Fried Fridays!

To go with "Thankful Thursdays", I think I almost need "Fried Fridays".  It started out great - my chiro went to bat for me and was able to extend my chiropractic insurance because I hadn't used it while I was seeing him under Worker's Comp.  Then I went to work.  

After thirty minutes with the two sets of twins where we discovered the lap pool was colder than normal, I spent thirty minutes with four boys - two crying, two not.  Did I mention two non-stop criers?  With real tears and boogers and everything?  One more class and the showers were cold . . . arg!  And now I have to do mid-session reports on a fried Friday!

Thankful Thursday!

Today, I'm thankful for the little things - that I didn't have to scoop snow because it had all melted before I got home from work; that I had two students swim across the pool on their backs and fronts at lessons this morning and can now move up to the next level; and that Micah is having so much fun with my new vacuum cleaner that I haven't gotten to use it yet! 

Clementine

Today's post is reblogged from "Into the deep" - a lovely story of a young girl who used to have a cleft lip palate!

Eight-year-old Clementine browses through the display of earrings. The choices are endless. She finally settles on a dangling pair that has a silver top and a pink stone bottom. As she puts them up to her ear lobes, she beams up at her father, Frederic. His heart melts, recalling that just six weeks ago, his daughter had a very different look. He returns her smile and says, “Every time you see these earrings, you’ll remember our journey and adventure.”

 

Seven months earlier, adventure was as remote from Clementine’s mind as her village is located. It’s not easy living in a village in Madagascar that is at least a three-day walk from the closest major village. In school, Clementine had heard about cities bustling with traffic and markets. She had even studied about vast oceans that stretch as far as the eye can see. But Clementine had never seen such things.

Clementine’s family lives a very simple life farming beans, rice and peanuts. Excitement and adventure are not the only things far from Clementine’s life; accessible healthcare is also beyond her reach. Born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate – two splits on her upper lip to her nose and a hole in the roof of her mouth, Clementine found eating and speaking very difficult. Local doctors explained to Frederic that the only thing that could fix Clementine’s lip and palate was a very costly surgery in a hospital far from their village.

That Clementine survived to her eighth birthday was nothing short of miraculous. Feeding cleft lip and palate babies is very difficult. Many suffer from a lack of nutrition and die. Despite her physical challenges, Clementine survived and did as well as she could in school. However, her deformity made her an outcast; especially among her peers, who often made fun of her. The teasing was difficult for Frederic to hear, but even more painful was the hopelessness.

 

"As her father I’m sad I can’t protect her from (the teasing),” shared Frederic. “We couldn’t do anything, we live so far away!”

Although the situation was bleak, a group of unlikely visitors from HeliMission cast hope. Heli Mission is a non-profit organization that delivers help to remote locations like Clementine’s village. Volunteers with the organization spotted Clementine and her bilateral cleft lip and told Frederic a hospital ship in the port city of Toamasina could help.

HeliMission volunteers worked with volunteers aboard the Africa Mercy to set an appointment for Clementine to see a surgeon. After confirming the appointment, they sent a radio message letting Clementine know when they would be transported to the ship. Riding in the helicopter was the beginning of an experience neither Clementine nor her father will soon forget.

The short helicopter ride was followed by an eight-hour bus ride from the capital city. Within 24 hours of arriving in Toamasina, Clementine’s world opened up in ways she only dreamed. For the first time she laid eyes on the blue oceans she had so often studied. She also met many others with cleft lips. She wasn’t alone.

Within two weeks of arriving, Clementine had her free surgery under the direction of Dr. Gary Parker, Africa Mercy’s chief medical officer. Afterward, Clementine began working with a speech therapist to learn how to use her newly constructed palate. Years of speaking with a hole in the roof of her mouth made it a challenge to use her new palate but Clementine worked as hard at her therapy as she does in her studies and achieved great results. Slowly she learned that all the sounds that were difficult for her to make prior to surgery were a lot easier to make now that her palate was closed.

Finally, the day came for Clementine and Frederic to return home. As they departed from the market with Clementine’s new earrings, Clementine hugged her father tightly. His courage and sacrifice in bringing her to the ship had made her new life possible. She would never forget this daddy-daughter adventure, the adventure that changed her life.

Waiting and Wondering . . .

Waiting . . . 

For worker's comp to approve the MRI on my left heel so we can discover why I am in so much pain from my tumble bumble in April!

Wondering . . .

How I got my driver's license today as the lady said to me, "You missed a lot of the letters!"

Due Date!

Today is Jessica's due date!  She and her husband are expecting their first child - and he's due today!  Jessica and I have been swimming together for two or three years and we swam together this morning - while the lifeguards all freaked out!  After all, today IS Jessica's due date and we all know how baby's show up on their due date!

Pray for Thomas

Today's post is reblogged from "girl.nurse.ship.africa.dreamcometrue".  When you read it, will you take a moment at the end and imagine Thomas' jaw in the hand of our Savior and pray for healing . . .

I’m a pediatric nurse at heart, with a few years of women’s health experience thrown in there. But there’s an old man in the corner bed who’s stolen, and broken, my heart. He’s 65 years old, and by circumstances that are out of his control he’s been on the ward for about 4 weeks now; 3 more than he’d planned on. I’m sure if you’d asked him, he would wonder if coming to the ship was the right decision, and that’s why it hurts so much to see him every day, with his head in his hands, massaging the headache that’s formed behind his eyes.

Thomas had a large mandible tumor that had been growing on the right side of his jaw for the past few years. It wasn’t a giant tumor, not like some that we’ve seen. But big enough that taking it out involved removing half of his jaw bone, and replacing it with a titanium plate. A pretty common procedure here on the Africa Mercy. Jaw bone and tumor come out, titanium plate goes in, the patient stays for 7-10 days then goes home and returns in 3 months to have a bone graft from his hip placed onto the titanium plate so that new bone can grow. That’s how it should work at least. But sometimes, wounds break down. Sometimes years and years of malnutrition effects one’s ability to heal, and sometimes, us nurses find ourselves at handover every day praying for a wound to close, and yet it gets bigger and bigger.

Thomas’s incision had opened up to the point that it would not close on it’s own. He had a hole that went all the way through his cheek, and the titanium plate that was put in just 3 1/2  weeks before, was completely exposed. I sat next to his bed the other day and talked with him about why we had to change the bandages on his face three times a day. I told him I was sorry that he’s been here so long and that his wounds weren’t healing. I told him that he would need to go back to the OR to have another surgery. He did a lot of nodding, which is culturally appropriate, and didn’t ask any questions. And then I asked him, “Thomas, are you discouraged?” and with sad eyes he raised his eyebrows. The Malagasy expression of “yes”.

Thomas is a man of few words, and mostly facial expressions. I feel that the things I try to say to him seem to fall flat. That a lot of what I say gets lost in translation, literally. What do I tell someone who has a gaping wound in his face that’s not getting better? What do I tell someone who’s come to the ship thinking he’s finally found the answer to his prayers, that his tumor will be removed, but then things don’t go how he hoped, or how we hoped. I find myself frustrated that I can’t do more for him.

Yet, some moments, I look over at his bed and, instead of his head in his hands, he’s got his large reading glasses perched on his nose with the arms of the glasses overtop of his head bandage, and he’s reading his French Bible. It is in those times, when I see him with his Bible open on his lap, that I ask the Lord to speak to him. That the Word would become life to him and encourage him like I am unable to do. That this time that he’s spent day after day, dressing change after dressing change, would not be time that has been wasted. But that it would be time where the Lord drew near to Thomas. Where Thomas heard the Lord speak to him and encourage him.

Thomas went to the operating room on Friday and they removed the exposed titanium plate, leaving him with no jaw on his right side. They also closed the hole in his cheek. As happy as I was that the wound was closed, I found myself worrying about him. I worry that the incision line will open up again like it did the first time. That the skin will breakdown and another hole will form. That without any shape to his jaw the side of his face will sink in and he’ll wonder if he was better off having the tumor in his face then having no jaw bone.

Would you pray for Thomas? That his wounds would heal. That the second surgery will work and his skin won’t breakdown as it’s already shown to be prone to do? Will you pray for a miraculous healing for him? And will you pray for my doubt? My doubt that is afraid that it won’t work. That the wound will never close. That the ship will sail away from Madagascar in June and Thomas will be left with a hole in his face wishing he’d never come.

I know that the Lord sees Thomas. That He knows his name, and that there’s a purpose in all of this. In every bandage change and in every day that’s gone by and Thomas remains in his corner bed. It’s so easy to want everything to be easy, to be quick, and to go as planned. But I’m reminded frequently that our plans are not the Lord’s; even if our plans seem good. Sometimes, I find myself asking the Lord what he’s doing. As if He’s out of line. As if He forgot “the plan”. As if I know what He should’ve done. And then I have to get myself back in line. Who am I to doubt the Lord? I don’t know how the Lord will use this time, but I can trust that He will not walk away and leave Thomas alone.

So in that I will put my hope ...

Fitia

I remember when we first started working with Mercy Ships.  Some of the pictures were so hard for me to look at.  These were people with diseases and conditions that weren't found in my world and they hurt in my in-most being to see.  Fast forward.  Now I've played with and visited and loved these people who are no longer pictures and what they have - that's life where they live and I praise God for a ship that comes and makes a difference.  

I write that to warn you - Fitia's initial pictures, reblogged from "Into the Deep" are hard for me to look at; the descriptions equally hard to read.  But praise God, He heals!

Fitia lets out a soft cry, reaching out for her mother’s hand as the pain around her chest and neck becomes more unbearable. Her parents do all they can to console their two-and-a-half year old daughter, who is lying lifeless on their bed. A soft hug, a stroke of her hair and whispers in her ear of how much they love her are all they can do. Over the last several weeks, Fitia’s parents have watched their daughter succumb to burns on her chest and neck, powerless to stop it and repeatedly blaming themselves for it.

Several weeks earlier, Fitia was as rambunctious as any normal two year old. Fitia loves people, exemplifying her Malagasy name, which means love. However, one afternoon, as her mother prepared a meal, Fitia’s rambunctious nature would lead to a tragic accident. In a split second, Fitia fell down on a pot of boiling soup, burning her chest, neck and face. In a developing country like Madagascar, where medical care is not easily accessible, Fitia’s parents tried everything they could afford – but it wasn’t enough. They were given a salted serum that made Fitia shriek in pain. Traditional healers sold them medicines that had no effect and finally suggested that Fitia’s parents spit into her wound each day. Three months later, Fitia was in agony and would not recover without specialized medical help.

Fitia’s mother prayed for a solution and at her moment of greatest despair she heard the answer to her prayers. Mercy Ships was visiting Mahajanga, a coastal city in northwestern Madagascar that was 200 kilometers away from their village. For months, Fitia’s family heard about the foreign medical workers from Mercy Ships that came in a hospital ship to Madagascar. They heard about the free miraculous surgeries taking place aboard the ship. Fitia’s mother knew that if anyone could help it would be Mercy Ships.

Courageously, Fitia’s mother made the journey to the hospital in Mahajanga where she was received by Screening Supervisor Mirjam Plomp. After listening to her story, Mirjam, who is a volunteer nurse from the Netherlands, determined Fitia’s case was complicated. Mercy Ships plastics program is normally focused on restoring functionality to individuals one year after a burn has taken place; Fitia’s burns were still very recent. There was the added hurdle that Fitia needed to be kept in an isolated sterile environment, which the ship was not accustomed to doing. Mirjam contacted the Africa Mercy to discuss Fitia’s case with hospital leaders and surgeons.

“It’s one of those cases that just breaks your heart. We have to say ‘no, we can’t help you’ to so many of the patients that come to us. But once in a while there is just this one, that catches your eye, and that you can’t send away.” For Mirjam (and the rest of the screening team), Fitia was that one.

The Mercy Ships screening team made arrangements to assess Fitia at her home. They arrived upon an overwhelming scene. They entered the home to find Fitia lying on a bed in the living room wearing only her shorts. It took less than a moment for the medically trained eyes to focus on the “monster” growing on Fitia’s chest. A thick green crusted mass covered most of Fitia’s burn wounds on her right upper chest and neck, the result of an infection breaking the skin down and forming a layer of dry skin and puss over the wound. Mirjam assessed the child’s condition. “At best, the prognosis was a burn contracture. At worst – sepsis and death.”

After working out a plan for a sterile environment, Mirjam received approval to bring Fitia and her mother to the ship. Knowing that Fitia needed immediate medical treatment, Mirjam enlisted the help of local partner Mission Aviation Fellowship. MAF is a nonprofit organization dedicated to facilitating, among many things, medical care for people who live in remote regions of Madagascar where the roads are non-existent. Pilot Josh Plett arranged for an immediate flight for the screening team as well as Fitia and her mother back to Toamasina. What would have taken days by an uncomfortable car ride on unpaved and broken roads took less than two hours by plane.

Fitia was placed in isolation on the ship to prevent the spread of infection not only to her but also and other patients. She underwent surgeries to clean the burn and was given a strong dose of antibiotics to fight the infection ravaging her body. Combined with good nutrition and the great love and care that Mercy Ships nurses are known for, Fitia’s mischievous personality very quickly came back to life.

In the months that followed, Fitia’s mother was been unable to express her gratitude to Mercy Ships and MAF for saving her daughter’s life. During the darkest moments she boldly prayed that she would be able to see Fitia grow up. It was a courageous prayer at a time when so many friends and family members said that the little girl would surely die. Thanks to the partnership between MAF and Mercy Ships, Fitia’s mother now has hope for the future that her daughter will pursue medicine and give back to others. Perhaps one day her daughter will have the same opportunity that Mirjam did where that one case touches her heart and she can save a life.

Mirjam shares that the Fitias of the world make her job the best in the world. “What a blessing to be able to work together with MAF to make these things possible.”