I
wrote this blog post the evening of the day I went to screening, back
in early September but somehow kept not getting around to posting it.
Since our screening has recently wrapped up for Benin and plans are full
steam ahead for screening in Cameroon, our next port of call, I thought
it was timely to post it now. It also helps me to feel gratitude which I
will confess I often find hard at this time of the year, on the ship.
This is our fifth Christmas on the ship (in a row) and I am feeling
weary. I want to embrace all the traditions of Christmas on board,
knowing that one day I will pine for them, but I find myself wishing I
was home (my other home) within a familiar culture and with my family.
But as I re-read my post I am brought to my knees and not because I
cannot walk because my limbs are too twisted, but by how lucky I really
have it!! I am blessed beyond measure.
Get ready to be broken.....
It was the
lady crawling on her hand and knees that was my undoing. I felt the tears prick
behind my eyes and an uncomfortable lump forming in my throat. “I cannot lose
it here, I cannot lose it here, I cannot lose it right in front of her”! I
watched her crawl up to the screening nurse, a grown women reduced to the
position of a toddler. She stared up expectantly into the compassionate eyes of
the nurse as she communicated, through the translator, that we could not help
her. With a stoic look on her face, the woman, stood as tall as she could on
her swollen and calloused knees and hobbled off before falling back down to her
hands, back to her crawling position and began the slow, painful crawl, in the
dirt to the exit. I have seen a lot in my time in Africa but I found out on
that day, that I still have not seen everything.
This
is
screening. Finding out who we can treat and how many we can fit in the
surgical
schedule, shuffling through 11,000 people over three weeks. I spent one
day at
the screening site, a large local school, working as a patient escort,
guiding patients to the exit or onto further screening. Our screening
and security team were
there for three weeks! Can you imagine being the one who takes away a
person’s
very last hope for a “normal” life or perhaps even life at all? Close
your eyes
and imagine your feet aching to the bone, fatigue both physical and
emotional
like you have never felt before and crushing someone’s spirit with a few
words,
over and over and over again.
Watching the
hope slip away from a person eyes and body is visibly perceivable. Their body
slumps over, their eyes are downcast, some with tears forming, some begging for
one last chance, their feet shuffle. It is the look of hope shattered. I hear
her voice and see the pain in her eyes as she looks directly into mine, “Please
can’t somebody help me” as she clutches her deformed and twisted hand, the hand
that has to carry her children, the hand
that needs to help her to earn a living to feed her family. I listen as
her quite tears turn to sobs as I direct her to the exit.
As I stood
at my first post, with no medical background, just my years of attending medical
screenings, my mind begins to pre-screen. I already know who is going to be
sent to the right for yes and to the left for no. I know the ortho schedule is
full and my heart breaks for the literally dozens of kids I see with their
crooked legs making their way slowly through the snaking line, I see the mamas
untying their babies off their backs, their babies legs twisted, adults who
have lived a lifetime with contorted limbs and I know that very soon, their hope
will be destroyed and I can hardly stand it.
But
sometimes, between dozens of “No’s” there is a “Yes, we may be able to help
you”! Escorting a patient who has been told they can move on in the screening
is a very different experience than being on the exit. A shy glint of joy, mixed
with subtle disbelief, reflects from their features, as if they cannot believe
that they could possibly be free from their physical burden.
This is why
we are here. We cannot be all things to all people and for that we have to
trust in God. We have to hold fast to the belief that God has ordained the
moment that each and every person, who receives surgery, stands in line on the
right day, at the right time and in the right city. Without this belief, our
souls could be destroyed, crushed under a mountain of guilt and “what if’s”.
As I left
the screening site and returned to the ship, my body exhausted, I reflected on
the day, still feeling raw, my emotions simmering under the surface, my thoughts
screaming, “Why? What is wrong with our world? Why is a grown woman crawling in
the dirt when I was born into a country of fabulous wealth, world class health
care and education, clean drinking water and not a crawling woman in sight?” I
don’t know the answers to these burning questions and I don’t profess to be any
great theologian.
Maybe one
day, when I am standing at the feet of Jesus, I can ask him.
We
were blessed that an amazing photographer was on board with us during
the original screening weeks. You may have seen his work in the link on
my post about shipyard. His ability to capture raw emotion and everyday
events, in a beautiful way is uncanny. That is why I have so many
photos. It was so hard to chose.
(Some images below you may find disturbing.)
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