Blog 3

When it rains here, it pours.  Literally. It rains so hard I seriously consider at least 1 time during each storm that the roof will come crashing down.  The thunder cracks so close and so loud it feels like it is in the same room and the lightening lights up the sky in such a way that if you weren't worried about the caving in roof, your ear drums being shot by the thunder, or the possibility of death by electrocution, I'm sure you would be awe inspired.

I'm finding it really hard to write these blog posts.  I have a new and increasing admiration for bloggers and people with the gift of written communication.  I wrote an entire post the other day and yet life and emotions are happening and changing everyday that it is extremely hard to keep up with them.  The post that was written the other day talked about the difficulties of nursing in a 3rd world mission hospital... Lack of supplies... Need for more training and staff... Blah bah blah... Just your typical 3rd world hospital blog post I suppose.  I had finished it and was  struggling with how to put pictures on the blog and stressing myself over the fact that there were a million better things to be doing with my time than watching the internet load and growing increasingly frustrated with how painfully slow it was mixed with my lack of technological knowledge and skill when I just ditched it all and went back to the ER.

It is 2 am however and I am wide awake listening to the night noises which closely resembles a "sounds of the African rain forest" sound track with a few howling dogs and a drum in the background- so figured I would try my luck at finishing a post.

It is impossible to describe the intricacies and roots of a culture where death is such a common part of life, where

children are sometimes deemed not worth the financial cost and/or time of treatment by the parents and nurses alike, where families are accustomed to facing a decision to treat one child at the risk of taking away resources from the other children at home.  I could live here a thousand years and perhaps not even scratch the surface, but with time, little by little, small glimpses of understanding are given to us.  Insight begins to bud, judgement begins to fade away and humbleness sneaks in and grants you grace for a group of people that are forced to face decisions, make sacrifices and experience loss in a way so foreign and unique to us in the western world that we can't possibly understand.  The ethical struggles here are so detailed and extensive and I am sure there are amazing books written about all of it explaining everything... But to experience it first hand and care about the people as unique individuals and friends, can often prove to be quite the challenge and perhaps not as clear cut as it would appear from an outside standpoint. The other day a small child passed away from severe malaria.  In the hour before her death we did everything possible for her with the resources available.  When her heart stopped we continued to fight for her life with CPR, meds and bagging.  Normally at a regular government hospital here in Congo, unless the family paid up front for all treatment she would not even receive the basic care, much less a team of people giving her everything possible.  While talking to the dad after and expressing my condolences he simply said (in French)  "it is life in Africa, but you did all you could, you did so many things, thank you."  In a time where after seeing this scenario time after time, day after day, week after week, and watching death after death, it is often too easy to get discouraged, wonder why we do any of it, question if ignorance really is better than this pain, this dad's statement really made an impression on me.  Maybe we were not able to save this child's life, but in fighting for her, in caring, in doing all we could, a value was placed on her life and the father recognized that.  I thought  back to all the children that have passed away these last few months and I had a vision of them in heaven already, but watching us fight for their life, and realizing that just this in itself makes everything worth the fight. The value in playing a role to place meaning on someone's life is immeasurable.

Sometimes it is too easy to fill your mind with the negative because the feeling of pain and frustration here is often so much louder then anything else.  I could go on and on about different children like this little girl that are brought in just a little too late, too sick and too advanced in their disease process that they don't make it.  In a hospital back home, successes are generally the standard and so not celebrated as much- but here in a place where treatment is scarce, medicines are always out, staff are often poorly educated and the patients come in so late into the disease and so close to death, successes are actually quite amazing and happen countless times.  There are so many patients that come in knocking on deaths door and yet because of the meds and treatment we do have, mixed with their superhero like strength and fight the people have here, they survive and are given another shot at life.  Children come in from an outside village, being held by their parents on motor taxis and seizing from blood sugars so low they don't even read on our machines, hematocrits of 10 (for those non medical that is very very low and extremely anemic), their blood streams just swarming with malaria parasites, fevers of 40 degrees C (very very hot) and so acidotic they would be intubated in a heartbeat back home, and yet with fast action of iv placement, glucose, malaria meds, blood transfusions, fever control, oxygen and fluid boluses, they can walk out of the hospital in a few days.  Kids come in, completely altered, in comas from meningitis or malaria and after treatment, supportive care, time and a lot of prayers, they start to wake up, move, gain strength and can leave the hospital a healthy child.  The sadness that is seen and experienced is immense and can churn your stomach and hurt your heart incredibly, but the amazing successes are equally awe inspiring and I am finding that one needs to learn to focus on these for emotional preservation.  It is like the African thunder storm- so loud, often destructive and fear causing, but if you put your fears aside for a moment, face the rain head on and witness the African sky go from pitch black to brilliantly lighting up the African jungle and river, it is indescribably beautiful.

Blog 2

         

Blog 2

I am starting to love cold showers, crispy clean clothes right off the line, laughing cow cheese (oddly enough the only form of cheese to make it to northern Congo), jempy (a cheap knock off Nutella sort of spread) and bike rides to work where I dodge street goats, high five kids and say bonjour and mbote more than I can count.  I love seeing these amazing patients get better against all odds, I love the nurses at this hospital, the potential they have and the willingness to learn despite very little training or nursing instruction and difficult work situations, and I am truly inspired by the smallgroup of missionaries that have sacrificed all they could have back home in order to help the people here in whatever way they can.  I never tire of how beautiful it is here, the river right along the road on the way to the hospital, the beauty in the simplicity of a mud house, how the children respond with nothing but pure happiness to a few acts of kindness or silliness, and how when I go running I am accompanied at random times by a group of giggling and smiling kids that despite often having worked all day will run as much as they can just for fun.  I love the Aka Villagers, going on forest walks with them and how excited they are to share their knowledge of the forest they call home.  I love that a typical sat night here can be camping with the Akas, teaching them to roast marsh mellows and showing an Aka Coco (grandma) who has had a little too much to drink how to fist pump to the song "Don't  Stop Believing" as she tries to mimic all my English words. I really love my bike basket.
 

I hate suffering, hunger, lack of accessible or effective education, and lack of hospital supplies.  I hate that the nurses have to reuse supplies we would never reuse back home because the patients or the hospital can't afford to buy more, I hate that if the hospital runs out of things like certain meds or IV catheters the family has to run into town to a sketchy pharmacy to buy one and run back in order to get their loved one the treatment they need. (Talk about pressure to start an IV!) It kills me that somedays I am so busy and there are so many sick people and no other nurses that I am just not able to give the type of care that everyone deserves.  I hate that some of my nurse friends live in fear
danger or being forced to return to the DRC due to discrimination, bullying and corruptness.  I really HATE Mosquitos.... I already thought they were terrible little creatures and now seeing first hand the rampant disease they cause only accentuates my dislike. I hate that sickness, pain and death from malaria are so common here it almost becomes an expected part of life.

My heart is just broken by the fact that my friend Amitee (the boy I talked about in my 1st blog and how he was making a remarkable recovery) died on a Monday morning because he aspirated over the weekend and the nurses didn't know to inform the doctors or know how to appropriately assess/treat respiratory distress.  It was hard to accept that no matter what we did that morning, with the resources there is available, it was just too late.  The other day I saw a grandma take her small grandchild that had just passed away and lovingly wrap the body on her back and carry him away from the hospital
with mental strength that could probably move mountains.  It would be hard to describe the emotions I had when I first realized that when patients die the family carries them out of the hospital in a wheelbarrow sort of apparatus as most people do not have vehicles.  I remember standing by the door of the ER watching someone push the wheelbarrow towards me saying to myself... "Tell me that's not what they are going use."  I hate that sometimes the parents wait so long to bring their children into the hospital because they choose to rely on other methods first that when they do arrive the kids are so advanced in the disease process they often pass away despite all of the hospitals efforts.

The other day I was trying to describe my wildly conflicting emotions here.  Somedays you wake up just loving Africa, the people, the work that you are doing and the patients you get to meet.  Somedays I ride my bike to the hospital filled with smiles, laughs and waves.  The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and everyone gets a smiley Mbote from the Mondeli. Other days I wake up just feeling frustrated at the government, injustice, discrimination, lack of supplies because of corruptness, and the work that needs to be done because the people here in power can't take responsibility for their own.  Rides to work on these days are a little less wavey and Miss Impfondo like and a little more serious.  I curse the heat for being so relentless while I'm pouring with sweat, the chickens are all in my way and I want to give the bird to every policeman and government official that calls me a Mondeli.

There are many challenges here but there are also so many successes, inspirations and each and every sick patient that we fight for is a reason to stay.   The other day was such a great day.  I had taken the day off of work and sat underneath a tree outside the hospital finishing a few little projects I have been working on.  A patient named "double" who is a diabetic with no family and only 1 leg came and sat with me, we were then joined by another patients mom and a deaf Congolese women.  We sat
in the grass, listened to country music and had a wildly comical conversation with French, Lingala,
African sign language and bit of charades.  It is times like this where you are allowed to take a step
back and see the absolute gems that are surrounding every difficult situation and obstacle.  The
amazing thing about this place is the genuine beauty that is lying in the midst of so many challenges.  The people are real, the strength is incredible and the beauty in all of this is actually quite breath taking.

                   
                                                                       

First Blog Post

I have no idea how to start a blog.

I wish I had a great opening life changing tear jerker but I'm seriously coming up blank.  

There is so much I would like to say but I wish I could sit down with each and every one of you and just have a real conversation, telling you about the last few months that I have been in Africa.  Telling you some great stories that I know you would love.  Letting you know how I thought of you, how you helped me with your encouragement, how you impacted me, how you made me laugh, how blessed I am to have met you or how much I miss you.  We could talk about the amazing moments I have had where I find myself overwhelmed with love for these amazing people and their incredible strength and endurance, appreciation, and just pure happiness to be me and be where I am right now on this wild adventure.  I could also tell you about all frustrating moments experiencing "african time" and how that means anything but time, learning that there is never an appliance, vehicle, battery, bike tire, phone, computer, camera, plane, stove, or road that doesn't seems to break or cease to function at every pivotal moment when you need it.... seriously....everyday, every situation.  I have forgotten about the existence of a smooth, problem free, ridiculous situation free journey.  I could tell you about the times when I feel like such an outsider, being called a "mondeli" (white person) and having to defend the fact that I am not a millionaire and won't pay the bribe they think is no problem for me but I could also tell you about the times when I am sitting on the dirt floor of a hut in a pigmy village holding a small malnourished child that is just happy as can be and smiling at me while the village moms sing a beautiful tribal song, and I feel completely at home and can't imagine ever being anywhere else.  I could talk about the patients and families I have met and I wouldn't have to explain how much I have fallen in love with some of them, you would be able to tell by my stories, laughs and smile on my face, and I also wouldn't have to describe to you the pain that I have felt because of their suffering, the injustice they have experienced or the pain they have endured, tears could say all of that.  

Nadine and I (love and miss her so much)

         If I could rewind for a second and give a brief breakdown of my first 4 months in Africa on the Mercy Ship it would go something like this:  hospital ship, ward dance parties, beautiful faces revealed with removal of massive tumors, great friendships, amazing patients, happy stories, devastating stories, happy endings and times where there is nothing to be done, living with 6 girls (surprisingly it was so easy), God sent roommates and friends (you know who you are :),  P-Squared, the most incredible african singing/drums and music, Nadine and Angilique (2 of the most amazing women I have ever met), countless games of Connect 4, life risking morning jogs, eye opening orphanage visits, senior centers, lots and lots of fried plantains, insanely hot-muggy-dusty-sweaty-humid weather, amazing race congo, hiking at the gorge, death defying taxi rides, amazing Congolese day crew translators and Sibissi (my first jungle rat meal).

Angelique and her mom(one truly amazing patient)

                    About a month ago I said goodbye to the big hospital ship and to some pretty incredible people and started off on a new direction.  After quite a journey through the capital city I headed up into the northern jungle of the Congo and landed in the city of Impfondo to volunteer at  Pioneer Mission Hospital.  I could only wish that I was a talented enough writer to put down in words what I have experienced and how I have changed in the past month here and do it justice, but for now that is quite the impossible feat as I have never done a blog before and am thinking this is turning out to sound more like a book report than anything else.  

         Just in the past hour, I knowingly ate several bugs that had made their way into my trail mix because I didn't want to waste the M & M's, I looked out the window while I was writing this and there was a family of goats wandering around my front lawn, I almost stepped on a chicken when I opened the front door, I took a cold shower from well water (because there is no such thing as hot tap water), I made tortillas from the only cooking appliance I have which is a small propane camping stove while rocking out to Nigerian reggeaton and listened to my roommate's account of how she just went to go meet people at the airport and ended up on the runway helping fix a part on the plane because the plane broke down and she was one of the only people at the airport that could speak english as well as the local native language. 

Mbote Amitee!  

In the past week I have taken care of more people with advanced malaria than I can count, seen a boy that I have been taking care of since I got here that was an inch from death due to malnutrition, meningitis and pneumonia sit in a wheelchair and smile and try to say "Mbote" to me (hello in Lingala), I have seen people die simply due to lack of diagnostic tools or treatment options, I have also seen patients survive and improve beyond what I even thought was possible, biked with my roommate and friend, Mama Sarah,  through a jungle road to a village outside of the town where the pigmy people live to bring food (stuffed into my massive basket that I have on the front of my old rusty beach cruiser bike), do wound care, and listen to Mama Sarah tell them a bible story.  I have been bit by the most interesting looking bugs while in the middle of giving meds or starting an IV, and I have chased gigantic African wasps out of the Emergency Room to the complete amusement of all the patients and their families.  I have been so hot that I just sat down on the floor of the ward to find some coolness.  I was invited to a coworkers house (they are typically 1 room huts made out of mud) in town and was taught by her and all the local neighborhood children how to prepare and cook some of the local food (who knew that it would take coming to Africa and having to pound out leaves in a wooden bowl while being cheered on in Lingala to get me to learn how to cook.)  

Mama Sarah and I

         My roommate (Mama Sarah) deserves an entire book to herself so this puny paragraph will not even attempt to do her justice....but she is an incredible woman.  She has been here since the 80's working as the town's "community nurse" with her main focus on the elderly people with leprosy.  She rides an old rusty speed bike all around the back roads, dirt paths and even jungle trails to take care of her patients that she only refers to as her friends.  She is tough as nails, kind as can be, caring beyond what I have ever seen and has a sense of humor that never ceases to get me rolling. 

swing on the jungle swing the pigmy village
people just made for us???  Of course! :)

Well I will have to save the rest for another day.... writing about everything turns out to be a lot of work and life is calling me :)