Thanksgiving Photos!

'Twas the day of Thanksgiving

And we'd just finished lunch . . .

The dishes were stacked

we had quite a bunch!

Chef Andy was tired -

I confess, so was I!

So off to the couch -

where we hid on the sly . . .

 As Tamara called out to the children,

"Come, Haley and Trae, you, too, Keegan!

Matt, Micah, and Andrew -

 And you, Miss Megan!

The dishes are yours - 

time for some fun!

You can't leave the kitchen

until they are done!"

The kids did just great -

it was quite fun to see!

Happy Thanksgiving to all -

time to put up a tree!

Miss Betty

You know, I'm not sure when we first met Becca - it may have been Benin, it may have been Sierra Leone, but what I do remember is her joy in serving us this summer while we sailed to Tenerife - in the galley - and she's a nurse.  Her's one of her stories.  It's long, but so worth the time.  

 

He wipes away the tears

The first time I saw her, my heart sank at the sight of the tumor. Betty had come from Sierra Leone in hopes that we could remove the tumor on her chin that had already grown from the size of an orange to a grapefruit in only a few months. As I began to remove the bandage for the first time, I tried not to react in horror at the sight and smell of a tumor unlike any I had ever seen before. I could see her gazing deeply into my eyes, searching for a response, trying to find reassurance that everything would be ok. I looked past the tumor and into her eyes and smiled, trying to forget the nausea I was feeling over the smell. I practiced the small bit of Krio that I remembered from Sierra Leone and began to form a bond with this amazing woman and the sweet sister who had brought her to us.
Weeks passed and Betty and her sister Safiatou came every day without fail to see us in outpatients. It didn't take long for every person in our department to fall in love with Betty. Although she was timid and ashamed during the first few dressing changes, we soon grew to know and love the real Betty that was hiding behind the massive ugly tumor and the shame that came with it. Betty latched onto me quickly and became very comfortable with me changing her bandages. We had a lot of fun on her visits, as I would play my African music from Sierra Leone, dance around and attempt to speak Krio. It made my heart so happy to see her smile and watch her sister laugh, even if that meant I had to dance around to the lyrics that I could barely remember. Betty and Safi grew to be more than "patient" and "caregiver"...they became our dear friends. The hope still lit up their eyes as they prayed and hoped that we would remove the tumor and be able to celebrate the new Betty together. I pictured what Betty would look like after she had her surgery. I prayed that her biopsy results would come back negative and that we would be able to do the surgery soon.
But the tumor began to grow rapidly and along with that, the fears of all of us began to rise. From one week to the next, the number of supplies that I needed for each dressing change was mulitplying quickly. Betty and her sister noticed it too and the look of hope in their eyes began to diminish. Biopsy results can take up to four weeks to come back here and the waiting time felt like an eternity. The agony of the waiting was almost as hard for all of the nurses as it was for Betty and her sister. But seeing how fast it was growing, I began to prepare myself for the worst. Betty was losing hope as well. We began talking about her three children one day and she fought hard to hold back the tears. Her husband had died two years beforehand and her youngest child was only five years old. "Please God, don't let her die," I begged silently. What would her children do without their beloved mother? Her youngest was so little that she would probably only retain a few faint memories of her mother if she died. I could tell that Betty was thinking about her children. Her tears began to roll down her cheeks and I did my best to hold back my own as they welled up in my eyes. I had to step out of the room before I broke down. "Please God, I know you can heal. Don't let Betty die."
A few days later, our team leader came back with a stack of new pathology results.  "Betty's results are back and it's not good," she told me sadly. I started blankly at the piece of paper in front of me and read the awful word "adenocarcinoma." Her tumor was cancerous and they would not be able to operate. Betty had already left for the day and we were heading injto the weekend, so we wouldn't be able to tell her until Monday when our hospital chaplaincy team could meet with her. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said a silent prayer for God to prepare Betty's heart for the news that would follow.
Monday came and there was a sadness in the air. We told our translators the news that morning and they were struck with grief over this woman that we had prayed for together for God to heal. The moment Betty stepped in the door for her dressing change, I think she knew something was wrong. We all tried to smile, but the translators didn't want to come near to Betty because it was just too hard for them to face her and hide their own emotions. After her dressing change had been done, she and her sister went inside to meet with Clementine, our hospital chaplain. They were inside for a very long time and when they came back out, I was inside for an appointment and didn't get to see them before they got into the shuttle to go back to the Hope Center where they were staying. I was disappointed I had missed them and couldn't hug them and wipe their tears, but said a prayer for them and saved my hugs for the next day.
Betty and Safi walked into Outpatients the following day, heads hung low and sadness in their eyes. There were few words to say, just hugs to give. I began preparing the supplies for Betty's dressing change and Safiatou broke down in tears. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her and we cried together. I know that it's important to hold everything together at times as a nurse, but in that moment, I just needed to be a friend and share her tears. The tears I had been holding back began to pour out and we sat and cried together. I told her I was so sorry for the bad news and that I knew how scary it was to face losing a family member, that it was ok to cry, and that we loved them both. After a few minutes, I hugged her again and encouraged her to be strong for her sister. She wiped her tears and we began to do Betty's dressing change together. I wanted to give them a little more time to just process everything, but I had already been asked to begin the teaching process with Safiatou so that she and Betty would be ready to go back to Sierra Leone a few days later. As I explained what Safi needed to do, she mustered all the strength that she had and focused intently on performing Betty's dressing change as best as she could. She did a great job and I told that that we were now going to call her "Dr. Safiatou" and she responded with half a smile. We shared more hugs and the two of them headed back to the Hope Center.
The following day, we finished all of the teaching with Safiatou and Betty, gave them the huge box of supplies that they would use for the dressing changes at home, and gathered around them to say one last prayer. When I opened my eyes, Betty's tears were rolling down her cheeks. I brushed a tear away and thought of God's promise to wipe away all of our tears in heaven. I don't know when Betty will go home to be with Jesus, but I know she'll be in His arms soon. And when she gets there, she won't have an ugly tumor on her chin anymore....just a beautiful smile on her face and a heart full of joy...because when she enters into heaven with Jesus, she will experience the ultimate healing of the wholeness of His love.
I often find myself overwhelmed by the suffering and pain I see around me in Africa. I ask God why he allows the pain, the suffering, and poverty. My heart aches over knowing that a woman like Betty would have a good chance at life if she had been diagnosed in my own country instead of a poverty-striken West African country where the resources of chemotherapy and radiation are not readily available. I question why God doesn't miraculously heal her for the sake of her three little children and her loving sister. But, the truth is, no matter how many times I ask why, I know that I will never fully understand until I get to heaven. Maybe God's plan of healing is not for Betty's tumor to be removed, but for the full healing and restoration of entering into heaven with Him, a place where no suffering and disease can exist. Even though I may not understand, I cling to the truth that God is good and that He does what is best for His children. So, I leave Betty in His hands and rest in knowing that she is headed to a better place.
The truth is, we live in a broken world, tainted by sin and evil. The truth is, people still die every day from treatable diseases all over the world. The truth is, life isn't always fair and even if I volunteer in Africa for the rest of my life, I won't be able to save everyone. The truth is, I don't have all the answers and I can't carry all the burdens I encounter. If I try to, I will be crushed under the weight of it all and unable to move forward and make a difference in the lives of those who I can help. So I have been reminded this week by the One who called me here that I can give my burdens to Him and allow Him to carry them for me. He is the only One who is strong enough to carry them anyway.
I'm not sure what God's purpose was in bringing Betty to us, but I am grateful to have known such a beautiful, strong, amazing woman. Even though she couldn't have her surgery, I know that the last month spent with her was not wasted. I feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to walk with her through a difficult part of her journey, to love her, and to help her experience a deeper emotional healing through the love of Christ. I look forward to the day that I see her in heaven and we can dance together in the presence of our loving Saviour.

I hold onto this hope and the promise that He brings

There will be a place with no more suffering

There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears

There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more

We'll see Jesus face to face

But until that day, we'll hold onto You always

 

~Jeremy Camp~

Theirno

Meet Deb - I met her this summer on our sail!  And I stole this from her blog . . . to God be the glory!

This man, is the patient that had the huge surgery I have blogged about several times in the last few weeks.  Look at him!!!  This is two weeks post operative and he has now been discharged to the outpatients department! I can hardly believe how well he has done! His face will continue to heal and the extra skin will continue to shrink back in the coming months.  He is eating soft food for the first time in years and loving every mouthful! What an amazing recovery and story!

It's NOT What I Expected!

Hmmm . . . all that time in Africa had me thinking that my boot and cast would look more like this, but I guess I live in a developed nation because my boot and cast look more like this:

Well, at least it would if you made the boot black instead of pink and the cast blue instead of gray!  To all who prayed - THANK YOU!  I'm doing well - not well enough to help out much with the cooking and cleaning, but well enough to direct everyone else in how to do it!  Happy Thanksgiving - just a day late!  Hugs . . .

To God Be the Glory!

It was a successful day of surgery yesterday on the Guinean football player with the massive tumor - make that the four pound tumor!  It's been weighed and now it's gone, he's had reconstructive surgery and he's doing so well he may get out of ICU tomorrow and return to the ward.  Thank you, Jesus, for restoring Thierno's life!   

'Twas the Night Before Surgery . . .

This post was taken from one of the nurses' blogs . . . pray!

 

We have arrived to a crucial moment on the Africa Mercy. It is the night before the surgery that will change our friend’s life permanently. There’s no going back. He is as fit as he can be for such a huge operation. His surgical team gathered this afternoon to go over the logistics and details of the case, carefully mapping out all the steps that will take place. It’s going to be a very long case. Please pray for all involved. Pray for the team to be alert, rested, energetic, focused, and totally relying on God for every move they make. Pray for Dr Gary and Dr John to be filled with the wisdom that comes from above to make every incision precisely and carefully. Pray for the anesthesia team to be vigilant to every nuance in vital signs, prepared to respond quickly and appropriately. Pray for the lab personal to be standing by with all the life saving blood at the ready as soon as it is needed. Pray for our friend to be at peace, trusting God to be with him all the way through. Pray for him to come out of surgery alive and well that he may give glory to God. Pray for him to have no doubt that he has a Savior in Jesus Christ. Finally, no matter the outcome, let’s all remember to praise and thank God for all He has done, all He is doing, and all He’s yet to do because He is GOOD!
 

 

 

Keep Praying, Trinity!

Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to share Mercy Ships three times at church.  One of the stories I shared was about a 38 year old former Guinean National soccer player who is currently on the ward waiting for his quite larger tumor to be removed.  I asked those that were there to pray for him and found this (stole this?) on a nurse's blog . . . God is faithfully answering our prayers!

As a nurse you often have a special place in your heart for certain patients. Here actually it is most of them, but there are always some that really get to you. We have one particular patient on our ward at the moment who everyone is rallying behind and is much loved by all. He has a large tumour on one side of his face, and came to us a couple of weeks ago malnourished, unable to eat, barely managing to take some liquids and visibly weak on his feet. Initially we were unsure as to whether he could have surgery or not but after some tests and discussions with him we are ‘building him up’ for surgery hopefully next week. Slowly slowly he is putting on some weight and is now walking the four flights of stairs from deck 3 to deck 7 when we take the patients outside once a day. He has established a workout routine and the last 2 evenings has had me taking him for exercises down the corridor doing various squats and step-aerobics on the stairs. We sat down afterwards (so I could recover, he was doing fine) and he just held my hand as I talked in my poor French about his surgery next week. I asked him if he was afraid and he immediately shook his head no. He has such hope. I will be praying, praying, praying that he gets through this ok. It will be a complicated surgery because of his physical state to begin with but also because of the size and location of the tumour. There will be many of us waiting that day to see how he gets on.