Akbe kaka

We start and end our shifts with prayer, nurses and translators huddled in a circle between beds, patient and family activity around us. So much of our prayer is thanks...for safe surgeries, for healing, for patients being discharged and for the time that we are able to spend with each one.

Akbe kaka...thank you very much...I whispered softly in Ewe. Akbe kaka...for everything.

After 4 days of crying despite all attempts at entertainment and distraction, this little guy finally found his toy of choice - a plastic balloon pump. With a good half-hour carefully spent on each small balloon, he inflated enough for the entire ward then explored static electricity via his fleece blanket.

Giggling proudly when a balloon stuck to his face or hand, he took time out to stick his finger into the oxygen probe. He responds to my Akbe kaka with a laugh and a Merci, Tank you!

Both born with cleft lip, Kosi and Kasi's parents had no way of getting the defect repaired until a few weeks ago. (Look back a few posts and you will see Kosi at screenings, pre-surgery) As I write in a patient chart, Kosi climbs up in my lap to pat my cheek and play with my nametag. Suture ends sticking out of his fat little lip and a few steristrips are the only evidence left that he was not born with a perfect face. A few feet away Kasi sings to himself, clapping his hands and dancing to some inner two-year-old African rhythm. As their nurse discharges them home and we gather to say goodbye, Kosi proudly points out his new SmileTrain backpack and gives me a energetic high five. Kasi's mother ties her son onto her back and looks at the happy group of nurses, shyly smiles at us and whispers Akbe kaka.

Blessing was discarded at birth, found in a bush with little legs bowed. Love-starved, she chattered away to any Yovo (white person) nurse that happened to be on the ward, climbing them like a monkey to touch earrings and hair. Post surgery her legs stick out straight in red-and-white striped casts as she waves to her friends on shift, calling tickle tickle (her favorite game), and pantomiming what she wants to do.

As I discharged Blessing and her brother home yesterday, their adopted mother tells me through a translator "Thank you for treating (them) like people, thank you for loving us. Tell the doctors and the nurses, Akbe kaka."

For giving me the incredible privilege of loving these kids, for allowing me to be His hands if only in a small way, my heart cries out to Jesus...Akbe kaka.

Ward nursing...a whole different world

The ward is definitely an experience in itself! I don't even know what to say.

Our little hospital opened about 10 days ago, and has slowly been filling up with pre and post-surgical patients and parents. I can't give you names or details or amazing photos right now, but maybe I can take you, just for a moment, to my world...

You walk down a long hallway and turn into a door marked only with a brightly colored curtain and a sign marked with a single letter. As you open the door you see a circle of nurses, all in blue, praying at the beginning of their shift...in English, German, and Dutch. As the prayer finishes, they report off then move through the room, checking on each of their patients, greeting them, checking morphine pumps, IV drips, and small toes at the bottom of new casts. Beds stretch along each side of the room, some filled with little people watching you solemnly, and some rumpled and empty. The little boy in the corner begins to cry, and mom rolls out from under the bed where she was sleeping to soothe and give him a drink.

A tiny brown boy toddles up to you and pats your leg, chattering happily in Mina. As you crouch down to talk with him you see that where his upper lip should be, a hole extends up into one nostril and into the back of his mouth. His mother greets you with a "como savaah" as he tugs your hand to come and join the lively Jenga game in the center of the room. Suddenly shy, he runs back to mom, who boosts him up piggy-back and ties him on with a bright piece of cloth.





A bright-eyed seven year old grins at you and invites you in Ewe to join him. He is carefully balanced on a stool, legs encased in hard plaster casually jutting out to either side. A half finished Jenga game in front of him, he carefully takes out pieces and covers his ears, afraid that the tower will crash. One of the translators is with him, and an older woman in a hospital gown. As the woman turns you can see that a whole side of his face, jaw and chin are jutting out in a huge tumor. As you start to talk with her, she tells you that she has been living with this tumor for several years, and prayed to God for help..."and then Mercy Ships came to Lome and Jesus answered my prayer!" she happily exclaims.

At that moment the Jenga game crashes, and the whole room laughs happily. One of the little girls runs around the table to help pick up, and you realize that she runs lopsided as both knees jut far out to either side. She picks up a maraca and starts to dance. Soon you are learning to dance, singing along even though you don't know the words, and trying out your limited French and tribal langages as the patients giggle at your awful pronunciation.





Down the hall are more wards, full of patients with sight restored, tumors removed, or babies in the feeding program who only weigh a few pounds because of prematurity or clefts, slowly gaining back weight. Everywhere you look, there is hope.

Often rejected by community and family, discarded as babies or seen as cursed, our patients are starved for love. While we may be the first white people they've ever seen, we may also be the first ones to ever look them full in the face and be able to see past the deformity. We love these kids and adults just as they are, seeing them through Jesus' eyes and knowing that to Him, they are beautiful.

My job monday: playing in the dirt!

Monday I was able to volunteer again with the surgical screenings. This one was specific to pediatric orthopedics, and we arrived early with our team to find a much smaller crowd awaiting us. My job that day, as defined by the screening coordinator, was "someone to go and entertain the children and play with them."

There were lots and lots of children of all ages waiting to see the orthopedic doctors that had come with us. Many of these will be scheduled for surgery or theraputic casting in the near future.

Many of the children there were scared, and had never seen a white person before. Hiding behind mothers' skirts, they shyly responded to our Bonjour, como savaah? with a solemn handshake. They warmed up fast and were soon squealing happily, running on bowed legs or club feet, and chasing the bubbles that we blew for them. Even the toddlers took a turn trying to blow bubbles, and looked surprised when they blew too hard and had the soap explode in their faces.

By the end of the morning both of these little ones, along with several others, had plopped themselves in my lap or in the dirt around me, leaning up against my knee sucking on bags of clean water, laughing at the bubbles we blew and clamoring for a turn with an upheld finger and requests in Ewe, Mina and French. They had completely forgotten to be scared of the Yovo white people, many were examined and scheduled for surgery...and that, my friends, was a successful morning. :-D

Pre-surgical screenings...a mind-blowing experience!

So just a week ago I got my first real mind-blowing vision of what we're all about and why we're here. I could truly sit in a classroom for my whole life and it would mean nothing. But just a few hours in the surgical pre-screenings and I am floored. I'm still trying to process the whole thing...even coming in with experiences from living in Indonesia this was a lot to deal with. We left the ship at 0630: I was a part of the medical branch of the surgical pre-screening team. Our goal was to screen for patients with facial tumors that could be surgically treated, and children under 15 with correctible ortho problems. Narrow window, I know, but those are the surgeons we have here currently.

As I have very little experience with Mercy Ships, African medicine, and what we can surgically treat, I was with one other nurse assigned to the "gate", where we were instructed to let through those who were possible surgical candidates, send eye and dental patients to the appropriate Mercy Ships clinics, hand out information about future screenings, and turn away those who were not surgical candidates (refer to local doctors or hospitals). NOT an easy job, to say the least. Expecting about 200-400 people as reported from the first 2 days of screenings, we showed up at 0700 to find approximately 1000 waiting, filling the courtyard with a line stretching around the block and quite a ways down the road.

As my translator and I started speaking with the people at the gate, we were quickly surrounded by a surge of desperate people, who pointed to eyes clouded with cataracts, fist-sized goiters, and huge disfiguring tumors. I saw people with malaria, fibromyalgia, urinary issues, high blood pressure...when I asked my translator he told me that the Togo national radio had (mistakenly) announced that our ship not only had arrived, but that we were also able to cure any medical problem. As the press of people increased and those around us began shouting, we were instructed to pull back into the compound and wait for more security from the ship. We then were able to screen those inside in a more orderly fashion.

Quite honestly, what I saw that day broke my heart. I had to turn away people who desperately needed medical attention, because of sheer volume or nature of the illness. Most of the people I turned away, apologized to and blessed, always had a smile and merci or God bless you for me and my translator as well. At the end of the morning I sat down for a drink and rest. A solemn brown toddler from the surgical candidates line wandered over to me on crooked little legs and happily sat in my lap playing for 15 minutes while mom looked on and smiled. There is so much that can be done for these people and so few of us...Lord send laborers to the harvest!!

Africa at last!!

Well we finally did arrive...thank God! Just a few days after my last post we were greeted at the dock by a crowd of brightly dressed and cheering Africans. Also by a drum band and marching trumpet band. The music just made me want to get up and dance...

After the arrival ceremony the nurses immediately got to work setting up the hospital...which started with moving boxes and stripping, scrubbing and rewaxing all of the floors. We also bleached all of the walls and ceilings, all of the beds and equipment, and finally set up the rooms so it looks like a real hospital!

Screenings for surgery have already started, and the hospital opens February 24 :-)

We held two hospital open houses in the last two days. The first was very professional; we hosted the Togolese Minister of Health, other health officials, and several local officials. All of the hospital staff were put to work as hosts: Clare and I served drinks.

The second open house was for the non-medical ship crew. Our OR team went all out and advertised by operating on one of their staff during lunchtime.

This is our current nursing crew...smiling and excited to start caring for our patients! :-)

On the final approach!

Well, that's what they tell us, at least. This week has been a fun mix of nursing orientation classes, meeting people, and random wacky fun as we prepare for docking in a few days. Granted, a few times in the classes we slid off of our chairs, and some mealtimes it was important to hold onto your drinking cups so they didn't slide off of the table. After tuesday it settled down a bit, and we've had a relatively peaceful sail since then.
On friday I volunteered for a H1N1 vaccination clinic for the crew, courtesy of donated supplies and vaccine from the Spanish government. It's a great way to meet new friends (let me distract you from the needle I'm about to stick in your arm by asking you all about yourself and your time with Mercy Ships!). So now we're allll very vaccinated. Except for me. I decided God had provided me with plenty of inoculation naturally via the ED, so I refused the vaccine and promptly gave it to 50 of my friends. What a good friend I am!
They tell us we'll be arriving sometime Wednesday and then jumping in with both feet. I envision nurses springing up out of the woodwork, from every department, to scour the hospital and essentially set it up from scratch. Or, from the large, well-tied-down heap of bedding and supplies.
Please pray:
- logistically there are many things that throw a wrench in the works, from upcoming elections to screenings, paperwork and setup
- that God will open the eyes and hearts of the Togolese through our practical service
- and that he would heal! bodies and spirits and souls...
- for the health and hearts of the workers; those that are already here and those that are on the way
- calm seas for the next few days
- and safe elections over late February!

Pictures to come, once I collect them from scattered friends!

Laura C at sea!

Friday night I felt very nautical. Several of the nurses have been reassigned to odd jobs until orientation and then, of course, opening the hospital. 10 of us (from 5 different countries!) were assigned to deep clean the galley. (pictures to come...I was too covered in grunge to get out my own camera). We had a blast. The head chef said he loves having nurses clean his galley because we know what clean REALLY means. :-)

Saturday night before we left, two other girls and I went ashore and to a small church service. Pretty much the only things I understood were Senor, and Amin, but it was very edifying nonetheless!

Yesterday we waved goodbye to the bluegreen hills of Tenerife and set off into the Atlantic. It was a gorgeous sunny day and we watched and talked as the Canaries faded into the distance. A trumpeter on the dock played hymns as we left; I hear he does this each time the Africa Mercy enters or leaves port in Tenerife.

I slung my hammock on deck and one of the other nurses and I climbed in...it took several tries to get it right and we were on the deck giggling with several other crew taking pictures of our struggles. Between the two of us we finally found a place high enough to sling the hammock that it didn't sag on the deck every time we climbed in. The seas were a bit calm initially, but have gotten rougher throughout the day today, with the ship alternately tipped 15-35 degrees to port, then starboard and back. This has made normal activity such as hospital orientation classes, walking, and eating all extremely entertaining, as everything from the plate to your chair or the deck will move violently without notice. The night has been fun as well, as I wake up with my feet high above my head and the bunk curtains opening and closing with the rocking of the ship.

Several of the crew are seasick despite medication, so please pray for them! Thankfully I have escaped it so far and have just been enjoying the ride. I pray this continues, as I have not been taking any kind of medication.

We have been sailing now for 33 hours...only 2200 or so more nautical miles to go!! And what a fun and wild ride it promises to be, with plenty of time for fellowship, contemplation and prayer! :-D