Much to my embarrassment, I am a tenderfoot. My mom seems to remind me of it every time I sneak in a complaint about my newest blister after walking short distances. I used to take pride in the fact that the constant wearing of my soccer cleats and basketball sneakers made me the worst pedicure client ever. Things have changed. As I've gotten older I have come to the realization that I have tiptoed around life quite a bit. I began always looking ahead, trying to anticipate what hurdles would cause me trouble, which turns or breaks in the road would be the safest. I began strategically planning out the next steps of my life and whenever there was a rock in my shoe I would pull over, complain, and hesitate before I continued on my way.
Just last week I went to one of the nearby orphanages with a group from the ship. Most of the children were school age - about 7 to 16 years old - with a few older and younger. They greeted us with skeptical smiles and eventually welcomed us into their tight knit community. It was clear to see that these children looked out for one another. There was this sense of togetherness only they understood. One of the day workers who spoke Kituba, the local language, led the group in a story/discussion. Then we got together and had a little craft time. When some of the children had their fill of sitting around, a few of us found our way to the "soccer field/basketball court" aka the dirt area.
The children had no trouble running in flip flops - I decided it's a talent only innocent children are able to master - a talent I used to possess. After countless failed attempts, I succumbed to the barefoot approach. If these kids could do it, surely I could too. I did my best to dodge the jagged rocks and random pieces of wire and glass that somehow found their way onto the "playing field." I was pleasantly surprised when I got back to the ship and washed my feet off - only dust and dirt filled the drain - no blisters or cuts were revealed.
I didn't ever think I'd get the chance to play soccer with children in Pointe-Noire, Congo - that turn was NEVER on my radar. It's a clear indication that I have very little control over where I'm headed; I'm beginning to come to terms with that realization. I've learned that sometimes I have to just walk with rocks in my shoes - and be happy that I have shoes. I'll probably always be a tenderfoot, but perhaps I'll begin to shy away from tiptoeing around.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Relentless Strength
This past Sunday morning I had an internal battle when my alarm went off. The shuttle that was going to Our Lady of Assumption Cathedral was set to leave around 9:15am but my bed seemed as though it turned into quicksand and I simply could not escape. I had this sense of guilt wash over me, but apparently it wasn't strong enough to pull me up. It was then however, that I remembered there was going to be a Ward Service at 10:30am. Now that the hospital is up and running, each week the chaplaincy department puts together a service for the patients (and crew) to participate in while they're on the ship. I decided to scope it out since I failed to catch the mass earlier. It was without a doubt another unforgettable experience on board this amazing vessel.
I walked down to the hospital and saw rows of chairs lined up throughout the wards. Bandaged patients were limping down the hallway, inching their way into the next ward where the service was going to be held. The nurses that were working that morning helped direct the able patients to the chairs while a few stayed in bed - but still within earshot. A young girl, who I hadn't yet met, caught my eye and pointed to a stool next to her bed. Through smiles and hand motions we agreed that I'd park myself beside her as she laid in bed patiently waiting for the service to start.
We were sitting towards the back of one of the wards so I couldn't see the readers, translator, or the drummers, but it didn't take me very long to understand that was not an issue at all. As soon as the service began, through my glossy eyes, I had a perfect view...
To my far right was a small child who, I was told cried whenever anybody came close by. Being a peds nurse, I knew enough to not rock the boat, and was content when I noticed her dad was in her line of vision and continually gave her reassuring looks as he followed along with the service. One of the other off duty nurses was much braver than I was and slowly inched her way closer to the child throughout the service. It was so fun to glance over and find she had successfully gotten a step closer...and then closer...still no crying...and by the end they were holding hands. The child of course remained stoic but the smile that crept over her fathers face was quite a sight.
I wasn't entirely sure what had brought the young girl I was sitting next to into the hospital, but I noticed her torso was all bandaged up. She wasn't able to bring her hands together, because of decreased range of motion, so once the clapping and singing began - we shared the task. Clapping is one of those milestones we get so much joy from when babies master it. It seems like such a thoughtless and automatic thing to do once the music starts rolling, yet this child was limited to one handed tapping. My heart swelled when she allowed me sneak my hand on the bed under hers. She probably was laughing in her head at my inability to keep the rhythm but she was kind enough to let it slide.
To my left I saw two of my patients I had taken care of on Friday. Both were close to my age but had just gone through surgery earlier in the week. It was so fun to watch them - one with his lip and chin covered in steri strips, the other with a bandage on his neck, sutures lining his face, and NG tube hanging from his nose - totally engrossed in the service. They were clapping and singing, nodding in agreement with what was being spoken. There is no doubt in my mind, these men are going to be just fine when they walk off the gangway and back into the world that used to shun them.
The most heart wrenching sight however, was directly in front of me - I simply couldn't escape it. I'm not a crier, at least not in front of people, but I had to bite my lip more than once to keep it from quivering during that time of worship. I would love to say I just had some dust in my eye, or try to chalk it up to the "new away from home environment," but I'm pretty sure the Guy upstairs was trying to let me know He was present.
In front of me sat two women - both mothers of young children who had been looked after in D Ward. Both exhausted from sleepless nights as they made sure their child continued to breathe. Both just beginning a journey neither expected to face when they brought their child into this world. One mother held her son who had just received a life saving surgery during the week to remove a tumor from his oral cavity. It had grown so much that it was blocking his airway and breathing had become a tiring task. I have never seen retractions as impressive as the ones he experienced. When I first met him he could barely keep his eyes open, as he was using all his strength to pull air in and push it out of his little body again. There wasn't really a word that could adequately describe his "noisy breathing," it was like nothing I had witnessed. But when he went quiet, the still in the air made all of us hold our breath, until he startled himself and struggled to continue to inhale. I honestly believe his surgery could not have waited another day. And there he sat perched on his mothers lap - eyes wide open, breathing easy for the first time in months. He was quickly learning how to become the wiggle worm healthy little boys are supposed to be. And there sat his mother - eyes closed clapping the loudest to the music - rejoicing and worshiping a wonderful God. She just had this committed faith that was amazing to watch pour out.
My eyes wandered a couple feet over and there stood another mother with her young baby wrapped on her back. Just two days earlier, she had learned that there was nothing Mercy Ships could do for her child. Her child also had a large tumor in her mouth that seemed to progressively worsen. Her battle was quite similar to the other child's in that each breath in was just as difficult as it was to push out. Her body often sat limp against her mother, as she couldn't lay down because the tumor would push against her airway and breathing would be impossible. Over the weekend the nurses on the ward worked tirelessly to keep her comfortable, wanting so bad to free her from the pain she endured. And there was her mother, bouncing her child in her Sunday dress, clapping along with the music. She wasn't angry or pleading with the Lord, but instead expressed her love for Him. There was this trust in her eyes that was simply overwhelming.
Two extremes sitting side by side, each with a strength that made me wipe that dust from my eyes.
Sadly, one child's journey took a turn none of us were quite ready for - a wonderful nurse was chosen to be with her during that time. Take a look at her story http://debsheartinafrica.blogspot.com.
I walked down to the hospital and saw rows of chairs lined up throughout the wards. Bandaged patients were limping down the hallway, inching their way into the next ward where the service was going to be held. The nurses that were working that morning helped direct the able patients to the chairs while a few stayed in bed - but still within earshot. A young girl, who I hadn't yet met, caught my eye and pointed to a stool next to her bed. Through smiles and hand motions we agreed that I'd park myself beside her as she laid in bed patiently waiting for the service to start.
We were sitting towards the back of one of the wards so I couldn't see the readers, translator, or the drummers, but it didn't take me very long to understand that was not an issue at all. As soon as the service began, through my glossy eyes, I had a perfect view...
To my far right was a small child who, I was told cried whenever anybody came close by. Being a peds nurse, I knew enough to not rock the boat, and was content when I noticed her dad was in her line of vision and continually gave her reassuring looks as he followed along with the service. One of the other off duty nurses was much braver than I was and slowly inched her way closer to the child throughout the service. It was so fun to glance over and find she had successfully gotten a step closer...and then closer...still no crying...and by the end they were holding hands. The child of course remained stoic but the smile that crept over her fathers face was quite a sight.
I wasn't entirely sure what had brought the young girl I was sitting next to into the hospital, but I noticed her torso was all bandaged up. She wasn't able to bring her hands together, because of decreased range of motion, so once the clapping and singing began - we shared the task. Clapping is one of those milestones we get so much joy from when babies master it. It seems like such a thoughtless and automatic thing to do once the music starts rolling, yet this child was limited to one handed tapping. My heart swelled when she allowed me sneak my hand on the bed under hers. She probably was laughing in her head at my inability to keep the rhythm but she was kind enough to let it slide.
To my left I saw two of my patients I had taken care of on Friday. Both were close to my age but had just gone through surgery earlier in the week. It was so fun to watch them - one with his lip and chin covered in steri strips, the other with a bandage on his neck, sutures lining his face, and NG tube hanging from his nose - totally engrossed in the service. They were clapping and singing, nodding in agreement with what was being spoken. There is no doubt in my mind, these men are going to be just fine when they walk off the gangway and back into the world that used to shun them.
The most heart wrenching sight however, was directly in front of me - I simply couldn't escape it. I'm not a crier, at least not in front of people, but I had to bite my lip more than once to keep it from quivering during that time of worship. I would love to say I just had some dust in my eye, or try to chalk it up to the "new away from home environment," but I'm pretty sure the Guy upstairs was trying to let me know He was present.
In front of me sat two women - both mothers of young children who had been looked after in D Ward. Both exhausted from sleepless nights as they made sure their child continued to breathe. Both just beginning a journey neither expected to face when they brought their child into this world. One mother held her son who had just received a life saving surgery during the week to remove a tumor from his oral cavity. It had grown so much that it was blocking his airway and breathing had become a tiring task. I have never seen retractions as impressive as the ones he experienced. When I first met him he could barely keep his eyes open, as he was using all his strength to pull air in and push it out of his little body again. There wasn't really a word that could adequately describe his "noisy breathing," it was like nothing I had witnessed. But when he went quiet, the still in the air made all of us hold our breath, until he startled himself and struggled to continue to inhale. I honestly believe his surgery could not have waited another day. And there he sat perched on his mothers lap - eyes wide open, breathing easy for the first time in months. He was quickly learning how to become the wiggle worm healthy little boys are supposed to be. And there sat his mother - eyes closed clapping the loudest to the music - rejoicing and worshiping a wonderful God. She just had this committed faith that was amazing to watch pour out.
My eyes wandered a couple feet over and there stood another mother with her young baby wrapped on her back. Just two days earlier, she had learned that there was nothing Mercy Ships could do for her child. Her child also had a large tumor in her mouth that seemed to progressively worsen. Her battle was quite similar to the other child's in that each breath in was just as difficult as it was to push out. Her body often sat limp against her mother, as she couldn't lay down because the tumor would push against her airway and breathing would be impossible. Over the weekend the nurses on the ward worked tirelessly to keep her comfortable, wanting so bad to free her from the pain she endured. And there was her mother, bouncing her child in her Sunday dress, clapping along with the music. She wasn't angry or pleading with the Lord, but instead expressed her love for Him. There was this trust in her eyes that was simply overwhelming.
Two extremes sitting side by side, each with a strength that made me wipe that dust from my eyes.
Sadly, one child's journey took a turn none of us were quite ready for - a wonderful nurse was chosen to be with her during that time. Take a look at her story http://debsheartinafrica.blogspot.com.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Photo Time
Peanut Butter Sandwich Making Night - The Night Before Screening Day
He Never Leaves His Post - I Like To Call Him Manny The Mannequin
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Our Gorge Adventure: Negotiating is Key
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The View
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Adventure Time
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We Survived!
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Different Worlds
I've made it past the two week mark on board the Africa Mercy - I like to think that's success all on its own. It has been quite a transition to say the least. Living on a ship with more than 300 people at a time is a bit different than my one bedroom apartment life that I was cruising through for the past year and a half. Community meals, community meetings, community prayers, community...like I said, just different.
Orientation meetings, screening day, and just finding my way around the ship filled up the first week. This second week I was able to get my first taste of patient care on D Ward and the ICU. Then a group of us rounded out the week with a trip off ship to the "Gorge." I feel as though I'm steadily finding my way and each day I am more convinced that this was the right decision. I'm building lasting relationships, learning about new cultures, acquiring new tastes, and developing a new sense of self I never thought I'd have.
Nursing here on the ship is far from what I am used to back home in the States. Over the last couple of years I've had the privilege of working in a handful of different hospitals which means I've worked with a variety of patients. Although this is a blanket statement, I have decided that as a whole, individuals at home - including me - can learn a bit from some of the patients I've met on board. Just the other day I was taking care of a patient who was in his early 30's. He had surgery to remove a cyst like tumor from his head the day before and was recovering quicker than I had anticipated. If I were home, the patient would most likely still be on bedrest with scheduled IV pain meds - which would be requested right on the dot. This patient, however, reminded me how different things are here. Not once did he complain, the scheduled pain med was Tylenol, and he was eating and drinking - no IV access, and walking around.
Before I walk away from a patient, I always ask "Can I get you anything?" Or "Do you need anything right now?" The response I'm used to hearing goes something like this, "Some more water, pain meds, and maybe another pillow" (in addition to the four the patient already has). And there's usually that twinge of entitlement in their voice that adds a nice ring to the countless hotel requests. So back to Africa, before I walked away from my patient, with the help of a translator I asked him, "Can I get you anything right now?" He looked at me dumbfounded and replied, "Like what?" I returned the confused look and couldn't quite come up with any words. After a brief stuttering episode, I finally was able to form a sentence. I said, "Are you comfortable right now, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" I received a slightly less confused look - like I had only 3 heads instead of 10 - and was told, "No, I'm fine" with a thumbs up.
I walked away in awe. I'm not in the United States anymore...
This past Saturday, a group of us went for a real off ship adventure. Eleven of us wandered out of the port in search of a taxi bus that would take us to the "Gorge." Apparently it was about 45 minutes away and was a bit remote so we had to make sure the taxi driver understood we wanted a ride back to the ship as well. So we get to the area where all the taxi's congregate and manage to flag down a taxi bus - thankfully we had enough people to fill it so we didn't have to separate the group at all. I stood back as I watched a couple people trying their hardest to negotiate prices (none of us were fluent in French). Suddenly a day worker (a Congolese worker from the area that works on the ship during the day) appeared and helped our struggling group out. We gave him quite the cheer when we saw him so I think he was more than happy to help us translate. Once the driver agreed to take us, we piled into the taxi and put our trust in his hands.
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The drive was rather intriguing, we sped by fully developed buildings which turned into half finished cement houses followed by village areas consisting of shacks. The curious looks we received from the people who lived in these homes were probably quite similar to the ones on our faces as we gazed out the windows.
After a toll and a random stop, we found our way to the Gorge. For the first time since I've been here, I inhaled a breath of fresh air. It was delightful. We made our way through the trail and somehow managed to hike our way to the beach. We slipped our toes into the sand, enjoyed a nice lunch and took in the familiar soothing view of the ocean.
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Once we had our fill we headed back to our starting point - hoping the taxi would return at 4pm as we had previously arranged. Well, 4pm came and went...but we like to joke and say we are in Africa time - so we decided to give him a little while longer before we panicked about being stranded. I mean, we didn't really have much choice anyway. Shortly after, we heard the distant sound of a car horn - our ride was here!!! Another joyous cheer rang out among our group. The ride back to the port was just as eye-opening as it was on the way to the Gorge.
It's hard to wrap my head around everything - I'm only a passerby and I know very little about the Congolese way of life. But I do know what life is like for me back home - I know what it's like to have a solid roof over my head. I know what it's like to have three full meals a day with snacks that are bad for you in between. I know what's it like to go to work and get a paycheck every week. What is it like to be unaware of these privileges? If it's never been an option, then are you missing out? I've decided that there is a fine line between showing sympathy versus simply understanding the culture that I am surrounded by. It's not necessary to feel sorry for somebody for something that is simply not part of their culture. Instead, I have learned that showing others kindness and love and providing them with a sense of dignity is what makes the difference. Now it's time to do just that.
Orientation meetings, screening day, and just finding my way around the ship filled up the first week. This second week I was able to get my first taste of patient care on D Ward and the ICU. Then a group of us rounded out the week with a trip off ship to the "Gorge." I feel as though I'm steadily finding my way and each day I am more convinced that this was the right decision. I'm building lasting relationships, learning about new cultures, acquiring new tastes, and developing a new sense of self I never thought I'd have.
Before I walk away from a patient, I always ask "Can I get you anything?" Or "Do you need anything right now?" The response I'm used to hearing goes something like this, "Some more water, pain meds, and maybe another pillow" (in addition to the four the patient already has). And there's usually that twinge of entitlement in their voice that adds a nice ring to the countless hotel requests. So back to Africa, before I walked away from my patient, with the help of a translator I asked him, "Can I get you anything right now?" He looked at me dumbfounded and replied, "Like what?" I returned the confused look and couldn't quite come up with any words. After a brief stuttering episode, I finally was able to form a sentence. I said, "Are you comfortable right now, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" I received a slightly less confused look - like I had only 3 heads instead of 10 - and was told, "No, I'm fine" with a thumbs up.
I walked away in awe. I'm not in the United States anymore...
This past Saturday, a group of us went for a real off ship adventure. Eleven of us wandered out of the port in search of a taxi bus that would take us to the "Gorge." Apparently it was about 45 minutes away and was a bit remote so we had to make sure the taxi driver understood we wanted a ride back to the ship as well. So we get to the area where all the taxi's congregate and manage to flag down a taxi bus - thankfully we had enough people to fill it so we didn't have to separate the group at all. I stood back as I watched a couple people trying their hardest to negotiate prices (none of us were fluent in French). Suddenly a day worker (a Congolese worker from the area that works on the ship during the day) appeared and helped our struggling group out. We gave him quite the cheer when we saw him so I think he was more than happy to help us translate. Once the driver agreed to take us, we piled into the taxi and put our trust in his hands.
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After a toll and a random stop, we found our way to the Gorge. For the first time since I've been here, I inhaled a breath of fresh air. It was delightful. We made our way through the trail and somehow managed to hike our way to the beach. We slipped our toes into the sand, enjoyed a nice lunch and took in the familiar soothing view of the ocean.
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It's hard to wrap my head around everything - I'm only a passerby and I know very little about the Congolese way of life. But I do know what life is like for me back home - I know what it's like to have a solid roof over my head. I know what it's like to have three full meals a day with snacks that are bad for you in between. I know what's it like to go to work and get a paycheck every week. What is it like to be unaware of these privileges? If it's never been an option, then are you missing out? I've decided that there is a fine line between showing sympathy versus simply understanding the culture that I am surrounded by. It's not necessary to feel sorry for somebody for something that is simply not part of their culture. Instead, I have learned that showing others kindness and love and providing them with a sense of dignity is what makes the difference. Now it's time to do just that.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
D Ward and the ICU
My daily commute to work here on the ship is about 5 minutes - and that's if I walk at a snails pace down the hall, down one flight of stairs, and through the doorway. It's the closest commute I've ever had, and probably will ever have. I will absolutely enjoy it while it lasts. I have to admit, I am quite impressed with the hospital on Deck 3. It is fairly well equipped with monitors and vents, papers are organized accordingly, and patient beds are neatly made ready to be of use. I will be working in "D Ward" as well as the "ICU" when needed. D Ward is where all the maxillo-facial patients will go before and after their surgeries. The cleft lips and palates, the facial tumors, encephaloceles, among others, will most likely be filling up these bed spaces. Thankfully, there are a bunch of adult and pediatric icu nurses here on board, which makes me feel a bit more comfortable. And it seems to be a good mix of return volunteers and newbies (like me) so I think it will be a pretty neat experience.
Here's a tiny preview of the wards I'll be working on for the next few months - I was able to sneak a few pictures in before any patients showed up...
I almost feel spoiled - we have legit trash cans, biohazard bins, and sharps containers! And not only are there isolation gowns - there are isolation rooms! Look - Steph, Kara, Tom, Sofia, Sarah, Autumn, Jen, and Nate - No TB being blown via fan into the ICU on Mercy Ships hahaha...
I realize this is the start of the field service - but look how organized one of the "Omni cells" is!
Hopefully this won't get used too much, but at least it's available :)
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