saw me at the gangway as he left for the night. Thank you, he said. Grace is in the room now. They are caring for her. Thank you.

Tonight I sleep easy, knowing that we made the right choice. Whatever happens with small Grace in the future, she is ours to care for now. The need in West Africa is no less overwhelming because we've admitted this one tiny baby, but I know in the deepest part of me that we are not called to fix all of West Africa. We are called simply to be faithful to the ones placed in our way.

Today, that was Grace. Tomorrow, it will be someone else. And the next day, and the next, and the one after that. Every day we will reach out to the hopeless and speak to them of God's love. Every day we will be called on to extend to them the same grace we were once shown.

Grace. An undeserved blessing."

God is Good All The Time . . .

Yahooba!  We are doing the dance of joy!  The container will ALL of our summer supplies arrived yesterday!  Party!  We ARE going to have a summer program!  But not only did God send our summer supplies - oh, no!  There's more!  I just heard from Shelly, the Acting Principal, who asked me if it would be alright for summer program to join with the British School of Lome on June 8 for their Sports Day - activities and sports, lunch and swimming!  Yeah, I think we can cancel our plans for the day and make it!  Then she said she was looking at field trips for us to the Coke Plant, Filo Parc and Coco Beach!  Like I said, "God is good . . ."     

The Ugly, The Bad, The Good!

I know that's not normally how it's said, but I must say, the splint I am wearing on my right ankle is rather UGLY!  I saw the doctor yesterday and he said my ankle was BAD.  He called it a "residual sprain" that came as a result of my actual sprain back in October.  The GOOD news is he hopes after many hours of physical therapy and "ankle retraining", it will be GOOD and strong and ready for Africa!  Do pray . . . Thanks!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my dad's 80th birthday!  We went home to Iowa this weekend to celebrate as well as share about our upcoming adventure with Mercy Ships at church.  It was a wonderful time reconnecting with old friends and being able to share how lives are being changed aboard the ship.  One dear lady came up to me after the service and said she felt so bad because she only had $10.00 to give toward the ministry of Mercy Ships.  What I shared with her was that for $10.00 on board the ship, someone could receive the gift of sight!  And she began to cry . . . tears of joy as she made a difference in someone's life! 

"For a time such as this . . . "

Last December when we were contemplating Matt and I returning to the ship, the Vice-Principal for the high school returned to England with his family and the Vice-Principal for the elementary school returned to Germany with her husband - which left the Academy short-staffed.  Then in January, the Academy principal went home to South Africa for emergency surgery.  Suddenly, the top three positions in the Academy were empty and it made sense that they would really like us to come back this summer.  We got word today that it looks like the principal may be gone for an additional six months.  Pray for Nikki as she recuperates, Shelly as she "runs the Academy" and Brian, the Chief Administrator, who is flying over to help out on Monday.  I'm glad we're able to stand in the gap . . . 

Love My Aussie Friends!

I heard from Melissa on Tuesday - the planner of "Hoodwinked Down Under".  Her sister Jacki managed to pack heaps into her bags of the stuff Melissa wanted her to take - like 5 kg of goodies just for us!  According to Melissa, Jacki has some sweets, cheesy vegemite sticks, hats, flags, books, cards, cake mixes, and little koalas.  And Melissa is still sending more via the post!  Of course, since I know what none of this stuff is, my Tazmanian friend Jodi joined in the fun!  These pictures of Aussie goodies are from her:

Don't you wish you could join us this summer when we're "Hoodwinked Down Under"?

  

The Dance of Joy

I sit here doing the dance of joy with happy tears running down my face.  Lynnette just e-mailed our account status.  Through you, God has bless us with $1300.00 more than what we think we need for our finances.  Our travel agent Beth also e-mailed - our lodging in Madrid is all goofed up and we need to fix it - but it won't be a $1300.00 repair.  So that means we have funds for surgeries so that more lives like these will be changed by your generosity.  All I can say is "Thank you!" while happy tears run down my face.

Meet . . .

Jessica and Kylie, two girls who will be with us this summer.  They look just like I feel!  Summer program lesson plans have been mailed to all the staff, the summer Bible Study is written and it's been sent off, too!  God is good all the time.  All the time, God is good!  And He has great timing - in 48 hours I become, once again, Soccer Mom!  So ends my life . . . (: 

It's helps to have friends . . .

In the know!  We just got Easter greetings from friends on the ship who saw that we (Matt and I) are slated for Cabin 4315.  That would make it either a two berth where we would each have our own little cubby and that's it or it could be a couple's cabin which would be a bit nicer!  So let's storm the gates of heaven and ask for a miracle on this day we celebrate the greatest miracle ever and ask that God move Matt and I into a family cabin - which would truly be a Mercy Ship miracle as we only have half a family going!  

Happy Easter!

In wishing you a Happy Easter, we'd like to share a fun shot taken down on the ward!  He is risen indeed!  

Oh, What a Day!

Not only did we get our shots today (oneshot each would make it plural - we received a total of two meningitis shots between the two of us!), but God also fully funded our journey to the Africa Mercy!  In three weeks time!  We praise Him and thank you for making it all possible!  In less than two months, we will be on board!  

Taken from "Ali's African Adventures" . . .

Ali Chandra is a pediatric nurse on the Africa Mercy.  We first met in the crew galley while the ship was docked in Liberia in the crew.  She's an amazing young women and I'd like you to read this post:


"One of my favourite things that we do on D Ward is the complicated process of rebuilding faces ravaged by noma. I've written about it a lot before, telling stories of patients like Aissa and Toyi, but I just can't get over what we're able to do here. Over 140,000 new cases are reported to the WHO every year, and they estimate that over half a million people are living with the effects of it on a daily basis. Half a million people missing parts of their faces, missing noses and cheeks and lips, jaws fused shut by the inexorable devastation of this disease.

Here the numbers have faces, damaged though they may be. They have stories and names and little brothers who shriek with laughter and sleep under their beds with mama, and we are the ones who get to change their futures.

I've been overwhelmed with such a sense of putting things right down in D Ward recently. I stand with the nurses at shift change and announce the day's victories and I my face hurts from smiling. It's not that everything is perfect; it never is in this fallen world. Little Moukaela, the boy who's been waiting since 2010 for his surgery, has a troubling spot on his new lower lip that needs a miraculous intervention if it's going to heal properly. Ama, a woman who had a large tumour removed from the side of her face, is waiting to find out if it's cancer or not. Togan is still here, a month after his first surgery, the open wound on his rebuilt jaw healing millimeter by millimeter.

But through it all is the knowledge that people are going to walk out of here changed. Papakey is in the bed next to Toyi and had the exact same surgery yesterday. He didn't lose his nose to noma; it was cut off by robbers with a machete, but he's suffered the stares and the shame just the same. He came in with a hole in the middle of his face, a face that now sports a brand-new nose. Despite the slowness of his healing, Togan is getting better. Last week we were planning more surgery to graft skin over the open area. Yesterday we realized that we didn't need to. Today he called me to his bedside in the middle of my charting just to remind me how handsome he thought he was.

As I sit here pregnant with our first baby, it's suddenly become so much more than just surgery to replace missing parts. It's hard to explain, but I think of this baby and I know in the deepest part of me that I would go to the ends of the earth to put right anything that was wrong with him or her. I understand now, in some small measure, the aching desire for everything to be okay, for this child to look the same as everyone else.

Just below my cabin is a ward full of patients who have been denied that right, some for decades of their lives, and what we do for them is more than just cutting and suturing. It's putting to rights something that went horribly wrong, whether it was a disease or a maniac with a machete. It's giving them back what Dr. Gary calls the right to look human."