I've been a nurse for close to 5 years now, and in the past month, I've come to a realization. I like being a nurse…I REALLY like being a nurse. I mean, from the day I entered college, I had my little list of reasons why I wanted to be a nurse; and the list was true. I enjoyed my work, and being a nurse has shaped my very person. But I can't always say that I was gut-level sure that I loved being a nurse.
One of God's little gifts to me lately has been finding this deep joy in what I'm doing. It may be ridiculous and a bit shameful to admit that I always said that I enjoyed taking care of people, but have never experienced the joy of doing so like I have this past month. I've been doing a lot of pediatric wound-care (which I'm sure seems, to most of you, like something only Dr. Frankenstein could enjoy) over the past several weeks, and it has been great taking care of these kids and being invested in their lives. So this month's update is dedicated to just two of them.
CHAKA
There is something about a hard-earned smile that just makes your day. And when you are trying to elicit that smile from a sick kid, hard-earned is an understatement. I've been after Chaka's smile for a couple weeks now.
Chaka came at a bad moment for me. I was at the wedding of two of our nurses when the pediatric team called me to the hospital to look at him. I'll admit to grumpily leaving the wedding and heading into the hospital. But as soon as I saw him, I was moved with pity. Each of his ten fingers, and both of his feet to his ankles, were completely black and dead. As the family told the story of how he had gotten sick 12 days earlier and then in the hospital his hands and feet started turning black, my heart despaired of what would become of this little, one year-old boy. They had left the other hospital, coming to us as their last hope. It was either us, or they would take him home to the village to die. (Which may sound like a pat on the back for us, but really, we all felt like it was a horrible responsibility to have thrown in our laps.)
Working with Brett, Dan, and Saskia, we came to the conclusion that the problem was caused as a secondary effect of either malaria or a severe bacterial infection that caused his body to abnormally form blood clots in his hands and feet, cutting off the blood supply to those areas, and eventually killing them. The ONLY positive in the situation was that because it was a secondary effect of a disease that had been treated and was not being caused directly by an infection, it wasn't necessary to operate right away.
Instead we were able to wait for the arrival of a surgeon who came the first week of January. During the week, Dr. Steve Myers was able to amputate his fingers, but was able to keep the first knuckle of all the fingers and almost the whole thumb on both hands. This means that he should still be able to do a great deal with his hands. His feet, however, were very bad, and we were forced to do his amputations below the knee on both legs.
Luckily, both Brett and I know people who work with prosthetics and should be able to help us out with finding prosthetic lower legs and feet for him.
Chaka was a fussy, miserable kid from the day he arrived; he mostly just cried, slept, or lied listlessly in his mother's arms. His parents were stoic, like the typical Malian parent. Every time I passed by, I would always say "Chaka, Chaka" and try to get him to look at him and stop crying. He usually just cried harder (which I'm sure his mom appreciated). He would occasionally allow me to hold him, but not for long. But the crying got worse the day after his surgery. Finally, three days after surgery, his mom looked like she was falling to pieces. He had been crying all night, and in addition to the fatigue, I'm sure she was grappling with the new reality of her little boy's much-altered body.
We changed his pain medication, and out of pity for his mother, I started picking him up and walking around with him. If you kept moving, he'd stay calm, so I decided the boy needed some toys. I pulled out a toy that had big, wooden beads that move around on big twisted wires. I flicked the beads around, and much to my surprise he got very calm. His eyes followed every movement of those colorful beads as I moved them around on the wires.
A full 10 minutes later, he reached out his little disfigured hand, resting his palm on a round, yellow bead. Nothing earth-shattering, but a smile broke out on his mom's face. Her eyes lit up and her face shed a deep weariness. His hand quivered there on the bead for a couple seconds and then he pulled it back. It took him another minute to reach out and try again. This time he made little pushing movements with his hand, in an effort to move the bead up on the wire.
Then he decided he wanted the whole thing closer to him, so he reached out both hands and pulled on the wire. His mom looked like she might cry with joy.
This morning, I came in after being away for the weekend. I saw Chaka sitting calmly with his mother, so I walked up to him, saying "Chaka, Chaka" and reached out and tickled his neck. To my great surprise, he smiled and even started to laugh. My day was made.
Continue to pray for Chaka. He was a long road ahead of him. I'm so happy to see him better and happier, but his life will not be easy. We will be here to help him as much as we can, but ultimately the Lord preserved his life, and it will have to be the Lord who gives him the strength and courage to thrive in this life despite the obstacles.
Medical personnel are extremely caring people, but we also happen to be sickly fascinated with very strange, bodily things. Extreme and abnormal pathology calls to us irresistibly. We have great abnormal pathology here in Mali. So when someone says to me, for example, "You've got to go check out what's in Brett's office," compassion isn't my first response, but rather an excited desire to see what crazy thing has come in now. This may also explain why I often refer to people by their diagnosis (a common practice); and so, for several days, I referred to Salif as "femur-boy."
Two years prior to coming to our hospital, Salif was in an accident which broke his femur (the big bone in your leg that makes up your thigh). He went to the hospital where they casted the leg. His femur healed and he began to walk again… with just one small problem—they left a piece of his femur sticking through his skin! (That, and they had forbidden him to bend his knee, so he lost all mobility in that joint!) So for over two years, he had an open wound that had a large piece of bone sticking out of it. The wound was chronically infected, and the smell was always wafting off the wound, just barely contained by a dressing and his pants. Because of the accident and the subsequent wound, he had to drop out of school.
With the visiting surgeon, we were able to remove the dead fragment of bone and close the wound. Salif is still at the hospital, healing from all the surgery, but it seems like the closure of that wound will succeed, and he will have a new lease on life.
In the weeks leading up to his surgery, I got to know Salif, as he came each day so I could do his dressing. But during his stay at the hospital, I've had the joy of getting to know him as the funny kid he really is. When I get a free minute, I enjoy passing by his room to hang out a bit.
At one point right after his initial surgery, I gave illustrated children's books to Salif's two roommates—both significantly younger boys who also had surgery. He found me a bit later and asked if he, too, could have a book. So I caved and gave him one, but insisted that he read the book to the other two boys. After reading the books, he began to ask many questions about my faith. I had the joy of responding. Fortunately, the dad of one of his roommates is also a mature Christian and they continued the conversation over the next several days.
After his next surgery, Salif woke up quoting lines from the Jesus movie that shows in the patient waiting room every morning (he watches most mornings). He would go on and on about how much he loved that "long-haired Jesus" and how he liked Christians. I figured this to be nothing more than an attempt to butter me up, until one morning when he told me that he had asked his father for permission to convert. Surprisingly, his dad gave him permission. (They are a Muslim family.)
Salif is still at the hospital but should be going home soon. He has not yet made a decision to follow the Lord, but continues to talk about his desire to become a Christian. Pray for his complete healing and for a true understanding of what it means to follow Jesus.
(special thanks to Sara Donaldson for the pictures found in this post)
You always manage to touch my heart.
ReplyDeleteTerianne