Tank Cleaning

Back on the Anastasis, we were we were able to "volunteer" for tank cleaning.  Not quite sure this is the same, but it is an interesting read for those of us who are non-medicals and would like to serve!

Often maintenance on the ship has be carried out which is not always that quiet!  At the moment the technical department on in the process of tank cleaning on Deck 1.   That's right - in the bottom of the ship.  But with the ship being made of steel and steel carrying sound extremely well, those up on the upper decks can even hear the noise.

 

 So what is tank cleaning?
Marine regulations and also responsible ship stewardship require the steel tanks to be kept free of corrosion and foreign deposits.  If they aren't cleaned periodically, the ship risks loosing their certification to operate the ship and the life spam of the tanks is shortened.  So they are getting ready for the next inspection in 2014.

The Africa Mercy has a total of 72 tanks.  There is a regular and on-going schedule for cleaning all the tanks to meet specific inspection dates.  Currently it has taken one month to get halfway through the two tanks that are in the worst condition.   

Often this can also be done by shipyards but the cost is very expensive especially when it needs to be done in a short period of time, so doing it with crew saves a lot.

In case you are thinking that it's just a matter of popping in with your sweeping brush and cleaning up a bit, read on.  A ship tank is a confined space, so the most important aspect for the cleaning crew of around 3-5 people is safety.  Following the Mercy Ships Safety Management System, no one is allowed to enter the tank until an empty permit is signed off.  This permit verifies that the air in the tank has been checked and certifies that the air is safe and in sufficient supply.  A spotter is on constant watch outside the tank in case an emergency response is needed.  Fire suits, harnesses and emergency escape breathing devices are kept by the entrance of the tank in case of an emergency evacuation.  The tank is illuminated with floor lights and head lamps.  Special protective clothing is worn, including eye goggles, ear plugs/muffs, steel-toed boots, gloves, breathing masks and coveralls.  Sturdy scaffolding is erected and workers wear safety harnesses for fall protection (yes the tank is that big!).  The cleaning work is done with heavy duty pneumatic needle guns capable of removing scale and leaving a clean steel surface.  The scale is collected, hauled out of the tank and then discarded safely.

Tank Cleaner hoists out a bucket of corrosion and foreign deposits from the tank

To keep air free of scale particle matter and to replenish the tank with fresh air, an extractor and an air supply fan run continually.

So after all that heavy work two important measures are followed to protect them.  First, the newly cleaned steel surface is coated with Intertuf 16, a powerful defence against corrosion.  Second, the zinc anodes, also called sacrificial anodes, are replaced.  Rust prefers zinc to steel, so the anodes are attacked by the rust rather than the steel.

So next time you hear the tanks are being cleaned you know there's more to the job than meets the eye.

Thank you to the fabulous Technical team for all their hard work.

The Truth About Bernadette

Catherine Murphy, staff writer, comes through again with "The Truth About Bernadette".  Enjoy! 

Bernadette is a runaway.

Three weeks ago, she packed her bags, lied to her mother, and bought a one-way ticket on a train bound for the coast. She said that she would be visiting a cousin, and then she disappeared. But someone like Bernadette does not go unnoticed for long.

 The tumor over Bernadette’s right eye pushed her brow to her cheekbone, blocking her vision like an eye patch. As she journeyed from her hometown to Pointe Noire, she would lift it up with her right hand so she could use both eyes to see her steps, her path, and, finally, her destination: a hospital ship. 

 Now in the hospital ward, Bernadette is a little cheeky, almost rebellious. At about 5’ tall, what she lacks in height she makes up for with spunk. She keeps a match tucked in her hair ‘in case the inside of her ear tickles’ and occasionally erupts with loud, happy laughter. Some days she jumps up and down. Since the operation, Bernadette’s right hand is free to join her left in clapping, pointing, or trying to knit with hot pink yarn. She says she wants to make a chair cushion. The little girl in the next bed watches Bernadette with shy fascination.

 Bernadette had no choice but to lie, she says. When she had a tumor, people would see her coming and go the other way. No one would touch, her except for her mother. Even so, if Mama Philo had known that her daughter was traveling to a hospital ship for surgery, it would have made her sick from worrying. By running away, Bernadette spared her mother from fear.

 Now that her tumor is gone, Bernadette is looking forward to her future. Some day, hopefully soon, she will sell homemade peanut butter to passengers outside the very train station where her great escape began. Bernadette smiles at a thought: not having a tumor is going to be good for business, she says. In fact, she may expand to selling pastries.

 The next time Bernadette buys a one-way train ticket, it will take her home. She hopes that her mother will be too happy to be angry. And if she is mad? Well, Mama Philo will have to forgive eventually, because Bernadette is old enough to make her own decisions. Because Bernadette is 54.

 On a hospital ship in Africa, there is a runaway with a bandage on her head and a match in her hair. And if you ask her, “are you ever too old to spare your mother from worrying?” She will look at you with two eyes and say, no.

Photos of Bernadette courtesy Mercy Ships Photogs:
Debra Bell, Michelle Murrey, &Catherine Murphy

Why I Love the Good Ship Mercy ( or FInd Jerry, Part 2)

On September 7, I posted Find Jerry. 

Today, I received this e-mail from our friend, Keith Brinkman who we met in Liberia in 2007.

We have had it on the noticeboard/rolling screens for a couple weeks and announcements made to the crew on Monday morning.  Captain may check with local port officials also.

We have tried to keep the family up to date via email – but no breaking news or tips received. 

No care package required, but thanks for the offer : )

We pray for the family as I can only imagine what they are going through.

 

---

Keith R. Brinkman
Programs Administrator, Africa Mercy (Pointe Noire, Republic of Congo)

How wonderful that Mercy Ships will go the extra mile to help find Jerry, a man no one on the ship has ever met, but a man who is a fellow believer.  To God be the glory!

Only at the Y . . .

Will I ever be famous!  Follow my story . . .

A week ago Monday, the Y began what they are calling "Try the Y Healthy Living Challenge" (formerly known as the "Lazy Man's Triathalon").  The first 300 participants received free registration and with that a free t-shirt!  I was registrant number 163 - thanks to my co-worker, Tamara, who convinced me that I wanted nothing more in life than to swim 2.5 miles, run/walk 26.2 miles and bike 112 miles over the course of the next six weeks.  With that also came a promise to bike with me every Tuesday after work - we could do it!  And, plus, we'd get a FREE t-shirt!

Fast forward to today.  Tamara convinced another of our aquatic staff, Barbara, to bike with us.  We're upstairs on three recumbant bikes talking and laughing and pedaling,too, when Sarah comes over to ask if she could take our picture for the Y's facebook page.  "Of course," we said.  We'd look quite lovely with our pool heads and glowing bodies.  Then she said, "Can I take individual pictures and put you on our staff board (that EVERYONE who walks into the building will see)?"  Naturally, it was our moment to shine!  Dripping with sweat, wearing stained and mismatched workout clothes with the ever lovely pool heads - we will be featured on the staff board!  I can't imagine how flattering we'll look!

But you know - the best part of the story is God's grace.  Barbara broke her knee when she was 14 and knows that someday she will need to have surgery to remove the bone fragment that kept bothering her as she biked.  My ankle was operated on last November and it had no problem biking.  Tamara had hip surgery in June.  The run/walk part is hard for her, but she enjoys the biking.  So I was able to spend a morning with two co-workers biking and laughing - to God be the glory (no matter how bad the pictures look!).

________ in Translation

I think had I written this, I may have entitled it "Lost in Translation".  This was written by Catherine Murphy, one of the ship writers and she aptly titled it "Found in Translation."

The tumor on Grace’s face had been growing for nine years. It was shocking. On Tuesday, September 10, she had surgery in the operating theater that is down the hall from me as I write this.

Grace is a spunky 17-year-old. From the beginning, she said she was willing to share her story about coming to Mercy Ships. We interviewed Grace and her family and later a short feature about her was posted on Mercy Ships Facebook page. The response was overwhelming, there has since been a great interest in Grace’s progress. Pretty cool.

When I went to visit Grace in the hospital the night after her surgery, I could tell she was hurting. It was late and my translator was long gone. Help? Who here speaks Lingala? A nice man named Chadley came over.

“Grace had her photo taken the other day, does she remember?” I ask.
I hear my words slip into the local language. Grace nods from behind a lot of bandages and gauze. Her lips are chapped.

“Well, Mercy Ships put up the photo on Facebook and I want her to know that there are lots of people all over the world – thousands – who know about her and are hoping that she gets well soon.”

As Chadley relays this, Christine, Grace’s mother, nods and smiles. She looks as if that magnitude of support is not unexpected. She says something to Chadley.

“Yes, they know. Those people came before the surgery to see Grace,” he says to me. Grace has closed her eyes, resting.

“Well, no, I’m talking about tens of thousands of people in Switzerland, all over Europe, Canada, the States, Australia – everywhere. There were thousands of people who saw Grace’s photograph on the Internet. They are all thinking about Grace and hoping she recovers. They are praying for her.”
Chadley and Christine speak for a few minutes.

“She knows about them,” Chadley says again. “She already knows those people. She is very thankful…”

Hmm ok. It seems that my message isn’t getting through, I think. Were some zeros lost in translation? Does Christine know about the audience of more than 80,000 that has overwhelmed Mercy Ships Facebook page with support for Grace in thousands of likes and comments? I look at Grace, she’s fallen asleep, so I decide to let it rest. I’ll try to explain again tomorrow, maybe I can print out the post.

Perhaps sensing my disbelief, Christine says something to Chadley.

“…She says she knows about them because those people came to Grace’s bedside. She saw people come and sometimes they would sit. Some people would put a hand on Grace to comfort her. There were many.”

Christine was smiling. I saw how touched she was and suddenly it didn’t matter that we were talking about two different groups of people. I thanked Chadley and said goodnight.

The people Christine was referring to were some of the 390 volunteers from 40 different countries that live and work here. They had sat in my very spot. They had come here to love Grace, to comfort her, to reach out and touch her. I’ve long admired these nurses, doctors, engineers, and crew-members who keep this place afloat. In fact, I’ve suspected for a while that they are pretty amazing.

So it was fitting then, that in a bedside conversation in Africa, their kindness was mistaken for that of 80,000.

It was the best thing I’ve ever found in translation.

Really?

Sometimes I just wonder, "Really?"  Like today.  I taught two CPR-PR classes, one oxygen and one first aid class at the Y.  Multiple people were signed up for the afternoon CPR, oxygen and first aid courses which meant they had each received three links for the blended learning.  I asked the first girl in the room after lunch to give me her completion sheets and she gave me one - not three.  I asked her if she did all three classes on-line and she said we had sent her too many e-mails, so she only did one.  Really?

You can bet your bottom dollar that she only did one class, too!  Matt may be getting a job at the Y sooner than he thinks! (:

 

Two Years and One Month . . .

 Now you seem them . . .

Now you don't!

Micah's braces came off last Wednesday, 

two years and one month after she got them.

Tomorrow, we pick up the retainers!

If not us . . .

Do you know what I love most about this picture?

The boat in the very front

which reminds us all . . .

GOD IS ABLE.

An Update from Deb . . .

Would you like to meet my friend, Deb Louden, from Australia?  She's in the top photo on the right (as you look at it).  And here's her update from the past week.  Blessings to you . . .

Abundantly Thankful

Emmanoel was admitted not a moment too soon. His airway was being blocked off by an oral tumour which caused him more and more distress every passing day. When we saw the tension in his body, distress in his deep, brown eyes and the horrible screeching noise from his throat when he gasped for air, we knew that soon his body would not be able to cope with such a huge amount of stress and he would die.

 

I wrote about him two weeks ago and how he was able to get life-bringing surgery and how he needed to go back to the OR and be put on the ventilator so that his poor little body could rest for a couple of days.

Moments before going back to the OR for ventilation

I wasn’t there when he was extubated but I was thinking about him. I wasn’t working that day but I couldn’t help myself but swing by the ward in the evening to peek at him. When I peeked from the window in the hallway, he was tucked in bed, snuggled next to his mama, who was also fast asleep. He was a new boy from the one who had previously sat in that bed, unable to lie down for the struggle to breathe. His body was completely relaxed and as I watched him breathe, I felt myself sigh and the tension drain away. He was sleeping as any little boy his age should.

Several days later I walked into work in the afternoon and looked around the ward. The usual business was a flurry of nurses handing out 1400hr medications before the new shift arrived. The activity distracted me for a moment and then I realised. Our little boy, Emmanoel, was gone and someone else was in his bed. My team leader told me he'd be discharged home that morning. He'd gone, just like that. He and his mama had been given discharge teaching, collected the appropriate medicines and then been walked out with a translator and caught the shuttle out of the port and then probably a taxi or bus home. There'd been no goodbye ceremony, no trumpets announcing that this precious little boy was now leaving the hospital a completely different boy. He was now loved on by scores of nurses and hospital staff, he'd been cuddled and played with and cherished and will now live a healthy, full life. I can just imagine him as he left the ward, his soft little hand, grasping his mama's as he walked by her side, something he was unable to do when he was gasping so desperately for air. We and you, prayed for him with all our might. God heard our prayers and we danced with joy.  Every time I looked at him I felt abundantly thankful for a God of mercy.

So it was strange that I could walk into the ward and find him gone. But that's how it goes. Each patient who walks into this hospital has their own precious story. Some need more urgent prayers than others, but each need our love in their own special way. So thank you for loving him by praying for him.

 

And a huge thank you for the outpouring of love and prayer for Baby Girl and her family. I felt so abundantly covered in love and prayer by each of you. The outpouring was truly remarkable.

To God Be the Glory . . .

John Wall is the new Finance Director on the Africa Mercy, new being the operative word.  You see, the "old" Finance Director was Mike Jacobson who arrived on board in Cotonou, Benin in 2009 and moved into our cabin with his wife and two children when we returned home that summer.  The Jacobsons left the ship the day before we left it in Tenerife last summer and their son Josh was a good friend of Matt's.  Hence, why John is "new".  Enjoy his post. 

15 minutes

I think I may be the last one on the ship to write something about our patient screening day here in Congo. It’s just taken this long for me to process it all. This screening day was something very special for me again. I remember the feeling last year when I got home. It was early in our time with Mercy Ships and I got to really see what it was like to see so many people come together for a common purpose. It was a fabulous display of unity and I held to that day when things were tough last year. So coming in to this year’s, I was really looking forward to being a part again.

Patients waiting in line to be seen.

I realized very early on though that this year was different. Not because there was not the same sense of unity, but just my role in that was different. And with that role would come very different emotions. Last year, the people I helped to move around the screening site had all been told “yes” so far. I did not deal with a single person that had been told that we could not help them. This year though, my post would be to escort people towards the exit after they had been told that we could not help them. At 6:30 am, I met my first person who had been told no. He was having troubling walking.  A lump caught in my throat and then I began to understand what so many others talked about last year but I did not experience. We can’t help everyone and I was beginning to meet those we could not help. I tried to prepare for a long difficult day.

Our screening site was at a large school. The walk for these patients from where they came into contact with me was a long and hard one, up a little hill and through fairly deep sand. Mostly, we would walk with them and guide them toward the exit. The word “sortie” (exit in French) will never have the same meaning for me after that day. For some the walk was long enough that we would take a chair with us so that they could take rests along the way. There were some children that I carried. After such a long day of waiting, they were exhausted and their mamas were exhausted. They needed a break and I was glad I could provide that for them.  As I carried them, I would say a blessing over them, the same blessing I give my girls when Trace and I put them to sleep. I just didn't know what else to do for them. 

There was one girl who had cerebral palsy (I think) that I will never forget. As I carried her, she would seize up and at one point I thought she had stopped breathing.  Then she caught her breath and was coughing. I thought she was dying in my arms and it was breaking me. I brought her to the prayer station, gave her back to her mama and said a blessing over her that brought tears to my eyes. After that I had to take a break. I was emotionally drained. I was hurting and wondering what all of this meant. Why do people have to suffer like that? How does her mama cope? What if that had been Adalynn or Cora? I just needed to sit down and work through that before going back out.

Later in the day, a friend told me about this photo that she had seen of me that had moved her emotionally. I had seen photos taken of me carrying some of the children, even having the local Congolese television cameras come out of nowhere as I carried someone. All the cameras made me a little uncomfortable. One reason I am an accountant is that it is a job that doesn't get much attention and that is just fine with me, but I had no idea what kind of attention was coming. My so called 15 minutes were here.

The next morning, I checked my email and saw that someone had posted this photo of me on Facebook. It was the girl, my one. He wrote some very kind words about me with the post. Then as the day went on, lots of people here asked me about the photo. Lots of people back home re-posted it.  Then I had a call with my colleagues in Texas and they had seen it. I was growing uncomfortable with the attention, I tried to tell people what I was feeling when I was with her and it was just weird talking about it. Then someone came to let me know that Dana Perino had posted it on twitter as her favorite photo of the day. Dana Perino is part of a really popular program on Fox News and was a member of the cabinet of President Bush. She had joined us for the week and been sharing with her audience the happenings of the week. (At the screening, I was introduced to her with the line “I know he looks like he came straight out of the bush, but he is actually the finance director.”) After Dana posting it, the photo was everywhere.  Later that night, the photo showed up on her TV show. As the next week went on, the photo was in a bunch of Mercy Ships blogs. A different screening photo of me holding a little boy on my back was posted on the anniversary of Mother Theresa's death on the Mercy Ships site. To top it off, Dana Perino mentioned me by name on her show. I think my 15 minutes ended there.

I have had a lot of thoughts about that picture since all of that has gone on.

I thought about the attention itself. I just happened to be the one who had been asked to do that particular job. She needed to be carried. I just happened to be in line of the camera after walking with her a few minutes. Anyone else there would have carried her. In fact, that little girl had been carried to me by someone else. I spent the day with a sixty something nurse that made that same walk from 6:30 am until 8 pm with just a 15 minute break all day. She never stopped smiling all day. She was amazing but no attention. That whole screening took 300+ people to pull off. Yet, I felt like I was getting all of the attention. Why me?

I thought about how inspiration comes from a moment. There were thousands of moments that day, but mine was captured. I have not been comfortable with the attention, but many people were thankful for the picture and the story it told. I certainly have looked at photos like that and I am glad this photo inspired others. I hope the attention of that photo means more people care about the person in front of them whether or not the camera is around.

I thought about my family. It’s been an emotional time being here without Tracey, Adalynn and Cora and some people mentioned that maybe that moment with that little girl was why I was here without my family. Interacting with all those people we could not help was a hard day to do on my own.  I missed Tracey greatly at the end of the day. I missed holding my girls after the experiences of carrying that little girl and the other children.

I thought mostly about the girl. I thought about her face, her hair, her bony little body that could not support itself. I wish I knew more of her story. I wish I would not have needed to carry her. I wish her mama didn't have to carry her because of her condition and their lack of means to care for someone with that condition. Mostly, I wish I would have learned her name so she could have shared that attention. I was so struck by her condition and struggles that I didn't ask her mama her name.

I know that my Father knows her name. He knows her story and He knows her suffering. He knows the number of hairs on her head. I pray that He will bring peace and healing to that family. And I pray for the day when there is no more suffering and no more tears. The day when there are no more NOs.

UNEXPECTED PHONE CALL . . .

I received a phone call from our eye doctor's office yesterday - from Michelle, who is in the process of filling out her Mercy Ships application.  She wanted to ask me a couple of quick questions and to see if we could get together to talk about the good ship!  To God be the glory!  Send more!

More From Deb . . .

Dear Sweet Jesus,  Thank you for putting Deb Louden on the good ship Mercy.  Thank you for being her love and her life.  Be her strength and her hope as she continues to be one amazing nurse down on the wards.  Amen.

Deb's heart in Africa

Monday, 9 September 2013

Dear baby girl,

Today I held you while your mama ate her breakfast. I took you for a walk in the hallway. Two nurse friends of mine swooned over you while you sat in my arms, taking gasps of air. Your eyes were barely open, as you had hardly slept for the last two nights because you were sick.

It was only last week that I met you. You came to the hospital when it opened because the American doctor from the mission hospital brought you and your mama on the plane, hoping we could help. You had a tumour growing in your mouth.

I watched you sitting on your bed with your mama. She said it hurt you when you were eating. You knowingly putting your hand on your cheek, where the tumour hurt you the most. We gave you pain medicine and later you asked for more chicken so I knew you were feeling better.

You didn’t reach for cuddles when we walked by your bed, but you also didn’t cry. Your mama greeted me with a smile every day.

When the doctors saw you during the week, they thought the tumour in your mouth wasn’t one we could operate on and remove. It was growing bigger and you were getting sicker.

A few days ago we gave you a blood transfusion, IV fluids, antibiotics and malaria treatment because you got so sick. We also told your mama that we couldn’t operate on you and we’d try to find you flights back to the mission hospital. Did you see the look on your mama’s face? It broke our hearts. Did you feel her warm tears drop onto your soft skin? We prayed for a miracle.

We wanted to fight for you baby, but this tumour we couldn’t remove. We knew you were dying but we didn’t know when and we wanted to get you home to your family, to your twin sister.

On the weekend you got sicker. You couldn’t lie down anymore because that made it too hard to breathe. You didn’t want to eat or drink much and even though you were so tired you couldn’t sleep because your body had to stay awake to breathe.

This morning when I walked with you in the hallway I had no way of knowing, but as I walked back into the ward, you stopped breathing. Your face changed colour and the tumour that you’ve been trying so hard to breathe around filled the whole space in your mouth. Your limbs straightened out and stiffened for a moment. I hurried to your bed where your mama was sitting and told her through a translator, that you, her baby had stopped breathing. Her face filled with grief and a wail escaped her mouth. She bent over, face to the ground and began to moan, a noise penetrating every surrounding heart with deep sorrow. She hurried out of the room.

I sat on your bed with you in my arms. You’d taken two small breaths but that was it. You now lay limp in my adrenaline shaking arms. I called to the nurse to page the doctors and another to bring a stethoscope. She listened for your heartbeat and shook her head. She put the stethoscope ear pieces in my ears, I put the diaphragm over your heart and it was silent.

Your mother had stepped out of the ward because her heart had broken into pieces, so I had the privilege of holding you in my arms. The nurse put curtains up around us and I sat there alone with you, staring at your face, tears dripping off my eyelashes, soaking into the pretty, white, flowergirl dress you were wearing.

People came in and out of those curtains, checking all was well with me and you, asking if I was ok and did I need anything? Yes, I was ok, because you were in my arms and you were at peace. You weren’t fighting for air anymore. Finally you could rest. Now you are in a place where there is no pain and no sickness. Will you remember me when I join you there? Will we see each other from afar and you will know that it was me who held you as you took your last breath? It was me who held you for the next two hours, in place of your mama who could not bare it. I could hear her wailing down the hallway. She loved you more than words can express and as I sat there holding you and hearing her cries, I thought how raw her heart must feel. I didn’t even want to think how deeply my heart would hurt if you were my child and I had lost you. But I still cried for you. I cried for your mama’s loss, for the hundreds and thousands of mamas and papas all over the world who loose their babies from diseases. I cried for the babies lost in Africa from preventable illnesses. I held you tight.

I stayed with you while the officials came and while your cousin came to see you. She could not bare to see you lying on the bed so still and lifeless, so she didn’t stay long.

When the time was ready I wrapped you up in a patchwork quilt, made with love from someone who knows that the children who need these blankets need something special. I carried you out of the ship and down the gangway and put you on a stretcher to go to the morgue. I saw your mama coming down the gangway in our hospital chaplain’s arms. She was bent over in pain. Agony was written across her face. I thought my heart might split open. The doors shut on the vehicles and they drove away, you in one and your mama in another. I turned my back and walked up the gangway, afraid that the tears would spill over and I would loose composure and fall apart right there on the steps. I will never see your mama again, but I will carry you and her in my heart forever.

So little one, as you rest with your heavenly Papa, I will pray for your mama and your family.

I will never forget you.

It's Not Just Scapels and Suction . . .

Photo courtesy of Michelle Murrey, Mercy Ships

In his blog "Water from the Eyes is Free", one of the surgeons currently on board the ship, Mark, shares his heart . . .

 

Those of us who talk about global surgery a lot (which I promise I do, even though I haven't updated this blog in a few months) often talk about how surgery differs from other global health interventions in a really fundamental way.

Improving surgery, we claim, actually improves entire health systems.  Unlike delivering a vaccine, you can't do good surgery without the physical plant, nursing, sterilizing, infection control, anaesthesiology, electricity, water, and suction required to do it--to say nothing of the surgeons themselves. So, we figure, for a ministry of health that is interested in improving its country's healthcare, writ large, surgery is an appropriate place to focus.  Positive externalities, and all.

It's a dry argument, as anything which requires you to write the phrase "positive externalities" will be, but this week, in a small, 28-pound child, it became incarnate.

On Monday, in Pointe Noire, Congo, where I've been for the last two weeks with Mercy Ships, I met a two-year-old boy who was first diagnosed with malaria a year ago.  After antimalarials did nothing, his parents took him to Kinshasa, where they were told that, malaria or not, he had a tumor in his mouth.  Nothing could be done, and he would gradually suffocate.  Over the last four months, his breathing slowly worsened, until he began to lose consciousness three times a day.  His mother initially brought him to the hospital every time; eventually, she stopped.

His dad, though, works in the port here in Pointe Noire and saw the Africa Mercy sail in.  The rumor was, this clunky, white, metal box actually contained a hospital.  He and his wife bought a calendar, ticking off the days until our patient selection day last Wednesday.  When they got to the front of the line of over 7,300 people, their son couldn't breathe.

Two days ago, he went to surgery, where we took out a mass the size of my fist--ridiculously large for a two-year-old.

The reason I tell this story, though, is not to talk about the operation.

See, as he was wheeled into the operating room, a small, multinational army welcomed this child and his compromised airway:  two anaesthesiologists, one intensive care physician, one anaesthetic assistant, two nurse anaesthetists, three surgeons, and three OR nurses.  We were from the US, the UK, the Netherlands, Switzerland, and Congo, and we were flanked by an entire difficult airway setup, with video laryngoscopy, flexible fiberoptic laryngoscopes, and an open tracheotomy tray.

Taking care of this small boy was not just a matter of a couple of hours of struggling against an obstructing tumor and reconstituting a destroyed palate.  It was management of the patient from the time he was carried onto our ship, through his intubation, his surgery, his middle-of-the-night re-intubation for pulmonary edema, his round-the-clock, one-on-one ICU care by dedicated pediatric ICU nurses, his eventual extubation, and his quiet return to his mother, a toddler finally able to sleep.

This is surgery.  It's not just scalpels and suction; it's an infrastructure.  And while it's hard to build, it can be built, and platforms like this might play a role in building it.  And help a few patients along the way.

FIND JERRY . . .

On August 18th, I was approached after church by an elderly man who I recognized, but did not know - and am sad to say - still do not know his name.  He told me that his (nephew?) Jerry  had been missing In Africa since April 7th.  

Jerry worked for SAS Aviation Service out of Bamako, Mali.  He had been in Johannesburg, South Africa bringing a company plane back.  He was the lone pilot on the plane.  He never arrived back to Bamako.  

Jerry had been a missionary pilot with Missionary Aviation Fellowship for twenty-three years.  When MAF left Bamako, they sold the aviation service and the new owner hired Jerry.  He and his family stayed on in Bamako until Jerry's disappearance.  His wife, Gina, and their three children have all since come back to the states.  I don't even know where.

But this I know - that gentleman from church asked me if Mercy Ships could put out information on Jerry.  Ah, the hazards of wearing a "Mercy Ships" t-shirt to church!  So I prayed quick and gave him my friend Keith's e-mail address.  

I just heard from Keith this morning for the second time regarding Jerry.  The Africa Mercy has scrolling announcement screens throughout the ship that will soon have Jerry's information on it.  

What makes this HUGE is that EVERY person on board will see the screens - from crew to day workers to visiting dignitaries to crew visitors to patients to patient visitors.  Because you see, as you draw a line from Jo'burg to Mali that line goes directly over the Congo where the ship is currently docked!  To God be the glory! 

Pray that we would "find Jerry".

 

You ARE Beautiful . . ..

It's been on my heart all day to speak/sing/pray the truth over every patient that will join the Africa Mercy in Pointe Noire, Congo.  May they hear the truth!

"Beautiful" by Mercy Me

Days will come when you don't have the strength

And all you hear is you're not worth anything

Wondering if you ever could be loved

And if they truly saw your heart

They'd see too much

Chorus

You're beautiful, You're beautiful

You are made for so much more than all of this

You're beautiful, You're beautiful

You are treasured, you are sacred, you are His

You're beautiful

Praying that you have the heart to fight

'Cause you are more than what is hurting you tonight

For all the lies you've held inside for so long

But they are nothing in the shadow of the cross

You're beautiful, You're beautiful

You are made for so much more than all of this

You're beautiful, You're beautiful

You are treasured, you are sacred, you are His

You're beautiful

Before you ever took a breath

Long before the world began 

Of all the wonders He possessed

There was one more precious 

Of all the earth and skies above

You're the one He madly loves

Enough to die!

You're beautiful, You're beautiful in His eyes.

You're beautiful!

You are made for so much more than all of this

You're beautiful!

You are treasured, you are sacred, you are His

You're beautiful!  You're beautiful!

You are made for so much more than all of this 

You're beautiful!  You're beautiful!

You are treasured

You are sacred

You are His

More From Deb . . .

Earlier this year, nurse Deb Louden and I had an e-mail conversation.  She was wondering if anyone ever read her blog and if it was even worth her time to write it.  Read this story and know without a doubt the answer I gave her!  Taken from Deb's blog, "Deb's Heart in Africa":

I walked into the ward last night with my mind prepared for hearing the breathing struggles of a small boy my screening friends had told me about days earlier.

 

On Patient Selection Day there had been an EMT call to the pre-screeners at the very front of the line, for a small boy who had an airway obstruction. He had by-passed registration and histories, where I was stationed, but I heard about it through the radio conversations. I also heard later that he’d been scheduled for surgery in the first week of the hospital being opened.

Yesterday when I walked into the ward, he was sitting in bed 1. When my ears heard the struggle of air passing through his airway, my eyes saw the retractions of his muscles, the tension in his neck, the waving of his hands as he struggled to gasp in the air that his body so desperately needed, my heart lurched and I swallowed back the lump in my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to roll down my face. At that moment, although he was acutely distressed, he’d been in this position for four months, there was nothing I could immediately do to relieve his stress.

 

When he was awake it was only for small periods of time because his body was so exhausted from the struggle to get oxygen. When he fell asleep it was only for seconds because he would stop breathing and his body would wake him up to breathe. Over and over and over again, he’d wake up, fling his arms around in frustration and flop back into a restless, teasing sleep.

Today he got his surgery. As I was preparing to head to work I could hardly wait to hear how it had gone. I bumped into his surgeon in the hallway, who quickly filled me in. The tumour was out, he didn’t need a tracheostomy and he’d been extubated about 20 minutes ago.

 

He stayed in the recovery room for some hours as they woke him up slowly preparing for worst case scenario. He recovered well and so they brought him around to the ward, to the nurse in my team. Once he was settled in his bed, we monitored everything very closely, rejoicing in the sound of his much quieter breathing.

 

The doctors popped in and out, backing us up by being close by if we were concerned about anything. As time passed by, his oxygen saturation dropped lower and repositioning him didn’t help. His heart rate and respiratory rate increased and so we called the team back for help.

 

After discussion between doctors and with the mama, they took him back to the OR to intubate him and sedate him for a couple of days to let his body rest.

 

An hour later he arrived back from the OR. We settled him into the new intensive care bed, on the ventilator, letting his body catch up on the last four months of missed sleep. His little body lay there, the machine doing the work of breathing for him, his chest moving up and down, muscles completely relaxed, so peaceful and comfortable.

In the following days he will come off the ventilator and we will see him breathe on his own, healthy and strong. I can’t wait to see him walk and play and smile.

This is our little boy, days before his surgery. Strangely enough when you look at him here, you could never known how desperately he was trying to breathe before and after this photo was taken.

 

THE REAL REASON . . .

This morning I joyfully sent three family members off to school - one a bit apprehensive, one excited and one wanting to stay home.  I think those feelings may be similar to what patients entering the ship may feel.  But as I was definitely joyful, read about my Australian nurse friend Deb's joy:

I had the privilege of being able to work the first shift of the hospital opening for this Congo field service. It was so exciting to see patients lining up while walking up the gangway, 4 short days after they queued up for hours on patient selection day. Did any of them realise that day how soon they would get their impossible dream fulfilled? How were their hearts feeling at that moment of walking up the gangway?

 

As they filed into our new admissions ward for pre-operative patients, we led them to their beds. The other nurse and I stood with our day crew to translate and we expressed our excitement that they were here. They responded with thanks and one translator told me later how the patients had expressed that they felt very well cared for and welcomed. Perfect!

 

The following morning I also worked, helping to organise the nurses and new day crew to orient to their jobs, while we got ready and sent the first patients to surgery.

 

During the morning the hospital chaplaincy team came in. They prayed first with the room full of patients, translators and nurses and then began to sing. The room was filled with joyful harmonised voices and the beat of clapping hands, singing praises to God. It hit my heart so hard with joy that I wanted to burst into tears. I swallowed the lump in my throat, with a wobbly smile and let the music sink into my soul. This is the reason that I love this place. We bring the patients here to give them a free surgery but the real reason is because we want them to know the free love that God has for them and pours out upon them. I am just a vessel for the pouring.

A Few Pictures . . .

Here are a few pictures from "Selection Day" on Wednesday.  See the lovely girl in the purple dress (Jay Swanson's blog)?

(Photos: Michelle Murrey)

It was the largest Selection Day in Mercy Ships' history - 7,354 were in a line that stretched so far they had to close off two city streets just to hold it all.  Of those 7,354 people, 4,236 came through the gates to be further screened for potential surgeries..

(Photos: Deb Bell)
 

Here the waiting was measured in hours and days and endless years before there was anyone at all who could help, and even so, there were many the crew had to turn away.

(Photos: (Top) Michelle Murrey (Bottom) Deb Bell)

One by one they came to selection day, old and young and everyone in between.

(Photos: Michelle Murrey)

The hospital opened today as the first patients were admitted. Surgery starts tomorrow (Monday).  Please continue to lift the good ship Mercy up in your prayers as they begin this outreach in Pointe Noire, Congo.