Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Baby Batouli
Habibatou and Mamadou had never experienced this much joy and sorrow at
the same time. Their first baby was a precious gift from God that made
their hearts almost burst with love. Their daughter was perfect in every
way – with one troubling exception. She had a malformation that split
her lip, causing one side to grow up toward her nose. The parents had
never before seen anything like this, and they did not know what this
meant for their daughter.
They did know that deformity meant hardship. Many
people would think their daughter was a bad omen. Mamadou’s first wife
had already laughed spitefully at the news of the baby’s condition.
Other torments were sure to follow. Could Mamadou and Habibatou keep
their child hidden like so many did when there was an obvious physical
problem?
After praying with Habibatou, Mamadou bravely decided to break from tradition and speak out about his daughter’s condition. He asked the people in the village if they had seen an upper lip like his daughter’s. No one, not even the elders, had ever seen anything like this.
When Mamadou called his brother Musa with news about the baby’s problem, Musa’s response was surprising. “Mamadou, do not worry. There is a ship coming with doctors who help babies like yours. They have done many surgeries, for free, to correct this problem.”
The good news gave the family much hope. The naming ceremony for Habibatou and Mamadou’s little girl was a joyful occasion. Their daughter was named Batouli, after her grandmother. It was a fitting honor for Habibatou’s mother, who had supported her son-in-law’s speaking out about the baby’s problem.
Mamadou arranged for Habibatou and Batouli to stay at Musa’s home in Conakry and find out more about the hospital ship. Habibatou recalls the experience. “We did not know for certain when this ship would come or if the doctors could help. I was afraid, but I had faith for the sake of my daughter.”
Habibatou’s faith was well-founded. The hospital near Musa’s home confirmed that Mercy Ships would be screening patients for surgeries the next week. Habibatou spoke softly, “I was grateful to learn from the hospital nurse that Batouli’s condition was called a cleft lip and that Mercy Ships did these surgeries. She said that Mercy Ships would take very good care of Batouli and that Musa was right – Mercy Ships did not charge any money for doing the operation.”
By noon on screening day, Habibatou was clutching a Mercy Ships patient card for Batouli. For the next eight weeks, Batouli was seen by volunteer dietician Jessica King in the Infant Feeding Program. Jessica reported on Batouli’s progress: “At her weekly check-up I was so pleased with Batouli’s weight. She stayed on track for her surgery date!” Habibatou loved to hear Jessica’s weekly report. As each week passed, her daughter was moving closer to having her cleft lip repaired.
On the day of Batouli’s surgery, Habibatou prayed for all to go well, and it did. Within a few hours, she was holding her daughter in her arms. Habibatou spoke on behalf of her family, saying, “We are so grateful that our break from tradition brought us to Mercy Ships. This break has changed our dear Batouli’s life.”
Written by Joanne Thibault
Edited by Nancy Predaina
After praying with Habibatou, Mamadou bravely decided to break from tradition and speak out about his daughter’s condition. He asked the people in the village if they had seen an upper lip like his daughter’s. No one, not even the elders, had ever seen anything like this.
When Mamadou called his brother Musa with news about the baby’s problem, Musa’s response was surprising. “Mamadou, do not worry. There is a ship coming with doctors who help babies like yours. They have done many surgeries, for free, to correct this problem.”
The good news gave the family much hope. The naming ceremony for Habibatou and Mamadou’s little girl was a joyful occasion. Their daughter was named Batouli, after her grandmother. It was a fitting honor for Habibatou’s mother, who had supported her son-in-law’s speaking out about the baby’s problem.
Mamadou arranged for Habibatou and Batouli to stay at Musa’s home in Conakry and find out more about the hospital ship. Habibatou recalls the experience. “We did not know for certain when this ship would come or if the doctors could help. I was afraid, but I had faith for the sake of my daughter.”
Habibatou’s faith was well-founded. The hospital near Musa’s home confirmed that Mercy Ships would be screening patients for surgeries the next week. Habibatou spoke softly, “I was grateful to learn from the hospital nurse that Batouli’s condition was called a cleft lip and that Mercy Ships did these surgeries. She said that Mercy Ships would take very good care of Batouli and that Musa was right – Mercy Ships did not charge any money for doing the operation.”
By noon on screening day, Habibatou was clutching a Mercy Ships patient card for Batouli. For the next eight weeks, Batouli was seen by volunteer dietician Jessica King in the Infant Feeding Program. Jessica reported on Batouli’s progress: “At her weekly check-up I was so pleased with Batouli’s weight. She stayed on track for her surgery date!” Habibatou loved to hear Jessica’s weekly report. As each week passed, her daughter was moving closer to having her cleft lip repaired.
On the day of Batouli’s surgery, Habibatou prayed for all to go well, and it did. Within a few hours, she was holding her daughter in her arms. Habibatou spoke on behalf of her family, saying, “We are so grateful that our break from tradition brought us to Mercy Ships. This break has changed our dear Batouli’s life.”
Written by Joanne Thibault
Edited by Nancy Predaina
Monday, January 21, 2013
A Cultural Laugh . . .
On the good ship Mercy, over forty countries may be represented at any one time. And from each of these countries come a variety of cultural differences. Like the time we had a carnival and the Danes were a bit worried until they found out it was just a fair. Or when the Aussie staff was shocked that we called a "bum bag" a fanny pack because "fanny" is NOT a nice Australian term! Then, there are the differences down on Deck 3 - you'll have surgery in the theatre rather than the OR; you'll have a plaster put on after your shot rather than a bandage; and most logically, you'll go to plastics if you need plastic surgery! So when I read the blog about the South African who made her American friend peanut blossom cookies, I just had to laugh. You see, she wasn't quite sure what to do with those Hershey kisses that go in the center of the cookie - should she take the wrapping off or leave it on? As they say, a picture paints a thousand words . . .
Do you know . . .
Pastor Brian stopped Sam after church yesterday and said he had been to a missions conference last week and ended up sitting by a guy who had served with Mercy Ships - and not only that - he knew us! We met Brian Finley the first time we served on the Anastasis - it was his wife Amy who brought home a teary-eyed lost little Matthew and it was us who brought home four suitcases for the Finleys the following summer as they prepared to return to the states. They now live over in St. Paul.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Suzanne is a nurse with the eye team and what a glorious week she's had . . .
Written yesterday- Friday, January 18:
This has been a day I don't want to forget, so I am making myself take the time to write about it before the details escape me.
We are just finishing up week two of three weeks of children's cataracts and strabismus operations. Right now my work life is much busier here on ship than it was before the holidays- we have several wonderful surgeons on board, we are doing twice as many adult surgeries each day and- to my great delight- we have cataract kids on the wards! Because the kids need to have their operation done under general anesthesia, they are admitted to the ward one day before surgery and stay one day after.
Today was the first post-op visit for 11 kids who had surgery recently. Instead of doing the visit at the clinic we brought them in the eye room on ship, so I had a room full of smiling, energetic SEEING children.
Two weeks ago, every single one of these children were blind. They were quiet when they came on board the first time; they clung to their parents and took in their world caution and hesitation.
Today, everything was different. The kids walked confidently up the gangway alongside their parents. Two of the boys walked hand in hand, they were in beds next to each other on the ward last week. While they were blind they did not talk to or acknowledge each other, but once their eye patches came off the morning after surgery they became inseparable friends.
This is the first time I have had so many kids in the eye room at once. When I looked at all the wiggly 4-7 year olds, the dance teacher part of me sprang to life and saw a classroom. The opportunity for play was too good to pass up- while we were waiting for our surgeon to finish in the OR, I sat with all the kids on the floor in circle. We put all our feet in the middle and pointed and flexed our toes just like I did with the littlest dancers at home and then we played a version of "simon says". The kind nurses of A ward let me take a couple balloons out of their drawer and the kids and hit it back and forth.
The whole time I marveled at the miracle before me. Less than two weeks ago these kids saw little or not at all. Now here they are playing games with me, active as any other kids would be. The mother of a 7 year old boy told me that the very first thing her son did when they left the ship was to ask for a pen and paper. He wanted to know how to write the alphabet.
Most mornings when I get the eye room ready I listen to the same song called "oh how I need you"- it talks about seeking after the Lord and being near to Him. The bridge begins with the words "light, glorious light I will go where you shine". Those words were on my mind while watched the kids today- light is glorious, both to our physical eyes and to our souls. Today was a day of rejoicing in the light and the freedom that it brings.
This has been a day I don't want to forget, so I am making myself take the time to write about it before the details escape me.
We are just finishing up week two of three weeks of children's cataracts and strabismus operations. Right now my work life is much busier here on ship than it was before the holidays- we have several wonderful surgeons on board, we are doing twice as many adult surgeries each day and- to my great delight- we have cataract kids on the wards! Because the kids need to have their operation done under general anesthesia, they are admitted to the ward one day before surgery and stay one day after.
Today was the first post-op visit for 11 kids who had surgery recently. Instead of doing the visit at the clinic we brought them in the eye room on ship, so I had a room full of smiling, energetic SEEING children.
Two weeks ago, every single one of these children were blind. They were quiet when they came on board the first time; they clung to their parents and took in their world caution and hesitation.
Today, everything was different. The kids walked confidently up the gangway alongside their parents. Two of the boys walked hand in hand, they were in beds next to each other on the ward last week. While they were blind they did not talk to or acknowledge each other, but once their eye patches came off the morning after surgery they became inseparable friends.
This is the first time I have had so many kids in the eye room at once. When I looked at all the wiggly 4-7 year olds, the dance teacher part of me sprang to life and saw a classroom. The opportunity for play was too good to pass up- while we were waiting for our surgeon to finish in the OR, I sat with all the kids on the floor in circle. We put all our feet in the middle and pointed and flexed our toes just like I did with the littlest dancers at home and then we played a version of "simon says". The kind nurses of A ward let me take a couple balloons out of their drawer and the kids and hit it back and forth.
The whole time I marveled at the miracle before me. Less than two weeks ago these kids saw little or not at all. Now here they are playing games with me, active as any other kids would be. The mother of a 7 year old boy told me that the very first thing her son did when they left the ship was to ask for a pen and paper. He wanted to know how to write the alphabet.
Most mornings when I get the eye room ready I listen to the same song called "oh how I need you"- it talks about seeking after the Lord and being near to Him. The bridge begins with the words "light, glorious light I will go where you shine". Those words were on my mind while watched the kids today- light is glorious, both to our physical eyes and to our souls. Today was a day of rejoicing in the light and the freedom that it brings.
Light glorious light
I will go where You shine
Break the dawn , crack the skies
Make the wave right before me
In Your light I will find
All I need, all I need is You
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Early Morning Alarms . . .
In all our times aboard Mercy Ships, we've only had one early morning wake up alarm. It was a fire alarm this past summer while we were serving in Togo. Read about Krissy's early morning alarm . . .
DING - DONG... "Emergency medical team, report to A Ward immediately. Emergency medical team, report to A Ward immediately."
16 simple words, yet so much impact.
Our entire crew was awakened last night by that overhead page, piped into all cabins, at 2:45am. Immediately I heard my roommate rustling around, the door closing behind her just a few seconds later. Her footsteps faded as she hurried down the stairs outside our door, quickly followed by many other pairs of feet, leading to A Ward.
As I waited for the adrenaline surge at this announcement to fade, I laid in my bed and prayed a prayer echoed by hundreds of others the same time, from their beds. God, please be with the Emergency Medical Team. Please be with whatever patient is in distress. Please guide the doctors, nurses, and caregivers to best handle the crisis.
When there's a page like that at 2:45 in the morning, you know it must be very serious. As we are a floating hospital, there are always Ward nurses on duty and doctors on call, all hours. Most problems are easily handled by those highly capable people. In fact, this was the first EMT overhead page we've heard since I have been here; there was one while I was on board in Sierra Leone.
But while I was praying I was also reflecting on the fact that because of this incredible community that is a hospital, every single other Crew Member lying awake in their beds, or soothing their crying babies, or lovingly encouraging their children to go back to sleep; every one of them was praying the same prayers I was. In that sleepy, confused, adrenaline-laden time, we were all united, under the same banner and purpose and calling. For that, I am grateful.
The prayers were felt; the patient was rushed back into surgery, and is doing very well today. All of the nurses, Emergency Team members, doctors, even the Receptionist who made the overhead page, worked in their calm confidence of their calling, knowledge, training, and trust in each other.
I am continually amazed by the incredible community of people I get to live and work with here on the Africa Mercy. Thank you, EMT, the Surgical Staff who jumped in to their scrubs ready to work at 2:45 this morning, and thank you to everyone who prayed for this patient. It makes a difference.
16 simple words, yet so much impact.
Our entire crew was awakened last night by that overhead page, piped into all cabins, at 2:45am. Immediately I heard my roommate rustling around, the door closing behind her just a few seconds later. Her footsteps faded as she hurried down the stairs outside our door, quickly followed by many other pairs of feet, leading to A Ward.
As I waited for the adrenaline surge at this announcement to fade, I laid in my bed and prayed a prayer echoed by hundreds of others the same time, from their beds. God, please be with the Emergency Medical Team. Please be with whatever patient is in distress. Please guide the doctors, nurses, and caregivers to best handle the crisis.
When there's a page like that at 2:45 in the morning, you know it must be very serious. As we are a floating hospital, there are always Ward nurses on duty and doctors on call, all hours. Most problems are easily handled by those highly capable people. In fact, this was the first EMT overhead page we've heard since I have been here; there was one while I was on board in Sierra Leone.
But while I was praying I was also reflecting on the fact that because of this incredible community that is a hospital, every single other Crew Member lying awake in their beds, or soothing their crying babies, or lovingly encouraging their children to go back to sleep; every one of them was praying the same prayers I was. In that sleepy, confused, adrenaline-laden time, we were all united, under the same banner and purpose and calling. For that, I am grateful.
The prayers were felt; the patient was rushed back into surgery, and is doing very well today. All of the nurses, Emergency Team members, doctors, even the Receptionist who made the overhead page, worked in their calm confidence of their calling, knowledge, training, and trust in each other.
I am continually amazed by the incredible community of people I get to live and work with here on the Africa Mercy. Thank you, EMT, the Surgical Staff who jumped in to their scrubs ready to work at 2:45 this morning, and thank you to everyone who prayed for this patient. It makes a difference.
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