Okay, maybe not . . . but she got a lot of smiles when Micah took her for a walk!
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| Wings? Check. |
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| Prepare for takeoff! |
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| Flying is soooo over-rated! |
Thursday, October 31, 2013
HALLOWEEN
The rules were simple - you had to be able to perform a rescue with whatever you wore to work. Meet my friends from the Y . . .
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| Triathalon Tamara |
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| Pippi, alias Barbara |
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| Me, Boss Lori, and PT Becky |
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| Ready to do the 'fly! |
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| Two m&m's - Melissa and Margo |
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| Aquatics Department Entry for the Pumpkin Carving Competition |
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Fascinated!
This is 3-year-old Dieuveil. He’s had surgery on the Africa Mercy
to repair his cleft lip. Once his bandages came off, a nurse held up a
hand mirror. Dieuveil was so fascinated with his new look that he
couldn’t stop staring at his reflection.
Neither could we.
Reblogged from the amazing Catherine Murphy.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Grace: Before and After
Don't you love reading what Catherine Murphy writes? That girl has a gift!
Grace is a 17-year-old from The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). You may remember this story that I shared about her a few weeks ago. The only thing harder than being a teenager is being a teenager who looks extraordinarily different. And, boy, did Grace look different.
If you’ve never seen a young woman with a very large facial tumor, the photo I’m about to share may be hard for you to see. But I know it’s important for me to share – because this is the kind of impact healthcare makes. Grace’s tumor is gone and her life will never be the same, she will never have to suffer the way she’s suffered.
((text break for happy dance))
When I started with Mercy Ships, I set a goal for myself: to make every patient I write about relatable. There are some days I feel so foolishly lost in another culture that I wonder if I’m an alien. I think to myself, “Am I an alien?” Sometimes it’s hard to see what connects us all. At least at first glance.
But since her surgery, Grace’s real spirit has emerged. And you know what? She’s reminds me of any other 17-year-old I know at home. She cares about her clothes, her hair, and she poses for photographs with her hand on her hip. Maybe Congo feels far away to you, but you still know Grace better than you think.
When I get past the things that make us different – a language, a tumor, an age difference, the one million cultural gaps – people are people. They just are. It’s usually buried in the little stuff, so you’ve got to pay attention. The best days are the ones when I can see the connections, and I smile, thinking, “Grace and I share the same go-to photo pose!” and “Grace and I both laugh and think my French accent is awful!” We struggle to communicate, but my girl Grace, she gets me.
I’m glad that now the world can see how beautiful I’ve always thought she is.
((happy dance, refrain))
Grace is a 17-year-old from The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). You may remember this story that I shared about her a few weeks ago. The only thing harder than being a teenager is being a teenager who looks extraordinarily different. And, boy, did Grace look different.
If you’ve never seen a young woman with a very large facial tumor, the photo I’m about to share may be hard for you to see. But I know it’s important for me to share – because this is the kind of impact healthcare makes. Grace’s tumor is gone and her life will never be the same, she will never have to suffer the way she’s suffered.
((text break for happy dance))
When I started with Mercy Ships, I set a goal for myself: to make every patient I write about relatable. There are some days I feel so foolishly lost in another culture that I wonder if I’m an alien. I think to myself, “Am I an alien?” Sometimes it’s hard to see what connects us all. At least at first glance.
But since her surgery, Grace’s real spirit has emerged. And you know what? She’s reminds me of any other 17-year-old I know at home. She cares about her clothes, her hair, and she poses for photographs with her hand on her hip. Maybe Congo feels far away to you, but you still know Grace better than you think.
When I get past the things that make us different – a language, a tumor, an age difference, the one million cultural gaps – people are people. They just are. It’s usually buried in the little stuff, so you’ve got to pay attention. The best days are the ones when I can see the connections, and I smile, thinking, “Grace and I share the same go-to photo pose!” and “Grace and I both laugh and think my French accent is awful!” We struggle to communicate, but my girl Grace, she gets me.
I’m glad that now the world can see how beautiful I’ve always thought she is.
((happy dance, refrain))
Called . . .
Oh, yeah, I was called last night - by our children's pastor - and e-mailed, too. Would I be willing to let the second grade Sunday school class join our fourth grade Sunday school class today? They couldn't find a teacher and they were desperate. My first thought was my favorite Mercy Ships verse, "Blessed are the flexible . . ."
So this morning at 10:30 a.m., I had six of my fourth graders and 15 second graders in my fourth grade room, along with every second grade table that I carried across the hall! And it worked . . . very well! I was pleased! And I was praising God!
To make things even better, my co-teacher, Shey, stopped by to make sure things were going well - she had heard about the combining of classes - just as we were starting our craft project. And now I was praising God for Shey's hands because she was the perfect solution to what could have become a problem!
Glory!
Friday, October 25, 2013
Give Thanks . . .
I am currently reading "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It is really hitting home with me that I need to give thanks in all circumstances, so . . .
Yesterday morning when I went into the bathroom and found little black hairs all over the sink, rather than blowing a gasket, I began to give thanks . . . thanks that I have a husband who can shave . . . because I have two friends who have lost husbands within the past year and I'll bet they'd give anything to have whiskers back in their sinks . . .
And when I popped on 35W to go to work yesterday, road rage would have been a viable option, but I chose to give thanks . . . thanks that we have roads here in America and thanks that we have crews who are able to fix them because the roads in Liberia are more potholes than road - and we all know that covering the hole with palm branches does NOT fix it . . .
And when I tripped over something while trail running at 6 a.m. this morning (not my most brilliant idea!) and landed face up on the ground, I thanked God for the stars - they truly were beautiful! And I thanked God that I only damaged one elbow and NO ankles as . . .
I learn to give thanks with a grateful heart.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Try The Y Healthy Living Challenge
The Try the Y Healthy Living Challenge ends tomorrow and I did it! I had two goals - one was to mix it up and swim more miles than I needed to run; the other was to run more miles than I needed to bike. Had the pool not been closed on Tuesday because our combined chlorine (whatever that means!) was too high, I would have swam more miles than I needed to run. As it stands, I'm two miles short. But I did manage to run far more miles than I needed to bike!
Here's where I'm at:
EVENT Swim Run/Walk Bike
AMOUNT NEEDED 2.5 26.2 112
AMOUNT COMPLETED 24.25 130 122.28
And I still have 24 more hours! Why is this so exciting for me? Because it was in October 2011 that I originally injured my right ankle and it was in November 2012 that I had surgery on it and it was in April 2013 that a car accident sprained it once again. Now, it's October 2013 and to GOD BE THE GLORY! Praise His healing power!
Tough decision ahead: Do I want the orange t-shirt or the purple one or the teal one or was that a bright green one I saw? I'll pick tomorrow . . .
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
PARTY!
Mercy Ships is delighted to announce the leadership gift of $20 million
from Laguna Beach philanthropists, Sue and Bill Gross. The funds are
designated toward a new hospital ship, currently in the design phase, to
join the current hospital ship, the Africa Mercy, in delivering hope and healing to the underserved poor.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Catherine Murphy Shares . . .
My job around here is to write stories,
to give people a sense of the difference free healthcare makes in the
developing world. I do this with the hope that somewhere, someone, maybe
you, will read about the work Mercy Ships is doing and want to support us.
We couldn’t do what we do without our incredible donors. Your
generosity amazes me every time I walk down the hospital corridor.
During our time in Guinea, I wrote a lot about a man named Thierno. Thierno was a rising Guinean soccer star until a benign tumor began to grow in his jaw. In the U.S., Thierno’s tumor would have been removed in a dentist’s chair under local anesthesia before it was even visible. On his way out of his dentist’s office, a nice lady at the desk would have smiled and said ‘we’re all good here, I filed with your insurance provider. Have a nice day!‘ Then Thierno would have said goodbye and driven himself to soccer practice. The only inconvenience might have been that his lower lip was numb and puffy.
In West Africa that doesn’t happen. So Thierno’s tumor grew for five years and he had to abandon his soccer career. It grew so large that it inconveniently almost killed him. Almost.
As I was working on Thierno’s story, I struggled with the pressure of giving a voice to a man whose suffering I would never understand. So I asked Thierno what he would say if he was the one writing the story. A week later he met me on the dock with his hand-written first draft. Over the next few weeks we worked together with a translator, and Thierno wrote the beautiful piece I’m about to share with you. You may need tissues.
Thierno taught me lots of things about life, but the lesson from today’s post is this: sometimes we don’t have to give a voice to the voiceless. We just have to give them a pen.
My name is Thierno, I am Guinean. There is a story I would like to tell you of – it is a story of a man, a football player. This man was young and strong and fit. He played for his hometown’s soccer team as a defender. Then he was struck with tragedy and had no means for healing. Each word that I write today is proof of a happy ending, but I will never forget the five years of the unhappy beginning. This man was me.
The tumor began small on my face. As it grew, I began to feel more
and more pain. Within a few months, my health began to decline to the
point that I could no longer play football. My mother stopped everything
to care for me, she took me to many doctors who were traditional
healers and we tried to find a treatment – but nothing worked. My mother
became exhausted from worry for her only son. With each month, the
tumor grew larger. The creases on her face grew deeper. From behind my
deformity, I watched her lose all hope. Then Mercy Ships said they could
help.
The atmosphere onboard the Africa Mercy was friendly and loving – the doctors and nurses took such good care of me. Each day, I was happy and comforted in my hospital bed.
I cannot say anything – I do not have the words. I am speechless
because I am grateful to God for the doctors that were so competent and
able to remove something so dangerous. Because God brought them
together, this operation was possible. I will never forget Mercy Ships,
and I know that today I find myself in good health by the grace of God.
I am so pleased that the government negotiated the arrival of the ship; I am not the only Guinean who has been blessed by it. There have been many Guineans who were sick and have found their health because of Mercy Ships.
For my part, I don’t know what to say, any word, to Mercy Ships. The humanitarian support that the ship carries for us is unimaginable and inexplicable. I wish I could thank all the staff of the ship, every single person, especially Dr. Gary, who put all of his effort into my surgery. May God protect Mercy Ships, bless Guinea, and all Guineans.
During our time in Guinea, I wrote a lot about a man named Thierno. Thierno was a rising Guinean soccer star until a benign tumor began to grow in his jaw. In the U.S., Thierno’s tumor would have been removed in a dentist’s chair under local anesthesia before it was even visible. On his way out of his dentist’s office, a nice lady at the desk would have smiled and said ‘we’re all good here, I filed with your insurance provider. Have a nice day!‘ Then Thierno would have said goodbye and driven himself to soccer practice. The only inconvenience might have been that his lower lip was numb and puffy.
In West Africa that doesn’t happen. So Thierno’s tumor grew for five years and he had to abandon his soccer career. It grew so large that it inconveniently almost killed him. Almost.
As I was working on Thierno’s story, I struggled with the pressure of giving a voice to a man whose suffering I would never understand. So I asked Thierno what he would say if he was the one writing the story. A week later he met me on the dock with his hand-written first draft. Over the next few weeks we worked together with a translator, and Thierno wrote the beautiful piece I’m about to share with you. You may need tissues.
Thierno taught me lots of things about life, but the lesson from today’s post is this: sometimes we don’t have to give a voice to the voiceless. We just have to give them a pen.
My name is Thierno, I am Guinean. There is a story I would like to tell you of – it is a story of a man, a football player. This man was young and strong and fit. He played for his hometown’s soccer team as a defender. Then he was struck with tragedy and had no means for healing. Each word that I write today is proof of a happy ending, but I will never forget the five years of the unhappy beginning. This man was me.
The atmosphere onboard the Africa Mercy was friendly and loving – the doctors and nurses took such good care of me. Each day, I was happy and comforted in my hospital bed.
I am so pleased that the government negotiated the arrival of the ship; I am not the only Guinean who has been blessed by it. There have been many Guineans who were sick and have found their health because of Mercy Ships.
For my part, I don’t know what to say, any word, to Mercy Ships. The humanitarian support that the ship carries for us is unimaginable and inexplicable. I wish I could thank all the staff of the ship, every single person, especially Dr. Gary, who put all of his effort into my surgery. May God protect Mercy Ships, bless Guinea, and all Guineans.
Photos in today’s post courtesy of Mercy Ships. Taken by Deb Bell.
Plastics Friends . . .
Bless nurse Suzanne from Fort Wayne, Indiana and her blog post about "Plastics Friends".
Plastic surgeries are wrapping up- and next week B Ward completely changes and becomes the orthopaedic ward.
What a journey the last 7 weeks have been! I wish I could introduce you to each of the people who have captured my heart during their stay here. So many stories- some patients stay for weeks at a time. They come here for surgery, but also become our friends. Like this girlie and her sweet momma:
And this spunky teenager....she's off the ship at the hope center now and doing very well.
These two are also at the hope center now...
And then there's this kiddo- oh my did he steal my heart...
After a bad case of childhood measles he became deaf, and the severity of the illness left him vulnerable to noma. The noma ate away at his nose, but we were able to provide a plastic surgery for him. He amazes me in the way he is able to communicate without words. Also he loves playing the game "memory" where you turn cards over and match the pictures. He beats me evey single time.
He lives with his grandparents, I met both of them during his stay on board. His grandfather speaks English and told me "I waited in line with my grandson on the selection day. We waited so long, and then finally we saw the doctor. We were sitting with three other people, and the doctor said yes to my grandson and one of the others. On the yellow card was the date we should come to the ship. Every morning after that my grandson would come to me and point to his nose and ask if it is time to go to the hospital."
The day finally came, and the surgery went great!
Here he is with the first step of his reconstruction, a scalp flap that goes from above his ear to his nose. Once blood flow is established at the nose, then the flap is replaced and the reconstruction can be completed:
After about 3 weeks, it was time for the second step of the operation.
All the other patients were eager to see his new nose too. I stopped
by the ward to see him, and there was a whole group of other patients
and caregivers gathered around him while he was still sleeping off his
meds, all marveling at his finished new nose. He's at the hope center
now as well.
And here are these two brothers, the older brother stays as the caregiver. Both of them have been practicing their English while on the ward, and they are getting really good. One day I gave a lesson in the use of the stethoscope and they insisted on photos so they could remember their day being the "doctor". When I handed each of them an alcohol swab to clean the earpieces before putting them in, they both laughed at me and said something about "white people". I asked the translator what they were talking about and he smiled and said "oh, well we have a saying that goes 'white is white'. They are laughing because you are so worried about making things very clean." I laughed and explained that sure, maybe "white is white", but a "hospital is a hospital". Use the alcohol swab. :)
Here's little Aicha and her Papa who absolutely adores her. I remember
doing her pre-op photos on screening day- her burn scars covered her
tourso and contracted both her arms and her hip, keeping her from
standing up all the way. She's come such a long way from the tiny
frightened-of-all-nurses 4 year old she was a month ago. She's a
special little girl.
I'm going to miss these people!
Starting next week: time to make some Ortho friends!
Kids like these we met on screening day will be coming back for their surgeries:
What a journey the last 7 weeks have been! I wish I could introduce you to each of the people who have captured my heart during their stay here. So many stories- some patients stay for weeks at a time. They come here for surgery, but also become our friends. Like this girlie and her sweet momma:
After a bad case of childhood measles he became deaf, and the severity of the illness left him vulnerable to noma. The noma ate away at his nose, but we were able to provide a plastic surgery for him. He amazes me in the way he is able to communicate without words. Also he loves playing the game "memory" where you turn cards over and match the pictures. He beats me evey single time.
He lives with his grandparents, I met both of them during his stay on board. His grandfather speaks English and told me "I waited in line with my grandson on the selection day. We waited so long, and then finally we saw the doctor. We were sitting with three other people, and the doctor said yes to my grandson and one of the others. On the yellow card was the date we should come to the ship. Every morning after that my grandson would come to me and point to his nose and ask if it is time to go to the hospital."
The day finally came, and the surgery went great!
Here he is with the first step of his reconstruction, a scalp flap that goes from above his ear to his nose. Once blood flow is established at the nose, then the flap is replaced and the reconstruction can be completed:
And here are these two brothers, the older brother stays as the caregiver. Both of them have been practicing their English while on the ward, and they are getting really good. One day I gave a lesson in the use of the stethoscope and they insisted on photos so they could remember their day being the "doctor". When I handed each of them an alcohol swab to clean the earpieces before putting them in, they both laughed at me and said something about "white people". I asked the translator what they were talking about and he smiled and said "oh, well we have a saying that goes 'white is white'. They are laughing because you are so worried about making things very clean." I laughed and explained that sure, maybe "white is white", but a "hospital is a hospital". Use the alcohol swab. :)
Starting next week: time to make some Ortho friends!
Kids like these we met on screening day will be coming back for their surgeries:
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
The blind see . .
The following quote is from Pam Porter, the perioperative eye team coordinator (note: an older woman is generally referred to as a "mama" in Africa and an older gentleman a "papa"):
Incredible… The time to see the results of the first eye surgeries had finally arrived. The air was charged, full of anticipation, and excitement! The day crew who had worked for two months screening many patients and scheduling surgery were all there. The patients that had waited and prayed, and hoped and waited for healing were there. It was time to “see” the results.
As the first day crew member slowly and gently pulled off the eye bandage, everyone was almost holding their breath; then quickly papa jumped in the air, “Hallelujah!” “Hallelujah!” Nancy, the day crew member, held up one finger and papa said “un”. She continued to hold up different amounts of fingers and papa correctly said the count. Each time he answered, everyone in the tent area celebrated, with words, some with dancing, and many with clapping. Then papa continued singing, with arms raised and many “Hallelujah’s!” He did not want to stop and it was contagious to everyone.
Then the next mama, actually our first surgery patient of the year, also jumped up in response to being able to see. She also gave the correct count of fingers! Then in response to being able to see, another mama kept requesting her Bible!
The air was filled with excitement, clapping, and praising. And as I glanced around, I noticed some of the day crew wiping tears from their faces…tears of profound emotion and joy!
Then, as one mama looked up at the big white hospital ship, she gasped in amazement, voiced an equivalent to “ayy yii yii” and exclaimed that she couldn’t believe that she could see such a big ship when she could not see it the day before.
Finally, upon entering the eye room, several mamas broke out in song and dance, celebrating their sight. It was an awesome, inspiring, spontaneous Celebration of Sight, orchestrated by the patients themselves in delight and joy at their new-found sight.
John 9
25 He answered, “Whether he is a sinner I do not know. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
What a tale . . .
Reblogged from Nurse Amy Humphrey's blog, "The Promise of a Brighter Day." Love it!
Gather 'round, my dear friends, for it is story time.
Once upon a time, in a far-off land...
...there was an oddly wonderful village. Now this village was unlike any other village. It was a floating village-- the whole village lived and worked on a majestic ship, full of character, called the Africa Mercy. There was something enchanted about the ship, but the real magic happened on the ship's third deck: the hospital. No one would enter without coming away changed, often drastically, for the better.
The time is now. The land is Congo. The people are real. Meet them, pray for them, celebrate with them, LOVE them!
Once upon a time, in a far-off land...
...there was an oddly wonderful village. Now this village was unlike any other village. It was a floating village-- the whole village lived and worked on a majestic ship, full of character, called the Africa Mercy. There was something enchanted about the ship, but the real magic happened on the ship's third deck: the hospital. No one would enter without coming away changed, often drastically, for the better.
The time is now. The land is Congo. The people are real. Meet them, pray for them, celebrate with them, LOVE them!
Alvin.
Alvin had a small benign tumor in his mouth/neck. I say had because it is no more. :) The tumor made his little cheek puff out, quite fittingly like a chipmunk... which you just have to laugh about. I got to send him to the OR for the first surgery of Mercy Ships' field service here in Congo. When we prayed for him on the bench where all patients here are offered prayer before heading into surgery, I remember having an overwhelming feeling of being right where I was supposed to be. After a quick recovery, Alvin was back to hogging all the toys and stealing the nurses' hearts. He is now home with his family, probably getting into more mischief than ever before... "Aaaaaalviiiiiiiin!!!" Sadly I don't have a photo of Alvin, so this one will just have to do. :)
Alvin had a small benign tumor in his mouth/neck. I say had because it is no more. :) The tumor made his little cheek puff out, quite fittingly like a chipmunk... which you just have to laugh about. I got to send him to the OR for the first surgery of Mercy Ships' field service here in Congo. When we prayed for him on the bench where all patients here are offered prayer before heading into surgery, I remember having an overwhelming feeling of being right where I was supposed to be. After a quick recovery, Alvin was back to hogging all the toys and stealing the nurses' hearts. He is now home with his family, probably getting into more mischief than ever before... "Aaaaaalviiiiiiiin!!!" Sadly I don't have a photo of Alvin, so this one will just have to do. :)
Merveille.
Merveille means
'wonderful' in French, and he is quite wonderful. Merveille had a
palatoplasty done to fix his cleft palate. Can you imagine going 12
years of your life with a hole in the top of your mouth? He wasn't a
huge fan of the NG tube (who would be?), but he still weathered the
recovery like a champ. He also wasn't a fan of the soft diet (no rice!!)
he had to adhere to post-op, but I'm a picky eater myself so I really
couldn't blame him. He loved to laugh at me as I tried to count in
French and Kituba while he did his palate exercises. Merveille's dad was
the best coach one could ask for, by his side every minute and
encouraging him in his recovery, in his speech exercises, and in the
game of UNO. Oh my goodness, I have never seen a kid have so much
trouble learning a card game. Every time he tried to put a green 7 down
on top of a red 3, I just couldn't help but laugh! To be fair, I was
attempting to explain the rules of the game in VERY broken French and
Kituba, with a lot of reliance on hand gestures. :) Please pray that he
continues to develop his speech, as he is having to learn a whole new
way to form sounds with his now anatomically-correct mouth!
Alistera.
This sweet one has
captured my heart. And not just because she is from my
home-away-from-home, Uganda. :) She was brought here by a local doctor
who is doing some pretty incredible things for disabled Ugandan children
through his non-profit EDYAC-- you can check it out here! Admitted for severe burns she experienced as a young girl, her first surgery (of several planned) is today!
She is very self-conscious of her scarring and shyly keeps the burned
side of her face turned away-- BUT she is gradually beginning to come
out of her shell, slowly starting to lift up her gaze, and us nurses
couldn't be more thrilled. We sing through her dressing changes, and I
tell her how beautiful she is, praying that she would know that she is
SO loved. She teaches me to count in her local language while she
compliantly takes her daily cocktail of less-than-tasty nutrition
supplements to aid with wound healing. We turned one wall of her room
into an art gallery displaying her superb coloring skills, and you will
often find her bandages covered in "flair", like stickers and
pipe-cleaner flowers.
Alphonse.
Alphonse has been with us for over two weeks now. He serves as our ward's DJ, keeping us entertained with Congolese, Nigerian, and American tunes played from his phone. It is not uncommon to hear his voice singing out while I'm giving a tube feed on the other side of the ward or when we are giving shift report. He had a surgery that required a giant skin graft to be taken from his leg and placed on his face. He carefully watches each dressing change with a mirror, surveying our technique and never once complaining, though I am certain it is quite painful for him. Pray for Alphonse as his skin graft is not taking well right now.
Alphonse has been with us for over two weeks now. He serves as our ward's DJ, keeping us entertained with Congolese, Nigerian, and American tunes played from his phone. It is not uncommon to hear his voice singing out while I'm giving a tube feed on the other side of the ward or when we are giving shift report. He had a surgery that required a giant skin graft to be taken from his leg and placed on his face. He carefully watches each dressing change with a mirror, surveying our technique and never once complaining, though I am certain it is quite painful for him. Pray for Alphonse as his skin graft is not taking well right now.
Vernel.
Oh Vernel. I dare you not to fall in love with this 6-year-old's smile. He is just as full of life as these photos depict! And he gives the best hugs. One of my favorite moments of him was after his surgery when he was having trouble keeping down any food. I finally sweetened up some yogurt and gave it to him, and he just devoured it. As in, almost ate the spoon itself. The whole ward was laughing and he responded with a tiny yogurt-covered smile (difficult post-cleft lip repair, as you can imagine). He is heading home tomorrow after spending the weekend recovering at the HOPE center. He lives pretty far up-country and a few members of our media team are traveling with him to document his home-coming. Not that he was shy before, but I can imagine now he will be quite an unstoppable force in his village! Hopefully, I will have some photos/footage of that to share with you in the coming weeks!
Pressley.
Baby Pressley was one of the first of many precious babies with cleft lips to come through our ward. I didn't get to be his care nurse, but I did get some good snuggles. Just look at him!! What a blessing that he will spend the rest of his life without a lip deformity!
Gercia.
Whew, does this girl have a personality.
Vehemently stubborn, for a while we couldn't tell if her "altered
mental status" was due to a neurologic complication after her
encephalocele repair, or just her ignoring us because she didn't like us
nor anything we were making her do. Then one weekend my friend and
fabulous fellow nurse, Becky (pictured above), discovered the power of
tough love and bribery by cookies... and she got Gercia to walk up 4
flights of stairs to go outside on deck 7! By the end of her stay with
us, Gercia was still her obstinate self, but she wore a smile much more
often-- especially when bubbles were involved. And God bless her
Grandmomma. Pray for Gercia's continued healing and that her stubborness
and determination will be used to accomplish great things! :)
Thersia.
I was more than
happy to welcome this cutie back from her cleft lip repair and, like a
typical 6 month old, she did NOT like me or anyone else at first. Poor
baby girl would cry, which would hurt her newly repaired cleft lip,
which would make her cry more. But as we got on top of her pain and put
some milk in her tummy, her smiles returned! Pray for her continued
recovery and for the cleft palate repair she will need when she gets a
bit older. Often these babies are very malnourished because it is nearly
impossible for them to create seal in their mouth in order to suck.
Thersia, however, is the picture of health... a testament to the good
care provided by her young mama!
Emmanoel.
This dear boy. Read his full story here.
Emmanoel was the very first patient I saw. We were driving up to the
screening site on 'Patient Selection Day' and from the back of the Land
Rover my inner nurse radar went off. I saw a mother holding a little boy
at the side gate, and this boy was using every part of his body that
you shouldn't need to use to breathe. In the medical world we call this
'retractions', and even from a distance I could see all the signs of
severe respiratory distress. His eyes were tired, his body limp, he was
barely conscious. Before I could even attempt to get out of the vehicle,
I saw our pediatric anesthesiologist and another pediatric nurse
rushing toward him. I prayed, knew he was in capable hands, and didn't
see him again for the remainder of the hectic screening day. Late that
night I asked about him, afraid of the answer I might be given. I was
overjoyed when I found out he was still with us and that his respiratory
distress was caused by an operable!
tumor which was nearly occluding his entire airway. His was one of the
first surgeries scheduled, and even then I was praying we weren't
waiting too long... we all were. I don't think many of us slept well his
final night before surgery. Emmanoel certainly didn't, having to work
so hard for every breath-- it was one of the most heart-wrenching things I have witnessed. I hate to think what might have happened had we found him even a week later. Thanks to an exceptional team in the OR, his surgery went very well, and he didn't need a tracheostomy! 
 |
| Meeting of the minds: Dr. Mark Shrime, Dr. Gary Parker, & Dr. David Levy |
I received Emmanoel postoperatively and, after a brief 'set-back' requiring intubation and mechanical ventilation for just under 2 days, he went on to have an incredible and full recovery. Huge thanks to everyone back home who prayed for him during that time! :)
Just look at these pictures of him from his most recent outpatient visit. So amazing to see him smiling and playing as an almost-3-year-old should! God is surely with you, Emmanoel!
*All photos courtesy of the infinitely talented Mercy Ships photographers
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