Miriam Tuesday morning on IV Quinine
Miriam Wednesday morning still on an IV drip
21 March 2012
20 March 2012
WARM
Miriam's warm body presses into the curve of my stomach. Her skin is burning up. She moans and whimpers and tosses and turns while Sarah tries to keep her from tangling herself in her IV tubing. None of us have slept much. Despite a long list of alternative treatments, Miriam's malaria is getting worse. The past few days she's had an almost constant fever of over 38 to 39 degrees Celsius. We've given diluted rectal Quinine, oral Lumafantrine, crushed Primaquine, ground up Malarone in applesauce, Artemether intramuscularly and as rectal suppositories. We've been putting off the inevitable, best treatment because of fear. Last time we gave our twins IV Quinine one of them died of a complication of that medication.
But tonight, of all nights, we could wait no longer. As if the day hadn't been full enough. This morning, the new staff of the surgery center met for the first time to get ready to open in a few weeks. At the same time, a local politician, our school principal and district pastor went to see the regional medical officer to find out why our authorization to open still hasn't been given. He waffled back and forth before giving a few weak arguments: his business manager had forgotten to send the paperwork to N'Djamena (dated January 6) until two weeks ago, he was afraid there wouldn't be a doctor permanently at the center since he'd heard I was still doing surgery occasionally at the Bere Adventist Hospital and there was no official paper in the documents stating I had the church had relocated me to Moundou, and he thought that we were just borrowing staff from Bere for a few days a week so that the patients would be left basically on their own post-op. Of course, he never bothered to ask me for clarification.
Since Friday, the first two joints of all my fingers have been swollen, stiff and tender: the first signs of a debilitating disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis that runs in my family.
I've been trying to go to Eastern Chad for weeks to see my Muslim friends who've invited us to open health work in their village. We'd built a prototype structure using Cal-earth Ecodome technology in late 2010 but I still haven't had a chance to see how it has weathered the desert's extremes. And finally, a few weeks ago, we finally were able to get a well drilled that will allow us to actually continue building and working on the project. Gary Roberts from Adventist Medical Aviation was to fly me out in a few hours but called me last night to say that his engine is blown on the plane and he's grounded till he can get a new one from the US.
I look over at Sarah who is diligently watching Miriam's IV slowly trickle in. She is exhausted, worn down and not herself. How could she be? She lost her first born son, the one she carried as a twin pregnancy for 8 months, delivered by c-section and breastfed for 6 months. Adam was her constant companion for the better part of 14 months and now he's gone and she's left in a foreign country with a husband who's also devastated and irritable and stressed and just not able to be the strength she needs. I wish I could just grab her, hug her and squeeze all the pain out of her, but I can't. I'm helpless. She has to go her way alone, just her and her God. I hope I can at least accompany her on her journey to healing.
I'm not sleeping anyway so I turn on the iPod Touch that a close friend, Bryan, sent me after Adam's death. I read a few chapters in the Ministry of Healing and tears start to well up hearing about Jesus' self sacrifice, overwhelming burdens, and all nighters gone alone to bring healing to the world. I wish Sarah was awake so I could share the passages about Jesus' concern for Mother's and their sorrows and difficulties. Then I turn on some of the songs that Bryan put on. I drift asleep after a few soft, soothing ones only to awaken to the chorus of "Blessed Be Your Name" that repeats over and over "You give and take away, You give and take away, Blessed be Your name" and I'm reminded of Job and how similar his experiences were to what I'm now suffering only to a greater degree.
Then, the song by Third Day "Cry to Jesus" comes on and I burst into uncontrollable sobs.
"To every one who's lost someone they love
Long before it was their time.
You feel like the days you had were not enough
When you said good bye
And to all of the people with burdens and pains
Keeping you back from your life
You believe that there's nothing and there is no one
Who can make it right
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
For the marriage that's struggling just to hang on
They've lost all of their faith and love
And they've done all they can to make it right again
Still it's not enough
And for the ones who can't break the addictions and chains
You try to give up but you crawl back again
Just remember that you're not alone in your shame
And your suffering
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
When you're lonely
And it feels like the world is fallen on you
You just reach, you just cry out to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
To the widow who suffers from being alone
wiping the tears from her eyes
And for the children around the world without a home
Say a prayer tonight
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
But tonight, of all nights, we could wait no longer. As if the day hadn't been full enough. This morning, the new staff of the surgery center met for the first time to get ready to open in a few weeks. At the same time, a local politician, our school principal and district pastor went to see the regional medical officer to find out why our authorization to open still hasn't been given. He waffled back and forth before giving a few weak arguments: his business manager had forgotten to send the paperwork to N'Djamena (dated January 6) until two weeks ago, he was afraid there wouldn't be a doctor permanently at the center since he'd heard I was still doing surgery occasionally at the Bere Adventist Hospital and there was no official paper in the documents stating I had the church had relocated me to Moundou, and he thought that we were just borrowing staff from Bere for a few days a week so that the patients would be left basically on their own post-op. Of course, he never bothered to ask me for clarification.
Since Friday, the first two joints of all my fingers have been swollen, stiff and tender: the first signs of a debilitating disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis that runs in my family.
I've been trying to go to Eastern Chad for weeks to see my Muslim friends who've invited us to open health work in their village. We'd built a prototype structure using Cal-earth Ecodome technology in late 2010 but I still haven't had a chance to see how it has weathered the desert's extremes. And finally, a few weeks ago, we finally were able to get a well drilled that will allow us to actually continue building and working on the project. Gary Roberts from Adventist Medical Aviation was to fly me out in a few hours but called me last night to say that his engine is blown on the plane and he's grounded till he can get a new one from the US.
I look over at Sarah who is diligently watching Miriam's IV slowly trickle in. She is exhausted, worn down and not herself. How could she be? She lost her first born son, the one she carried as a twin pregnancy for 8 months, delivered by c-section and breastfed for 6 months. Adam was her constant companion for the better part of 14 months and now he's gone and she's left in a foreign country with a husband who's also devastated and irritable and stressed and just not able to be the strength she needs. I wish I could just grab her, hug her and squeeze all the pain out of her, but I can't. I'm helpless. She has to go her way alone, just her and her God. I hope I can at least accompany her on her journey to healing.
I'm not sleeping anyway so I turn on the iPod Touch that a close friend, Bryan, sent me after Adam's death. I read a few chapters in the Ministry of Healing and tears start to well up hearing about Jesus' self sacrifice, overwhelming burdens, and all nighters gone alone to bring healing to the world. I wish Sarah was awake so I could share the passages about Jesus' concern for Mother's and their sorrows and difficulties. Then I turn on some of the songs that Bryan put on. I drift asleep after a few soft, soothing ones only to awaken to the chorus of "Blessed Be Your Name" that repeats over and over "You give and take away, You give and take away, Blessed be Your name" and I'm reminded of Job and how similar his experiences were to what I'm now suffering only to a greater degree.
Then, the song by Third Day "Cry to Jesus" comes on and I burst into uncontrollable sobs.
"To every one who's lost someone they love
Long before it was their time.
You feel like the days you had were not enough
When you said good bye
And to all of the people with burdens and pains
Keeping you back from your life
You believe that there's nothing and there is no one
Who can make it right
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
For the marriage that's struggling just to hang on
They've lost all of their faith and love
And they've done all they can to make it right again
Still it's not enough
And for the ones who can't break the addictions and chains
You try to give up but you crawl back again
Just remember that you're not alone in your shame
And your suffering
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
When you're lonely
And it feels like the world is fallen on you
You just reach, you just cry out to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
To the widow who suffers from being alone
wiping the tears from her eyes
And for the children around the world without a home
Say a prayer tonight
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
And love for the broken hearts
And there is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, and cry out to Jesus
14 March 2012
NATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY
Here's our three girls all dressed up for National Women's Day in Chad, March
08, 2012
Djongyabo, Miriam and Yahdang
MUEZZIN
I'm awake again early. We've all been a little sick: cough, diarrhea, sore throat, low grade fever, etc. After my bathroom duties I can't fall back asleep so I go out to the couch. As I'm reading the story of Hagar and Ishmael in preparation for my sermon this weekend I hear the Muezzin make the first call to prayer of the day (Fajar). Miriam has been crying off and on for awhile. I finally go into her room. She's not crying anymore. I unzip her mosquito tent and see her little body squirming and wiggling in a half sleep. I pick her up and she melts into my shoulder. In the kitchen, I fill up her little cup with tap water as the Muezzin intones "Allahu Akbar" in the background. Miriam attacks the water as if she's never had anything so good in her life.
When she's done we go over to the couch and she lays on my chest and coos and fiddles with my chest hair. She is a bundle of energy and soon prefers to go out on her own so I let her down to the floor where she starts banging a plastic glass she's found as she continues to softly speak her baby talk. I close my eyes. After a few moments I sense a presence. Miriam has pulled herself to her feet along the cushions of the couch and her head is now on a level with mine. The Muezzin has gone quiet, waiting for the faithful to gather.
Tears come to my eyes. I can't believe that after all these years, there is a little life that I have helped bring into the world that is so close to me in the darkness of the African early morning. But then I think that there should be two lives here with me in the darkness. They should be cooing to each other and chasing each other around and banging things together.
Miriam gets restless. I pick her up and she cuddles as we walk back to her room. I unzip the mosquito tent and place her in. She lays down on her side and reaches for her teddy bear. I zip her in and go back to my room where I lie staring at the ceiling, my thoughts in a whirl.
The Muezzin starts up again. The final call is made and the Muslim day starts with the first Al Fatiha announced over the loud speaker in a sing song voice. Sarah and I sit and talk about that Saturday morning long ago that we wish we could have to do over again so that maybe there would be a different outcome and our twin son would be still alive. A thought comes into my head for the first time as the lilting chant of Koranic Arabic wafts over the background. Maybe it's my psyche trying to find meaning, or maybe it's truth. When people say that God doesn't cause death or suffering, but only brings good out of those events, how exactly does he do that? For example, maybe through Adam's death people have been made to think about life and death and eternity and God and who knows what else. Well if God had nothing to do with Adam's death, how exactly did he have anything to do with the reactions and reflections surrounding that death? Weren't those just natural consequences? How exactly did God turn a tragedy he had nothing to do with into something positive? In what way exactly did he intervene? Or was the intervention working things out so that every little coincidence happened at the right time for my son to die knowing that his death at this time and this place under these circumstances would bring about the reactions, insights, wake-up calls, reflections, contemplations of deeper
things, etc.that would "naturally" follow?
People don't like to think that God would kill people, especially children, just to serve his own purposes. But who are we to question God? Who are we to make such a big deal out of the first death which is only a temporary sleep for God's children who will be woken up again in the morning...
As I finish struggling with thoughts that are complex and complicated, I hear Arabic being sung out in the background: "God is Great, God is Great. Praise be to Him the creator and sustainer of the world, the Merciful, the Compassionate, the Master of the Day of Judgment, You only do we serve and to You only do we turn for help. Show us the straight path, the path of those You have favored, not of those who are unfavored nor of those who wander astray."
And the Muezzin drifts off into the early morning of a new day...
When she's done we go over to the couch and she lays on my chest and coos and fiddles with my chest hair. She is a bundle of energy and soon prefers to go out on her own so I let her down to the floor where she starts banging a plastic glass she's found as she continues to softly speak her baby talk. I close my eyes. After a few moments I sense a presence. Miriam has pulled herself to her feet along the cushions of the couch and her head is now on a level with mine. The Muezzin has gone quiet, waiting for the faithful to gather.
Tears come to my eyes. I can't believe that after all these years, there is a little life that I have helped bring into the world that is so close to me in the darkness of the African early morning. But then I think that there should be two lives here with me in the darkness. They should be cooing to each other and chasing each other around and banging things together.
Miriam gets restless. I pick her up and she cuddles as we walk back to her room. I unzip the mosquito tent and place her in. She lays down on her side and reaches for her teddy bear. I zip her in and go back to my room where I lie staring at the ceiling, my thoughts in a whirl.
The Muezzin starts up again. The final call is made and the Muslim day starts with the first Al Fatiha announced over the loud speaker in a sing song voice. Sarah and I sit and talk about that Saturday morning long ago that we wish we could have to do over again so that maybe there would be a different outcome and our twin son would be still alive. A thought comes into my head for the first time as the lilting chant of Koranic Arabic wafts over the background. Maybe it's my psyche trying to find meaning, or maybe it's truth. When people say that God doesn't cause death or suffering, but only brings good out of those events, how exactly does he do that? For example, maybe through Adam's death people have been made to think about life and death and eternity and God and who knows what else. Well if God had nothing to do with Adam's death, how exactly did he have anything to do with the reactions and reflections surrounding that death? Weren't those just natural consequences? How exactly did God turn a tragedy he had nothing to do with into something positive? In what way exactly did he intervene? Or was the intervention working things out so that every little coincidence happened at the right time for my son to die knowing that his death at this time and this place under these circumstances would bring about the reactions, insights, wake-up calls, reflections, contemplations of deeper
things, etc.that would "naturally" follow?
People don't like to think that God would kill people, especially children, just to serve his own purposes. But who are we to question God? Who are we to make such a big deal out of the first death which is only a temporary sleep for God's children who will be woken up again in the morning...
As I finish struggling with thoughts that are complex and complicated, I hear Arabic being sung out in the background: "God is Great, God is Great. Praise be to Him the creator and sustainer of the world, the Merciful, the Compassionate, the Master of the Day of Judgment, You only do we serve and to You only do we turn for help. Show us the straight path, the path of those You have favored, not of those who are unfavored nor of those who wander astray."
And the Muezzin drifts off into the early morning of a new day...
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