A Beautiful Day...

What a beautiful Monday afternoon!  It's felt so Fall-ish here lately, making me antsy to rake leaves or winterize a garden, though I'm quite certain we have no worries of snow in the forecast here to prepare for...:) 

Last Friday seemed especially gorgeous- strikingly green foliage against such a blue sky... 

A perfect day to get out and make a house call, which was what we were headed off to do!
Often on Fridays, Dr. Felix comes up from Ti Goave to help with more special medical cases at the clinic, and like on this occasion, a special house call case. 
You might remember other fairly recent posts about Elvie, the older lady who Dr. Felix has performed several paracentesis' on to remove all the fluid buildup from her stomach.
 The last couple times some of us had visited her, she was notably much worse.  Her stomach was swollen full of fluid again, and the rest of her body shrunken to almost nothing with severe dehydration and starvation. 

So this time Glendon, Miss Leda, Rhoda, and I left early afternoon right after clinic to make another trip to visit her, this time with the Dr, to remove the fluid once more; making her last few days as comfortable as we can...
We drove the gator to Bassinguette, where we parked it and hiked the rest of the rocky, winding trail down the mountain to her house.  Every time we walk into her house, it amazes me to see that she's still alive.  She must be well under 100 lb now; my hand easily fits around her upper arm.  But there she was still lying on her bed of blankets on the floor, and as always, greeting us with a very weary but peaceful smile. 
After Rhoda and I gently lifted her frail body up and laid her on the bed, Mis Leda put an IV in her arm, and then Dr. Felix performed the paracentesis. 

He drained about 4,000ml off this time.  A lot, but not all that there was.  He stopped cause of how much pain she was in.  She kept groaning and crying out things like, "Jesus, help!  Deliver me from my misery.  Don't give me any more breath.  Let me die!  Jesus, Jesus!"  
It's very sad to see someone suffer like that, but I found myself asking God with her that He would take her home quickly.  Jesus is her only joy, heaven her only hope. 
Life isn't perfect, but it has so many beautiful things that we enjoy; friendships, music, nature, and endless simple pleasures that make us happy just to be alive.  But when you see someone at the end of their life, wasting away in incredible pain, not able to enjoy any more of the things we value so much now, it really puts life-purpose in perspective.
    It's made me ask myself more often lately, "What am I living for?"  I often find myself living with selfish desires and purposes, and those are revealed when they're thwarted and I find out that my joy is circumstantial.  I'm amazed at how easily I forget to keep my eyes on Jesus!  When He consumes my thoughts, He becomes my deepest desire, and the pleasures of life become secondary.  With or without them, the joy in knowing Jesus, and the hope of an eternity with Him is what truly makes life beautiful!

On our hike back up the mountain, the Dr and Mis Leda were getting tired, so they stopped on the trail overlooking a house and started calling down to the few people there asking what they had for food. 

They didn't have bananas or chicken, but they did have a stick of sugarcane, which an older man soon brought up for them.  Dr. Felix used it for a walking stick til we got back to Bassinguette, where we met another man with a machete who cut it into four sticks for us.  I really enjoy that aspect of life here... I mean, not the sugarcane (though I've enjoyed my fair share of that too:), but the neighborly way of sharing and helping each other like that. 

All for now,
~Whitney

House Calls!

The last few weeks Ro and I have had the joy of hiking up and up the mountains to check on a few of our patients. The bright BLUE of the skies, the splendor of the mountains, and the fresh breeze is a wonderful stress release after a busy clinic morning. Sometimes we just stop to sit in the sun and drink in the beauty. Cheerful greetings call from here and there, and sometimes we stop to chat with a friend. They run to find us chairs and often bring out sweet coconut candy and bread.

  Blind Madam Jill lives way up in a little cleft in the mountains. She has no family...no husband and no children. She sits all alone on the porch of her little stone house with her walking stick beside her. Naughty children ransack her house and steal everything nice she has. Every time we come around the corner in the path I see her face break into a smile as she hears our voices.

 This grandma sits on a bed in her tiny little room and we go to check her blood pressure and edema...reminding her to get up and walk around once in a while and take her meds.

 Madam Pepe cries out in pain night and day. She has diabetes and hypertension and so much pain...likely from diabetic neuropathy.

 It's always sobering to me to see their happiness with such a small gift of our time. As we care for their physical sicknesses, checking BP and blood sugars and pain levels, I pray we might all the more touch their hearts with Jesus' comfort and love...that as we stoop to go out those dingy doorways we might leave their dark little rooms with a ray of cheer and hope.

And what can we do?

     The other week there was a man who came into clinic with severe pain in his stomach, dehydration and some vomiting. We admitted him and observed him, giving him ORS and an IV. His pain moved from his stomach to his chest, to his upper back, and then finally his lower back. It was very curious, because he didn't have a fever, only this pain. We considered taking him out to Ti Goave for some tests, and decided to wait another day and observe him more.

     The next morning he seemed about the same: the pain hadn't changed much, except he was having pain in his chest again. The nurses had been checking him for heart failure, and suddenly his lungs began filling with fluid. The decision was made to immediately take him out to the hospital in town. As we prepared the vehicle, his oxygen readings began to drop; Anita grabbed an oxygen mask and started the flow of air. Thankfully his O2 readings started to return to normal, but he kept trying to take the mask off; he felt like it was suffocating him, not realizing it was the only thing keeping him alive.

     His condition was worsening, so we rushed down to the clinic with Steve's Bobcat. Hooking up the portable oxygen tank, we transferred him into the back of the machine, along with his brother, who would help hold him during the hour and a half trip. Getting everything in place, Steve and I took off down the road.

     What happened on that trip I will never forget; and I expect it will forever be woven into the tapestry of my remembrance...

     We bumped and bounced down the trail, finding that happy-medium between speed (for the urgency of the situation), and caution (for the comfort and wellbeing of our patient). We went through Grandfour, ascended the mountain towards Mólye and stopped briefly to readjust the man's oxygen mask. His breathing was getting worse and he didn't look good at all. We continued on, passing through the market (which was teeming with people, since it was market day) and mounted up the next hill. Before we got much further, our passenger said he needed to readjust his hold on his brother. We stopped and I decided to check the patient's vitals; as we hopped off, the brother began calling his sibling's name, shaking him and trying to get a response. The patient wasn't moving, so I checked his pulse- it was weak, but still present. His unconsciousness was accompanied by sudden, shallow breaths and beads of sweat on his face.

     It is difficult to describe what happened next... how much to write? I'm not sure, but let it suffice to say that as quickly as it started, it was all over; he gasped, his eyes rolled up, and his pulse ceased... I sat there, not really in shock, but just very sobered at the reality of what we had just witnessed: the passing of a soul from the body into eternity. What eternity, I don't know for certain; except we know his family weren't known as Christians, so it is probably safe to say it was a Christ-less one. So, the reality of it all came crashing down pretty hard on my heart. I have only seen one other death here at the clinic, so it was all a new experience for me.

     As it was all soaking in, Steve was asking if there was anything we could do- CPR, another mask, etc. I replied that we couldn't- I had checked his lungs and they were completely filled with fluids; there was nothing we could do with the limited equipment and experience we had with us. He had died of suffocation by the fluid in his lungs, probably brought on by heart failure- we'll probably never really know exactly, but that's our best guess. And what can we do? When a soul is called to its forever resting place, who is it that can beckon it back?

     Suddenly the brother realized his kin had passed away and lost complete control of himself: he began screaming, crying, flailing around. We covered up the body with a sheet and decided to take him back to his home. Unfortunately that meant going back through the market; the market packed with people, curious onlookers. The brother had pulled out his phone and was calling someone.

     Steve told me to get in the back of the machine and help hold the body, since the brother was in no condition to be of much help. As we turned around and moved downhill again, people around us (understanding what had occurred) began wailing and screaming. A relative of the family stopped us and offered to take the brother's place holding the body. We acquiesced, seeing how pathetic of a condition the brother had deteriorated into. He stumbled off the machine, screaming and and wailing, barely able to control himself. The relative sat in the back with me and we moved on. Passing through market, we discovered the brother must've called someone there, because everyone knew what had happened.

     Never before in my life have I heard such screaming, such sound, coming from so many people all at the same time. The whole market, with probably over a thousand people milling around, was howling and screaming. We drove through, the crowd parting before us as we descended. We turned off onto a side road and went down the mountain, further away from the market and away from the clamorous masses. As we drove by, people would see us in the back, holding the body, and begin to cry.

     At last, we arrived at the man's house. His wife and a few children were there; they also joined in the dissonance of wailing and weeping. How sad it is to arrive at a long eternity, without Christ, as it waits in foreboding silence, solemnly receiving the passenger of death, to usher him into that place where there is no repentance, there is no second chance, and there is no hope... only a place of eternally sealed verdict, being met out by the just and perfect command of the Prime Originator, the Creator God...

     While we travelled back to the mission my mind and heart were pretty full... I had been planning on talking with the patient about his soul once we were out in town; but now it was too late. As we talked about it later, we all agreed that it was a lesson to be learned- that if you have an opportunity to speak and you feel God moving on your heart, take it. It might be too late, before you know it.

     So ends this account. You know, we have lots of really good experiences here at the clinic- babies being born, cuts being stitched up and healed, sicknesses treated and cured; but sometimes there's a very sobering case in which we're reminded of the brevity of life, the fragility of our existence, and the reason why we're here.

     Pray for us, that in ministering, we could be effective ministers of the Gospel and the physical needs each day; that we would be so filled with the Spirit of God that we'd be as His very own presence here. Thank you for your support! God bless you all!

-Nate

It's a doll!

   They were eating cake. It was a birthday party. But not everyone was sitting there laughing.              Because a little baby had come in weighing  2lb. 3oz. near the end of clinic. He was adorable, but not well. He was only about 96 degrees, and draining a strange yellow-green phlemn out of his nostrils. At times, his face took on a distressed blue look. It was not a good time to relax and eat cake and pates. We were holding oxygen up to the little face, and suctioning out his nose by times with the electric suction and a tiny IV catheter tip.....and we were praying. And the others kept on eating.

    After a bit of stabilizing was done, we sent the baby out to a hospital in town for further care.

    And, but, the birthday party is still worth mentioning. Our faithful office man, Fre Direk, had a birthday this week. And our cleaning lady has one on Saturday. They were so happy. Shana makes wonderful food and they would not be caught missing it on purpose. So, after they were done eating, the party people would wander in to have a look at the little doll baby and cluck their tongues, and shake their heads, like people do, when they see a fine work of art in miniature.

    Our little head boy from Sunday, a week ago, came in today, after clinic was closed, to get his stitches out. Two other little codgers were with him, and that was the extent of my support group. While he screamed and kicked, I dove for the stitches with the scissors, and thanks to God,along with those strong little friend's hands to clamp him down,  was able to get them out without injuring the little cutie any further.
    Now it is almost night. But around here, that does not necessarily mean the story is over yet. Maybe there will be another knock on the gate at 4:00 like there was this morning. But that is another story....
   
   -Mis Woda
   

Visiting Elvie

 

Whitney, me, Dr Felix, Bro. Mark (background), and Elvie's daughter
Elvie on the bed

This story

This story didn't just happen, but I still wanted to tell it!

 After clinic last Fri, we gathered supplies, headed home for a quick lunch, and then loaded into the Bobcat to do a house visit.  This house call was a little different as we intended to do a paracentesis for our patient who was in the hospital a few weeks back, Elvie by name.  It was Glendon, Dr Felix, Whitney, and I who went.  We could drive as far as Brother Mark’s house.  From there it’s a little trail down the mountain about 15 min.  We had tried to send word for them to have her at Mark’s house, but that didn’t work so down the mountain we headed.  They were very happy to see us.  Before we could start to remove the fluid, we needed to start an IV.  I was able to hang the IV from the beam; it worked well!  J  Dr. Felix then set to work, and we removed 3,850 ml (a gallon) of fluid. 

It started raining while we were there so we waited out the rain for a while before deciding we better brave it even if we got wet.  The climb back up was a little slippery since the trail was now wet, but we made it.  I was glad to be able to visit her again, but I would say she seems to be getting weaker.  Do pray for her and her family.  

                                                                                                                                                                     My little friends and I (on the far left is Elvie's                                                                                                  youngest daughter)

The little Sam boy...

 I was just letting out a deep sigh of relief after a rather stressful birth on Saturday, when I was called outside to check a patient. He was laying in the arms of his mother...and I almost had to dig around in the blankets to find him. A tiny, itsy-bitsy, face peered out at me. His name was Samuel.

 After gently laying him on the exam table, I unwrapped him and just stood and stared a minute. His legs were so tiny and so wrinkled they looked like they could break as easy as a pretzel stick. Not only that, but I saw he was totally club-footed. He had no strength, and only mewed out little cries like a baby kitten. His limbs flopped flaccidly against the blanket. He weighed 3 lbs. 12 oz. His little nose was so tiny it looked like he almost forgot to grow one. :)

 Then started the hours of trying to get that tiny little mouth to suck. I dribbled milk into his mouth with a medicine dropper, until he had the strength to suck from a preemie bottle nipple. What a JOY to see him finally latch onto that bottle nipple and suck away as if his life depended on it.  "That's life and health, little Sam boy," I whispered. Overnight, his sunken cheeks started filling out, his little limbs started flailing around, and he started nosing around hungrily for milk.

 ...Our little head boy came in for rebandaging today. He looked very doubtfully at me when I removed his bandage, and a few huge tears squeezed out when I cleaned his wounds. No doubt he's still traumatized from the stitch job the other night. After his screams of, " I'm going to give you all shots and beat you ALL!" while we were stitching him, Ro and I are trying to make him believe we're his friends.

Loud, kicking, screaming, uuuuu another hit.

Sunday afternoon we got word there's a dad by the gate with his son who needs medical help.
The picture talks plenty enough. He fell and he cut his upper for head open and his chin as well. He would not be comforted whatsoever and after hours of hard work Rhoda and Katie were excited to take a breathe of fresh air. The little boy screamed and shouted and tripled the effect with his hands and feet. Finally a few of us had to hold him down and what tired arms some of them ha after hour and half of holding him!!!!
I really admire the nurses for being able to stitch something like that. It showed the skull and we were scared that he had a concussion. Doctor in Port told Anita to keep a watchful eye on him overnight and then sen him out Monday morning. The doctor said there was no concussion so they are back up here in the mountains again. We are thankful it wasn't worse.