Farewell, Congo!

The End Came . . .

LeAnne wrote this in her blog and I liked it so well I thought I'd share it with you, too!

The end came but I'm not sure I was ready.

How do I put the last week into words, let alone try and sum up 10 months. Thursday was the last day, the last day the hospital was open, the last day for patients onboard the ship, the last day to invest into the patients lives, the last day to work with our day crew, the last day to work as a team, our last day as we knew it in Congo 2013-2014. 

I knew this day was coming for months, but after saying goodbye I realised just how hard it is to say goodbye to friends (day crew) that were strangers just 10 months ago when they walked into our tent and I tried to explain what a wound was and what the coming year would look like. By the looks on their face I could tell there was very limited knowledge of medical conditions, let alone the conditions that they were going to have to face on a daily basis.

But our day crew surprised me and they got in there and they did their job beyond expectations. They would cuddle the babies until they stopped crying, or help hold the leg or arm still so I could get in there and remove the dressing, or steri-strips or remove a nasal bolster or stitchers, and I would look at the day crew faces and see them smiling, looking at the way the surgery had changed the young child as they begin to cover the child with stickers or sing to them, and pour out their love upon the family. But it was not just the kids they would care about or love upon, it was every single patient, it was the older mama or papa who with just 1 step into the tent would struggle, and the way they would always extend their hands for the patient to grab onto, the only reassurance the older patient would need to know that things would be ok. It was the words of encouragement they that provided unprompted to the patients in their own language, or the continuous attempts from the day crew to teach me a phrase in local language so I could communicate to the patient myself. It was the way they loved that said more than the words I would ask them to translate.

Our day crew may have been employed as translators, but they did so much more than translating. They became our words, and open up the worlds for both the patients and us as nurses, they made what otherwise would be incredibly hard to do, easy by speaking our language. Our day crew would go beyond just the basic words and began to instruct the patients in how to look after themselves, how to protect their wounds, how to slowly sit up from  laying down when the patient had just had abdominal surgery, or lumps or bumps removed from various parts of their body. They would educate them or ask them question before we as nurses even had the chance to talk about the care, and it amazed me that not many months ago they didn’t have any understanding themselves of what they were seeing but now they have the knowledge to educate and provide care for their own people, and now didn’t need to be prompted or wait for us to tell them the instructions or ask the questions.

The final goodbye was hard and it all came and went faster than I anticipated. When it was all over I thought to myself “did I really invest into our day crew, did I do enough for them, should I have done more “. It was later that I realise these are thoughts you have when you say goodbye to true friends. One thing is for certain, it will be strange waking up on Monday morning and not being able to say hello to my friends and hearing their laughter and seeing their smiles. It really has been a fun year with so many great memories working alongside my Congolese brothers and sisters - my team mates, my friends. I will miss them.                                                                                                                                                                

Paul's Nose

This blog is taken from my friend nurse Deb Louden's blog, "Deb's Heart in Africa".  Enjoy!

One of my patient's stories was recently revealed to me by another nurse. 13 years ago during the civil war in Congo, Paul was in his teens and running away from the soldiers who were shooting at him and those in his village. His grandmother was too old or unable to run and so in true love, he picked her up on his back and ran with her tightly clinging to him. He was, however, not fast enough to outrun the gunfire. His grandmother was shot and killed as she clung to him and his nose was shot right off his face, sparing his life but leaving him disfigured. All these years later he was able to have a free surgery to reconstruct his face.

 

It's a long process as we take skin from the head and flap it down to make the new nose and leave it attached looking very strange for three weeks while the blood supply becomes strong. Then after three weeks the pedicle flap is released and our patient has a new nose. You should see the smile that the patient has plastered on their face for the next days. It is truly unforgettable! Paul was no exception for that award-winning smile!

Charissa, one of my fellow nurses, spent time with Paul during the reconstruction

Three weeks later, his nose is finished!

Over time the nose will shrink a little, but I think it looks so great already!!