Who do you work with?

It has been a rough week at the Y.  Two of our lifeguards resigned, Tuesday we had poo in the lap pool, what was thought to be poo in the lap pool on Wednesday turned out just to be a wad of paper towel (and how did that get in there?), and today (boss) Barbara's grandfather died so she left shortly after arriving.  That left (boss) Lori to deal with everything.

Fast forward to Tiffany and I were talking to a couple of our mom's this morning and we were laughing about our names:  "Tuff Tiffany" and "Mean Margo" and Lori came over and we got her - "here comes Loving Lori" and she started to cry - tears of joy.

All in a day's work.  

Not FRIED!

It was a week ago Monday night that our dog opened our bedroom door and crawled under the bed.  The next morning both kids said that they had smelled smoke when they had gotten up during the night to go to the bathroom.  Now, I can understand the dog not saying anything, but the kids?  Really?  If you smell smoke - wake your FATHER!  IMMEDIATELY!!!

Sam discovered it was the dishwasher so I called the repairman. He could be out the following Monday.  After SEVEN long days of doing dishes by hand, the repair company called back - could we reschedule?  There were furnaces that needed to be repaired, especially with the temperatures below freezing . . . so knowing that a dishwasher was a luxury NOT a necessity, I rescheduled for two days later on Wednesday.  

Mark came out yesterday and told us we were a very fortunate family.  Our panel had fried - to crispy and we were lucky we lost nothing more than the dishwasher.  Which reminds me - kids?  If you ever smell smoke - wake your FATHER!  IMMEDIATELY!

The new dishwasher should be here no later than next Tuesday . . . Did I mention Sam's brother and his family will be here on Saturday - the one with ten kids?  I'll just keep saying "a dishwasher is a luxury NOT a necessity" and go buy paper!

You know Jesus loves you when . . .

You find the hole in your swimsuit after swimming lessons and you're the first person to see it!

The poop in the pool did not come from your class!  In fact, it was in the lap pool which had adults only . . . 

 

Your pen dies in the grocery store and down the aisle comes your friend Wanda who offers you a new pen!

Liz is your checkout at the grocery store and she finds another staff to unload your cart so you can pack your bags and get done twice as fast!

Both kids are home from school and they bring in the groceries!

God is good all the time; all the time God is good.

Alice . . . Post One

Jennica is one of the nurses aboard the good ship Mercy and this is her story of Alice, complete with pictures.  Enjoy.

I’d like to introduce you to one of the most beautiful little girls I know. Meet Alisteria, or Alice as she is affectionately known. She is an eleven year old girl from Uganda. She was flown here with her dad and Dr. Isaac back in August and has been with us ever since.

Here’s a little background on Alice. When Alice was nine years old she was hanging out with her grandma while she was cooking in their village. Alice had a seizure and fell into the fire, burning the right side of her face. Her parents rushed her to the local clinic. When she got there, all the staff ran outside because they were terrified of her appearance and the smell of burning flesh. Eventually they took care of her and transported her to a larger hospital. She spent a few months there and had a couple skin grafts done. Eventually her family could no longer afford for her to be in the hospital so they snuck away in the middle of the night and went home. Her parents tried their best to take care of Alice in the village. They cleaned the wounds as they had seen in the hospital, but they didn’t have any clean bandages to put on. So they placed the old bandage back on after cleaning. This ended up causing an infection to the skin around her right eye. Then the flies came. To ward off the flies, her parents put gasoline on her face. This began to eat away at her skin and damaged her right eye even more. Her parents were losing hope, were terrified that they were going to lose her, and had even dug her grave in the village. Then Dr. Isaac came into the picture. This Ugandan man is actually a trained veterinarian but also runs a home in Uganda for children that have mental or physical disabilities, children that have been abandoned by family, and children like Alice who need help. He came alongside the family and helped take care of her. He had heard of Mercy Ships and e-mailed the screening team, seeing if Alice could come to the ship for surgery.

She came a day later than scheduled. The day she was supposed to come she was literally sick to her stomach with fear of getting on the airplane and flying to Congo. Can you imagine? Your whole life you’ve lived in a grass hut village in the middle of Uganda and now you’ve traveled to a huge city, you’re getting on this big metal contraption, you’re going to be flying in the SKY, leaving your friends and family for months, and staying on some ship where they will be cutting on you, poking and prodding on you. All this after already dealing with her injuries for two years. The bravery of Alice and her father to get on the plane the next day is beyond me. But I am so glad they found the strength and courage!

Alice was the first patient I ever took care of in Africa. She came my first shift. It was myself and another nurse, Kari, who had her that first day. I was being oriented to the ward and the hospital was slowly opening up after screening day. Alice was so shy. She wouldn’t make eye contact with you, she didn’t smile, she didn’t speak to us. Her dad knew a small amount of English, Alice knew maybe two words and the rest was a Ugandan tribal language. The only person she would speak to was her dad. Her dad is an incredible man. Very soft spoken and reserved but incredibly dedicated to his daughter, loving towards her, and patient with all of us. We tried to get Alice and her dad feel more at home by playing games, coloring, making friendship bracelets. The only games she would play with Kari and me, after loads of coaxing, were “keep the balloon off the ground” and “move the magnetic alphabet letters around on the wall”. 

At first we were doing twice a day dressing changes on her eye, trying to combat the infection and get her ready for surgery. Alice wouldn’t make eye contact with you when the bandages were removed. She would stare down cast at the floor and not make a peep. She sat so patiently and quietly while her wounds were cleansed and re-bandaged. We would always put stickers on her bandage after we were done. You could see a small shadow of a smile pass over face as she got to pick what was going to decorate her head. 

But slowly and surely Alice began to emerge from her shell. The constant love and attention that was shown to her by Kari, myself, and countless others- everyone in the hospital, everyone on board that came to visit her- slowly began to extract her from her shell. I still remember the first real smile I saw creep across her face. The beauty in that smile, the way it light up her face. It was amazing. The first time she laughed, the first time she ran up to me saying “Jenny!!!!” when I came to work, these are moments I will remember and cherish forever.

Alice had a long journey on board. We cultured her wounds around her eye and found MRSA in them which landed her in isolation for a month. This was about one week after her arrival. It was really hard on her but especially hard on her dad. Here is dad used to being outdoors in Uganda, used to being in control, head of the family, working, visiting friends and family… suddenly stuck in an isolation room. Needing to entertain his daughter and himself 24/7. They colored countless coloring pages while they were in that room. I visited multiple times and would play memory with her, blow up balloons for her, and try to entertain her for an hour to give dad a break. It was so fun to spend time with her and develop a deeper relationship with her.

Alisteria and her dad

Once the infection cleared and she was moved out of isolation back onto the ward, it was like a different person emerged. Here’s this bright, vibrant little girl running around like a banshee on Deck 7, pedaling with all her might the scooters, running around the ward until someone had to loving reprimand her, tell her to calm down a bit! We found out that she is incredibly ticklish and loves to tickle back! Her smile rarely leaves her face now. She started picking up French words, Lingala words, English words. Her speech is such a hodge-podge of different languages, it’s rather amusing! She has an air of confidence that comes from children who are completely loved, deeply cherished, and unconditionally accepted. When I worked, I would have a little shadow following me. She was my little helper and so serious about assisting me in the little ways that she could.

All told she had 3 surgeries. One to her face and two to reconstruct her right ear. I’m happy to report that she has a beautiful ear now. Her eye infection has cleared up. The wounds around her eye have almost completely healed. Alice and her dad leave Monday for Uganda. She will be out of my life physically but will always remain in my heart. She survived. She beat all the odds, all the opinions that she was done for. She lived. You cannot look at this face and tell me that she is ugly. These scars have formed because she survived. No, she’s done more than that. She’s thrived. Marinate on that for a bit.

For the last few weeks she has been at the Hope Center. Every time I go to visit I am greeted with her screeching “Jenny Jenny Jenny Jenica Jenny!!!!” It warms my heart to no end! Yesterday Kari found me in midships and told me that Alice was on the dock, had been discharged from outpatients and that they are working on getting flights home for her and her dad. I went down to the dock to see her and say good-bye. She was so excited to see me, so excited to go home and see mamma and 1 brother and 2 sisters. So excited to be in Uganda again. You could tell Dad was pleased too in his quiet reserved way. I sat on the dock fighting back tears, snuggling with her, playing music off my phone with her, praying over her and her future in Uganda. At one point she looked up at me with her good eye and told me “Jenny, I love you,” and kissed my cheek. I’m telling you, I seriously almost lost it!

Today I went to the Hope Center to see her one last time before she leaves. I gave her a few photos to remember her time on board. I wrote a note to her hoping that one day when she grows up she will be able to read it. (Uganda is an old British colony, so English is spoken there). In my note I reminded her how loved she is by our heavenly Father, her earthly father, myself and everyone else at Mercy Ships. I told her how thankful I am that she danced across the pages of my life for these six short months. I remember when I first met her in August and heard she would be here until February thinking “man, that’s a long time!” and now here it is. I will miss her so much, but I am so glad she is going home healed! I am so glad she is going home full of confidence, vibrancy, love, adoration, self assurance. Will you please join me in praying that these feelings continue all the days of her life? That God will bless her, that she will be accepted and loved for who she is, for what she has to give, for the story she has survived already and an amazing future that is waiting for her.

Alice . . . Post Two

I don't know Natalie, but this is from her blog - and it's more on Alice . . . 
 

One of our surgeons often says that "everyone has the right to look human."  While all of our surgeries restore physical function and often prevent death, they all also give the additional bonus of restoring physical appearance.  This gives them a literal chance at a new life since those who look less than beautiful are shunned and outcast.  We rejoice in this, but is this somehow agreeing with societal claims that the altered/edited version is better?  Are we somehow proving the point that what's on the outside DOES count?  

Meet Alice.  A sweet young girl from Uganda.  Like many of our plastics patients, Alice was severely burned at a young age when she fell into a fire.  The fire consumed her head, face, and neck, leaving only scant areas of skin and hair unscarred.  Alice spent the past 6 months with us, recovering from 3 surgeries that left her with a more mobile neck, new eyelids and a new ear.  Monday, her and her dad will fly back to Uganda to be reunited with her mother and siblings.

A few weeks after her surgery, I was changing the dressing on her head/eye for several days in a row.  This particular day, she was in bed for most of the morning, quiet and not wanting to play.   After I changed her dressing, I told her I had a surprise for her so I made her close her uncovered eye and when she opened it, I handed her a mirror.   I had added flowers and a pink bow to her bandage.   She stared in the mirror grinning ear to ear for literally hours and then suddenly came alive dancing and singing and laughing, prancing around the ward showing off her bandage while everyone told her how beautiful she was.   We went up to deck 7 later that day, and her papa was on the phone.   I wasn't paying much attention until he handed her the phone and she squealed "Mama, I'm beautiful!!!"  

In that moment, something shifted.  She had a new found confidence and joy when she shifted from hearing others say she is beautiful to actually believing and knowing it was true for herself.  The bandages were still on, the incisions hadn't healed, her hair was still gone, and most of her scars were actually still there too.  She didn't look all that different than before, but on the inside, she was a whole new kid.  

So, by doing her surgery and correcting her outward appearance, did we just jump on society's beauty obsessed bandwagon?  Maybe.  Because here at Mercy Ships, we ARE obsessed with beautiful things.  Surgeries might change the outside, but we know that only God can change the inside... and when that change happens, that is a beautiful thing!  What a privilege it is to come along side Him to pour out His love, reminding these sweet little patients how beautifully they were created.  

Too beautiful to be real?  Nope!  The most beautiful things are the most alive, and Alice is more alive now than she's ever been.

AMEN.

Happy . . .

Birthday,

Matt!

When there is no hope . . .

I've reblogged this post from my friend Deb Louden who is an Australian nurse aboard the good ship Mercy.  It's definitely worth the read . . . with a few fun pics at the end.

Derne is the name of a little boy I met at the interior Dolisie screening day. I went with a team of 13 from the ship, driving one of the most dangerous roads in the Congo to reach this town 3-4 hours away. Derne was one of the 187 patients that turned up to be seen by us.

I’ve waited to write this story in hopes that there was a photo taken of him by my photographer friend Michelle. But alas, when I looked there was none. Even as I sit here, computer on my lap, my fingers resting at the keyboard knowing what words are about to flow out, my heart has sunk into my stomach.

Derne walked into the room where I was sitting with another nurse taking patient histories and the OR supervisor who was scheduling follow-up surgeon screening days. We all had translators by our sides.

Derne was with his mother. He climbed up to sit on the blue cushioned chair, feet dangling off the floor, face solemn. I greeted them both and then through translation asked them why they’d come to see us. Derne had a very nodular mass on the left side of his neck. It was a large size and by large I mean it was more than half the size of his 9 year old neck. It extended up to the bottom of his hair line and down to his collar bone. He looked at me with a blank expression, eyes solemn, giving away nothing of what he was feeling. It was difficult finding out exactly what the history was except that it had been growing and getting larger now for 3 years. Mirjam, our screening co-ordinator, had seen him outside in the patient line and had written a note sent in with him “?Lymphoma”. I took it out of his hand, my heart not wanting to believe what she suspected, knowing that I might agree with what I was reading, although the diagnosis still being a guess. We had no doctors with us, no equipment and no way of actually telling them what we thought it was. They had been to several hospitals and seen doctors and he was having treatment for tuberculosis (TB). Whatever the mass was, a TB mass or lymphoma, he wasn’t a surgical candidate for us.

When I asked the mother how far they had travelled to be in Dolisie, she looked at me with an exhausted expression on her face. She said it had taken her and Derne three different taxi trips to get there. Translated for you, that means a LONG time sitting in taxis, squashed with many people, fresh produce and animals over bumpy roads for hours and hours. I looked to the other nurse in the room with me, taking histories on another patient, asking her for her opinion because I almost couldn’t bear to tell them that we couldn’t help him. They had travelled so far in hope that we could help, how could I bear to turn them away? Jasmin and I talked about it, both coming to the conclusion that he shouldn’t come for a further screening. My heart broke as I turned them away knowing they won’t get a phone call from us offering hope of a cure.

Derne didn’t leave my mind even after a couple of weeks. As I was second guessing my nursing judgement and all that I have seen here in the past four years, I emailed my screening co-ordinator friends to ask about him. The reply came and with every word my heart sank deeper and deeper until I wanted to cry. She wrote, “I talked about it with Jasmin for a long time, discussing & questioning our decision, & we appreciate you asking the question.  Screening can be difficult in that we can never predict a diagnosis with 100% certainty.  However, we need to make educated decisions in order to bring the most appropriate surgical candidates… I’m very sorry, but we will not ask the boy to come down for further screening.  We definitely don’t want to raise his expectations when we are almost certain that there’s nothing that we can do for him.  I’m sorry.”

I wanted to cry even though I think I already knew what their answer would be. It is true, we have to pick the people that are the best surgical candidates for us on the ship, that is our specialty. It’s just that my heart breaks for every one person that we meet who we cannot help. I guess that’s why I still haven’t left this floating hospital ship. Every one counts. Every day on board we do about nine surgeries. That’s nine lives changed. Even if the surgery is as simple as a hernia repair that helps a man to live without pain, it is one life changed and while the patients are here we pour out our love like no place I know on earth. Love overflowing from the One who loves us. The One who gave everything He had to save us. Even though we can’t help everyone, the One that loves us has not lost sight of them. I know that He sees Derne and has a good plan for his life even though I can not be a part of it.

The team - including our friend Andy in the green shirt , Deb in the all blue, and Krissy from Duluth in the maroon shirt.

This morning's surprise . . .

I try to read the "Global Prayer Digest Daily Prayer Devotional" from the U.S. Center for World Mission every day.  Imagine my surprise when I read this today:

Today's People Group

Amadou Njie held on tightly to his amulet, a small leather pouch holding sayings from the Qur’an hanging from a cord around his neck. He needed protection from the bad spirits that lived in the trees he had to pass along the trail to the house of the marabout. The marabout was the Muslim spiritual leader with supernatural powers. He would advise Amadou and his brothers if they should return to Banjul, the capital of the Gambia, for treatment of their mother’s drooping facial tumor. They had heard that a Christian hospital ship would be offering free surgeries; but their community had long been closed to Christianity, and the only miracle worker they knew was the marabout. Did you catch that - a Christian hospital ship?  Oh, that he had gone!

Stories of Joy

Nurse Ana Glover comes to the ship from Wales.  Read what I've reblogged . . . and rejoice!

Today was a day with moments that I wish I could film and let you watch it, but instead of seeing a video clip or photos I am going to try and describe my day. 

 

Plastics started 6 weeks ago, and since it has been a flow of patients having their bandages changed, some have big areas where they have been operated on and these are the patients we get to know well as they take a bit longer to heal.

We have had a little girl coming every other day to the inpatient dressing room, some days are good and others are not so good, but today was a sweet day! I picked her up from the ward she is on and took her down to the dressing room, already in my arms I stand her on the trolley ready for her to have her bandages taken off and her skin grafts cleaned. We decided it was best for me to distract her and make her comfortable and the other nurse to do the dressing. It didn’t start so well, had a few tears but eventually she cuddled into arms and laid her head on my shoulder, I started patting her back and then a few minutes later she started patting my back, then I could feel her body relaxing. The dressing finished and I took her back to her ward, all the way down the hallway she had her head cuddled into my neck and her little hand patting my back, my heart melted and did not want to leave her there on the ward, I wanted to continue to hold her in my arms.

Today is one of those days I will never forget, as moments like that are precious.

What made today even more special came in the afternoon. There has been a patient on the plastics ward for about 5 weeks. I think this girl has touched many people just by her smile and her beautiful eyes.

 

She had a huge surgery to release her burn contractures and she is still recovering from the surgery. But today was a great day! Not only did we leave a donor site (this is where they take skin from and then put it where it is needed to release the contracture) open to air as all healed but we also left her arm open to air too, this arm has been covered in dressing since the operation. This all means that those wounds are healed! To celebrate this huge milestone we were all dancing to music, her smile was huge and her eyes were beaming with pleasure at watching 4 nurses, a physio and an OT dancing!!!!! I would have loved to know what she was thinking looking at us!

As we took her back to the ward I told the nurses the patient wanted to show them something, as she walked in the nurses could see she had no more dressing in her arm, they all clapped and cheered for her even the other patients started clapping! It was such a great sight to see her smiling and hugging everyone! The community which is the ward congratulating her, where else do you get that?

 

She has a long way to go to fully recover from her surgery but today was a huge step in her recovery and I am so grateful I could be there to see it and dance about it!

Olympic Challenge!

I don't know about you, but we are definitely tuned in and turned on by the Olympics - watching them go higher, faster, further, better . . . we see it all!  

I decided to have my own personal Olympics this year - How Cold Can I Go?  I'm a bit tired of our record setting bitter cold winter, so I decided three weeks ago that it would NOT stop me from running any more.  I would just wear more and run less, but I would still run.  From what I hear (temps are suppose to be rising by Wednesday!), I may have set my record this morning at -11*F.  I would say worthy of at least a bronze!

Feed My Starving Children - Part 3

You know nothing is impossible with God!

And He likes to bless us far more abundantly than all we ask or think!

It took approximately 10,500 volunteers

to pack 3,009,000 meals,

far surpassing the goal of 3 million meals!

To God be the glory!

February Family Photo

Just one snap this month - 

taken at a Feed My Starving Children work site.

We had a blast!

Note:  I'm the short one in front! 

Feed My Starving Children - Part 2

Wow!  The church was absolutely packed this morning with packers for Feed My Starving Children.  It was awesome!  And I must say - we kicked butt!  We ended up NOT finding our church group until after the event was over, so we packed with a father/son team from Shakopee, a very quiet woman from Shakopee who knew the father/son team and another father/son duo from Burnsville.  I spent my second day also sealing rice packets with the seven year old from B'ville using a sealer that worked some of the time while his dad packed boxes (and helped me seal while his son drew on the paper table covering and otherwise amused himself - it must be hard to be seven and volunteer for two straight hours!).  When it was all said and done - we had packed 1,096 boxes which were filled with 236,736 meals.  Enough food to feed 649 children one meal a day for a year.  More than the day before!  Here's a look at my favorite workers:

Matt, Micah and Sam's maroon sweatshirt

 

Miracles!

I'm expecting that all this week we will hear about miracles at the Olympics, but this, my friends, is a true miracle reblogged from my friend nurse Deb Louden's blog, "A Nurse's Heart in Africa".  To God be the glory! 

The crazy thing about this place is that a miracle happened in the hospital last week and I haven’t even told you about it.
 

Last week while I was working an evening shift, I had a call from my supervisor telling me that a dental patient had come in with a big tooth abscess and needed to have it drain in the OR before he became septic. He was going to come back to a bed in the ward I was in charge of. She said the biggest risk for the patient post-operatively would be airway swelling. Apparently large tooth abscess' had been a ‘Liberia special’ (very common during the 2008 Liberian outreach). I remember reading a Mercy Ships article about it one time before I’d ever come to the ship, so I had an idea of how it could turn out.

 

I kept that information in the back of my mind while I sorted out problems here and there in the ward and while I was making sure the nurses got to dinner on time, I had a call from the OR saying that they were going to bring the dental patient to the ICU post-op on the ventilator. I hung up the phone and turned around to face the busy ward, noticing the nurses scurrying here and there, patient’s NG feeds running, others sitting up on their beds eating their dinner from the red bowls that we serve them in. I knew that even though I’m not trained as an ICU nurse (no ventilator training) I had nothing to fear because we have the best team I could ever ask for. All I had to do was pick one of the adult ICU nurses already working, reallocate her patients to other nurses and have her set up the ventilator, send a few text pages to let others know what was going on, look at staffing for the next two shifts and ask someone to save me dinner.

 

After letting the OR know that we’d be ready for the patient in 20 mins or so, they let me know that they’d had to insert an emergency tracheostomy in the patient. While they’d tried to extubate, his airway had closed right over, from the immense swelling and pus draining from this huge oral abscess. They’d tried and tried to reintubate but to no avail. With the tracheostomy finally in and the patient relatively stable on the ventilator, he was brought into our ICU. Later in the evening his oxygen saturations dropped and changing the settings on the ventilator didn’t help to improve it. We were pumping antibiotics into his already feverish body.

 

Over the next couple of days his condition worsened. His oxygen saturations dropped lower and lower and we were pretty much powerless to stop them. We tried everything that we had access to and continued to pray. I sent a call out on FaceBook to pray for this man because that was really all we had left.

 

By day three post-op his oxygen dropped to an all time low. We were scared for this man because his oxygen saturations had been quite low for a long time and it brought dangers of permanent brain damage. It didn’t look like he was going to survive. And then the miracle occurred. With no interference by us, his oxygen saturations began to improve. They continued getting better and better and the following day he was well enough to be off the ventilator and breathing on his own! The following day he was moved back to a bed in the ward and only a few days later his tracheostomy was removed.

 

Each day that I’ve seen him in the past week I have literally thanked God for unexplainably saving him, but ever since having the abscess drained he was very straight faced. Barely speaking when asked questions he would reply with a shake of the head or a raise of the eyebrows for yes (very common here). I barely heard him utter words, let alone show emotion. Yet when I looked at him, I wanted to jump up and down with the joy of answered prayer and his life being saved!

 

Today I was his nurse. Seeing him straight faced for so many days, made me wonder what on earth he must think of this whole situation. I sat down with him and a translator to explain that while he was really sick on the ventilator we thought he was going to die. While that was being translated, his eye brows shot up as he took in the information. I continued saying that God clearly had a plan in mind for him since we had so clearly seen him saved from certain death. He didn’t have anything to add and continued to sit there silently receiving whatever we said.

 

Later as I was doing his wound care, I was speaking to him using the translator asking him about his sister who had visited almost daily since he’d arrived, asking him what he does when he’s not in hospital. He didn’t say much in response, although he answered the questions using words. I then said that he seemed like he had a quiet personality and didn’t like to talk much. Much to my surprise, after it was translated to him, his face lit up with a smile, the first smile I'd seen. He told the translator, “No, I’m not really quiet. I like to talk.” Astonished, I looked right at him, my eyes wide, “You do like to talk!? And you just smiled! Why don’t you talk much? And you just smiled!!” I said this straight to him and I have no idea how or what was translated to him about what I said, but as I saw him watch my stunned reaction to him smiling, I got a glimpse through the window straight into his personality. To see the change in his face when he smiled and showed some spunky personality made me feel triumphant!

I saw him smile two more times that hour and even pull a face at a little boy patient. Each simple smile felt like we had somehow conquered the world. I have no idea what plans God has for his life, but I know He wants him alive!!!

Amazing.

 

Feed My Starving Children - Part 1

 Yesterday I had the privilege - and I do mean that! - of volunteering with the eighth graders from Kenwood Trail Middle School (MIcah's school) and Century Middle School at Feed My Starving Children at Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran Church in Prior Lake.  What a hoot!  They were piping music through the sanctuary and the kids were singing at the top of their lungs.  But work?  Oh, did they ever!  My table alone packed 31 boxes of food!  Together, we packed 271 boxes, enough meals to feed 515 children one meal a day for a year!  Why is that important?  Well, in less than an hour, our family will be back at the church for some "forced family fun time" and soon you'll know if we packed more or less than yesterday's group!  

A highlight of the day?  These three friends were in the same class in kindergarten and first grade, then district boundary changes separated them.  But put them in a group of six hundred eighth graders  and they were like magnets!

Who Will It Be?

Micah had fun last Sunday making one of our contributions 

to the Super Bowl party we would be attending -

She put the quarterbacks' numbers on the cake

and chose the winning team as her frosting color!

 

A smile to warm you up . . .

Yaya . . . one year later

Do you remember Yaya?  Our friend Dan found him in the market and eventually, he came to the ship for surgery on those legs.  

Now, it's one year later and the crew has found out that he's doing well.  He's in school, walking around, playing football and enjoying life in Guinea as a little boy should.

Can someone say, "Glory!"

Back on the ward . . .

This is re-blogged from nurse Ali Chandra who was able to spend last Saturday down on the ward . . .

On Friday afternoon I got the phone call that every nurse secretly dreads. Every nurse except me, it turns out, because when I heard my boss explaining that there had been an unusual number of sick calls and that they were desperate for help, I practically started dancing around the cabin while I told her I'd be more than happy to work on Saturday morning.

I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve that night. I carefully laid out my blue scrubs, found my pens and calculator, and dug my stethoscope out of the drawer where it's been languishing since last March. I got into bed and laid there, wide awake, far too excited to sleep.

Walking onto the ward the next morning to find my report sheet (and everyone else's) adorned with some fingerprint art by one of my youngest patients was a pretty clear indication that it was going to be an awesome day, and the next eight hours certainly did not disappoint.



Nursing is apparently something like riding a bike or driving a car, none of which I get to do with anything resembling frequency. After the initial moment of hesitation when I realized that one of my patients was one of the more complex ones on the ward and that I wasn't actually sure whether or not I remembered what half the words in the surgery column next to her name meant, I gathered my courage and jumped back into the whirlwind.

It was a busy shift, but not so busy that I didn't get to chat a bit with my patients and their mamas. They were overjoyed to find out that I was pregnant, and I spent much of the morning with a hand on my belly. (At one point, I was actually in the middle of changing out a trach when I felt an arm snake around from behind me to give Bubba a little pat. D Ward nursing at its finest.) I got to change bandages and take out sutures and draw blood on a beautiful little baby who, it turns out, is incredibly ticklish and willing to forgive you for sticking her with a needle at the drop of a rattle hat.

And it wasn't just my own patients who filled my heart. It was meeting the others who we've been praying for as a ship family. Patients like the young man in the ICU who just days ago was fighting for his life and who today was sitting up in a chair watching football. Patients like Angelique who, for the past eight years, had slowly been starving to death as a massive tumour took over her jaw.



She's been struggling to heal and gain weight since her operation, and the whole ship has come together to pray over her; meeting her felt kind of like meeting a celebrity, to be honest. She was just a few beds over from one of my patients, looking so much better than she does even in that second photo, and when she heard I was pregnant, she smoothed her gown over her own belly to show me how it was growing before grinning and breaking out into some kind of muffled song while we danced together.

When my shift was over, I came back to the cabin to find that Zoe had woken up early from her nap, so there was really only one logical thing to do. I found her shoes, and we headed up a flight of stairs to where we could hear all my new friends scraping their chairs and getting settled to enjoy the fresh air on the deck right above our cabin. I sat down next to the belly-rubbing mama, held out my arms for the baby I'd been taking care of, and watched as Zoe quickly made friends with the plastics patients, sharing wagon rides and blowing bubbles with sweet Benjamine.



I was chatting to the mama next to me when I looked up to see Zoe walking away from me with a little patient who was probably eight or nine years old. The girl was bandaged from chest to elbow, her arm held out at a ninety degree angle from her body by a hard plastic splint. Zoe was practically on her tiptoes, her arm stretched up as high as it could go so she could hold her new friend's hand, completely oblivious to the gauze and tape and stigma that have followed this girl since the day she was burned as they headed off in search of adventure together.

I fought back tears as I looked around at realized what I was bearing witness to out there on Deck Seven and what I had been a part of down on D Ward that morning. A strange community of patients and nurses and translators and a little girl making new friends, drawn together from around the country and around the world by the sure knowledge that there is beauty behind every broken smile, that pain is not a birthright, and that standing together in the face of death and despair is a privilege that should never be taken lightly.

I can hear them now, moving around on the roof above where I sit as I write. I can picture their faces and hear their stories, and I have never been more grateful to live in this community and be called to this work.

(All patient photos in this entry are © Mercy Ships.)
 

Rainbows . . .

Our rainbow (sun dog) came this morning from the cold, 

Theirs came after the rain . . .

The Blind See . . .

This post is re-blogged from my friend Jodie Rothwell's blog.  She lives in the cabin we lived in in Benin and has a daughter Micah's age.  Pray for Jodie before you read any further as she's on her way back to Australia to have cancer on her nose removed, leaving Jessica and hubby Andrew on the ship.  Thanks!

I watched the man with great curiosity. At first he was tentative, as the bandage was removed from his eye. Then he blinked several times while his eye adjusted to the light around him. Then he smiled. His smile grew wider as he realised what was happening. After nineteen years of darkness he was seeing the world for the first time. He grabbed the man next to him, exclaiming loudly in an animated fashion. I couldn't understand what he was saying but I imagine he was saying, "I can see, I can see". He began patting objects in the nearby vicinity and naming them in French, "Stool", "Fan", Seat". Then he held his fingers in front of his eye and stared in wonder, like a child who first discovers their hands. He stood up, took a few steps, the smile never leaving his face, his joy overflowing. He looked over at us and we gave him the thumbs up

I don't know why it has taken me so long to watch the unveiling of the eye patients. It is a miracle to behold. The patients have surgery one day, usually cataract surgery on one eye. Because of the huge needs of the countries we serve in, surgery is offered on one eye only so sight can at least be partially restored. If there is time and the need, the second eye is done. The following day, the patients come back to the ship to have their eye patch removed. The vast array of emotion is unusual and certainly interesting to watch. From wild celebration to stoic disbelief. From quiet, shy smiles to loud, rambunctious laughing and singing. Some stay seated and some get up to hug the nearest individual.

 

However, the results are not always as positive as my friend above. We also witnessed several unsuccessful surgeries. It made me feel like crying. As the patients eye patch was removed and they began to rapidly blink their eyes, I was hopeful but then their eye began to stare blankly at  a fixed point and then I knew. As hard as the surgeons try, sometimes, for whatever reason, things do not work out. How painful it must be for those patients as they slowly realise that they are condemned to a life of darkness, their last hope gone, while the person next to them is celebrating, tugging on their sleeve to share their joy. I can't imagine. But for those whose lives are transformed through a simple surgery we give thanks to God.

 

Follow the pictorial story of Albertine (below), our first cataract patient in The Congo, and 63 year old Celestin who had bi-cataracts.

 

 

Celestin

"....the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor."
Mathew 11:5 NIV