tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34500396124164351062023-11-15T11:15:00.330-08:00Merakiadj. pouring yourself wholeheartedly into something, and doing so with soul, creativity, and love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-20552345065002324422017-08-03T02:10:00.002-07:002017-08-03T02:10:16.460-07:00RecapThis summer has been very exciting so far. I started out by finishing year one of my MPH. This involved a lot of fun, a lot of late nights curled up on the couch with my guinea pig, and a lot of papers and presentations. Overall I think I learned at least a million things about the world and myself and people.<br />
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Once school let out, I went to Nigeria where I played with baby animals and made new friends. Oh, I also worked at a very large medical care effort with Loma Linda and a number of other organizations. I learned that sometimes you don't really need to do much or solve people's problems to make a difference; it might be enough to just be there friend.<br />
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From Nigeria I headed to the Philippines where I didn't wear sunscreen, did get a sunburn, and saw a lot of termites. The purpose of this trip was to do research for my MPH along with my classmates, looking at infant and child nutrition. We did that, along with a lot of other things. I learned that babies are adorable (wait, I already knew that), and that teamwork isn't always the easiest thing to do, but when a group of people try to combine their strengths a lot of work can get done.<br />
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After a few weeks in the Philippines I hopped over to Thailand with some classmates where we saw a lot of temples, ate a lot of Pad Thai, and rode a lot of buses and boats. I learned that temples are beautiful, peaceful places when they're not on the tourist circuit, and that village markets are so much better than the city.<br />
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Most recently I found myself in Japan, where I ate delicious sushi, saw beautiful parks, and rode the metro. I learned that everything is pretty in Japan, and that cities can be incredibly clean.<br />
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It's been an incredible summer so far. I've lost a lot of hair ties and pens, and gained a lot of memories and friends. Now I'm going to write a paper on the plane and then sleep for a week before I get back to real life. :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-35969202388325046192017-07-12T09:47:00.001-07:002017-07-12T09:47:47.080-07:00In a Fishing VillageIt's a beautiful evening. I'm standing on the balcony of our hotel, looking out over the town. It's mostly clear; I can see the Big Dipper, and the moon is almost full. It's dark, but it's still early. I can hear dogs barking, kids playing, and motorcycles on the streets. There is a radio tower close by, and a number of birds are landed there, chattering. To one side there are some small hills, with lightening beyond them in the distance. To the other side is the ocean. I'll never get enough of looking at the ocean. The town is sprinkled with palm trees, which make beautiful silhouettes against the sky.<br />
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This is peace and happiness and beauty. But there are problems here too. If there weren't, I wouldn't be here. Because I'm here to look at nutrition and feeding practices in the community with my classmates. Malnutrition is a problem, even in beautiful coastal towns on perfect evenings in the Philippines. But I like to think that somehow, by the time we leave we will have made some small difference.<br />
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The birds are quieting down now. The dogs are still barking. The water is still shimmering under the street lights. Soon people will go to sleep. Tomorrow they'll wake up to another beautiful day of doing what they can to support their families. Beauty and difficulty are so different, but so connected.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-87803751810260358632017-07-09T23:28:00.000-07:002017-07-09T23:28:41.478-07:00Goodbye<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At some point, the marching band started to play. A group of people started dancing, and one of our volunteers told me that I should go dance. I assured her that I can't dance, and that wouldn’t be a good idea. Wise lady that she is, she informed me that I didn't have to dance, it was just marching. Lies. But I went with her. I truly can’t dance, but we had so much fun. After working hard with these people all week long, it was special to connect with them in that expression of celebration. It was so hot and sunny, and we got so sweaty and tired. But it was absolutely worth it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Early Sunday morning I had to leave to head back to the city. My flight was on Monday, but everyone had to go a day early, because it was a long drive. The next morning, a driver picked me up again and took me to the airport. Every time I’m in an airport, I have just a little bit of anxiety that somehow my flight or my ID or something won’t be in order, and they won’t let me on the plane. It’s never happened to me before, but still; it seems like a valid possibility. Anyway, I managed to navigate my way through the airport, even when they announced boarding a full 2 hours before departure (so confused. Basically at that point they just let us back to our actual gate to wait). I had a short flight to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, a few hours layover, and then a long flight to Manila, Philippines.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In Addis I gave in an paid for WiFi, which turned out to be a good decision. I also found several pairs of shoes that I really liked, which seemed super random. There was a shop there that sold brands like Clarks and Adidas. I didn’t buy any. In addition to shoes, the shops had all sorts of candy and sweet snacks. All I wanted was some salt, but I couldn’t find a single salty snack. Oh well; clearly I survived (note to self: next time, only pack salty snacks).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-22092855428093518372017-07-09T01:54:00.000-07:002017-07-09T01:54:31.188-07:00Cows and Sheep<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We squeezed into a little pickup; a driver, a security officer (he had a big gun), the Fulani chief, Sarah, a pastor who spoke the language and went along to help, the local vet tech, me, and a number of other young guys who helped out. It was a fun ride. At one point we were literally driving through a field. Slightly bumpy. I’m not sure how the driver decided where to stop, since we weren’t necessarily on a road anyway, but he would pick a place, and we would get out. Then they mixed the medications to use for the animals at that location. As far as I know, it was mostly deworming and things of that sort (and an antibiotic?), but I’m not all up on my animal medication classifications, so I’m not entirely sure.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sarah had me watch her give a few shots, and then she handed me the syringe. A young guy named Gideon (I think) carried the bucket of medication for me, and took the cap off of my syringes for me when my hands got to slippery. It was a pretty exciting morning. I’ve given plenty of shots to people, but I’d never given one to an animal before. It wasn’t vastly different though.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Pretty early on in the morning I got stepped on by a cow, but it wasn’t too serious. Just a reminder that cows are large creatures, and I’m a small person. We kept going, and I got to hold a baby sheep and cuddle a little calf. Day made.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">After we finished at the first location, we drove on further and got to another site with more people, and more cows and sheep. These cows were a lot rougher. A reflection of how they are handled, I was told. They didn’t make me give the shot to the huge bull that went crashing into the brush and fell down in an attempt to escape while they were trying to catch him. I was cool with that. Somewhere along the line I got stepped on again, this time a little harder. Took my toe awhile to recover. In addition, as the day went on I began to turn red and crispy. It was pretty sunny. At the last place we went, I was trying to give a shot to one disagreeable cow. She was not pleased, and she kicked me. I was a little shocked. Again, a reminder that cows are large creatures. I was very excited though, when I got home and discovered that I had a nice purple bruise just above my knee, extending in patches halfway up my thigh.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Now, a couple of weeks later, I just have a farmers tan, and slight remnants of a bruise. Oh, and pictures of myself with baby livestock. :)</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-23320209462731431732017-07-07T23:47:00.002-07:002017-07-07T23:47:17.424-07:00The Clinic in Jengre<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I left from Loma Linda on June 12, and traveled to Nigeria with a large group of students and faculty from LLU. Our team consisted of team leaders, doctors, dentists, nurses, a veterinarian, public health professionals and students, a physical therapist, occupational therapist, pharmacy students, behavioral health students, etc. We flew through London, and then landed in Abuja, Nigeria. Once we arrived at our location, we were split up into 3 teams, to run medical clinics at each of them. I was part of a team located at Jengre Adventist Hospital.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I really enjoyed the location. Jengre was a nice area. It was beautiful, and the people were very friendly. When I walked through the wards of the hospital it felt just like being in Béré.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My primary object for the medical clinic was organizing registration and keeping things moving. Each day we had very large crowds of people wanting to be seen by the doctor. Sometimes it was difficult to keep things moving smoothly without interruptions. Anytime I walked through the crowd to get something or talk to someone, people would pull me aside. Every person had a story. And every person seemed to need to see the doctor. For some it was their mother, or their baby, or their wife, or their blind grandfather. Everyone seemed to have a real reason and a real need of some sort. This was very overwhelming, as on our second day, roughly 2500 people came, wanting to see the doctor. On that day we saw less than 200. At the end of the day as one man was telling me his story, I had to explain to him that it really wasn’t possible for us to see him that day…because there were literally 2000 people in line in front of him. But I hated telling him that. Because the fact that there were lots of other people with needs didn’t make his needs any less valid.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have a very hard time turning people away. Especially when they tell me a story and explain to me why they need what they’re asking for. I want to help everyone, and solve all of their problems. So I had to learn to avoid walking through the crowd as much as possible, because it was just too hard to listen to people and then tell them that I couldn’t help them; that maybe we could see them on another day, but I couldn’t even promise that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Towards the end of the week, a teenage girl tried to pull me aside. I was really hesitant to follow her, because I knew that we couldn’t add any more new patients for the day, and I didn’t want to hear another sad story and say “Sorry, maybe tomorrow.” But I did follow her. She pulled me away from the crowd, and asked me my name. Then she asked me where she was from, and if we could be friends. And that was all she wanted. She just wanted to say hi, and become friends. It was a good reminder that sometimes even a few words can make someone’s day better. Even if I can’t squeeze them in to see the doctor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">In the end, I settled on doing my best to be fair and adhere to first come, first served, but not turn someone away if I would lose sleep over it. So I slipped in the guy with a badly infected dog bite on his foot (and he got surgery to debride it! Hopefully he’s healing nicely), the baby that supposedly hadn’t eaten in a week, the little boy who was sick and basically unresponsive, the guy with mud packed in a wound on his chest, and the guy with something like cellulitis from his shoulder all the way to his fingertips. The girl who was pregnant and bleeding somehow got lost in the crowd…so I hope that someone else got her in.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We can’t fix everyone. But I hope that we helped a few people, and made their future a little brighter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-19029121092820413872017-06-28T03:14:00.000-07:002017-06-28T03:14:16.558-07:00This is Nigeria(From June 14 ish)<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We flew into Abuja at about 5am. As we touched down, I read a very sweet note from the lovely Ijeoma, welcoming me to her country. That was the first of many welcomes I </span>received. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I was excited by the smells as we got off of the plane. It smells like Chad here. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: inherit;">As we walked out to baggage claim, I was pleased to see a large UNAIDS sign advertising for free HIV testing. There was even a person standing there promoting it. Yay public health! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: inherit;">By midday when we arrived in Jos, I had spilled pineapple juice all over myself (did manage to drink some of it though; it was really good), we had been sideswiped by another vehicle (think bumper cars; no lasting damage), and we saw a really beautiful rainbow. Once we arrived in Jos we had a delicious lunch, followed by a trip to the king’s palace and the governor’s compound to say hello and thank you. That was exciting. I’ve never seen a king in person before. While we were waiting at the aforementioned places, we scored a few mangoes, which we enjoyed very much! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was close to evening by the time we started for Jengre. There were about 10 of us, and we were all really tired so most of us slept on the way. We got in to Jengre at about 7:30 pm. It was dark, and I had been asleep. I woke up as we were coming into town, and there was a marching band playing. We got closer and our leader finally decided we should just jump out of the still moving van and walk up the road. So we did. It was so amazing and beautiful. The band was playing, and the women and children were dancing on the sides of the road and came to walk with us. We walked in the light from the headlights of a police car, and tried to dodge the puddles. There was a little bit of lightning, and it started to rain, which just made it more magical. The band played until we got to the hospital, where we stopped and were able to get out of the rain while they continued to play. The kids held our hands and the women went out to dance. It was so special, and so beautiful. We felt very welcomed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After spending some time dancing with the children, we were able to use a very nice pit toilet, and eat dinner. After dinner we were deposited at our respective places of residence, and we finally got to sleep. It was so nice to lay down and sleep, that I didn't even notice how hard the bed was until morning when I was getting up. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-44159672201102583932017-01-13T13:27:00.001-08:002017-01-13T13:27:45.384-08:00I'm backSo last year I was in Chad, and I had a blog. Because life in Chad is exciting and new and different. Also because I entertained the notion that some people might be interested in hearing about a new, exciting, different perspective on life. Since I returned to the US in July, I haven't touched my blog. So this is it's resurrection.<br />
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Backstory first: I came back from Chad. All the time I thought I would have in the summer went by really fast, and then I relocated my self and my possessions to the wonderful little city of Loma Linda, California. It's especially nice right now, because it's green. I like green. Anyway, I'm here working on a masters in public health, emphasis in global health. It's fun and exciting and I love it! So I think that catches us up to this week, which is why I'm resurrecting the blog.<br />
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Last week, one of my classmates started talking about a trip to Zimbabwe over Spring break. Now, that sounded pretty exciting, but I didn't really think I wanted to go on a short-term trip right now. I'd rather go somewhere when I have more time and can build connections, maybe learn some culture and language, and acquire pet monkeys. But it would take way to much effort to keep thinking that I was turning down an opportunity to go to Africa. So there you have it. I'm going to Zimbabwe in March. Needless to say, I'm pretty stoked. It appears that I'll be working with a team of really cool people to put on a health fair. The work I do there will count towards my school practicum as well, which is an added bonus. I might throw a few words and pictures on here from time to time, so you can be looking for that.<br />
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Between now and then, I'll just be here cuddling with my Guinea pig, and shivering in the Southern Californian rain. Seriously, why didn't anybody tell me that California was cold?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-37333924627567365762016-06-30T20:15:00.000-07:002016-06-30T20:15:02.052-07:00Night shiftThis afternoon, Bernard asked me if I was available to work tonight. I generally enjoy working nights. I'm naturally something of a night owl anyway. Nights are typically fairly quiet. The crickets sing. The beetles crawl. Wilfred the little rat often pops in to say hi. Generally most of the patients are asleep. I don't even have to pretend to understand Arabic. (Although most of the Arab speaking people who I have met do tend to speak very expressively, which helps a lot.) If there is a c-section or surgery of some kind, I have a good chance at the opportunity to assist with it. Besides the staying awake part, which is really only difficult between about 3 and 5 am, night shift is enjoyable. So when Bernard asked if I could work tonight, I immediately said yes.<br />
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As I was walking over to the hospital to start my shift, I met Dr. Bland, who had just killed a snake. It was small, by this time dead, and didn't look too threatening. But I decided to start using my flashlight when I'm walking in the dark.<br />
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I had 11 patients. None of them very sick; there were no surgeries today, so there aren't even any new patients. There was, however, a kid over in the bloc (which could very roughly be called ICU on occasion) who apparently had pneumonia. I agreed to check in on him through the night. He didn't look that bad. On oxygen.<br />
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A short time later, his nurse came and told me that he had died. Ten year olds aren't supposed to die. Especially when they look healthy. And mothers of ten year olds aren't supposed to lay on the floor in hysteria. And grandmothers aren't supposed to cover up their grandchild and carry him away.<br />
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An hour or two later, I wandered over to maternity to observe a woman who was apparently having problems in labor. After Dr. Bland performed a fairly simple and rapid vacuum delivery, the baby wasn't interested in breathing. After the normal suctioning, tapping, rubbing, and pleaded, we moved on to offer him some assistance. He had a nice little heart beat. And we squeezed air into his little lungs, and continued with the tapping, rubbing and pleading for close to half an hour. But no, he just wouldn't breath. And his perfect little fingers and toes slowly got colder. You can't breath for a baby forever, even a cute one. (And this one was cute. Ok, I generally think all babies are cute.) Just to be really clear, cuteness has nothing to do with how long you breath for a baby. Babies aren't supposed to die before they've even taken a breath (or any other time, for that matter).<br />
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I was relieved that later, when I sat next to one of my patients and gave her an antibiotic, nothing of note happened. Just the beetle that tried to crawl onto her mat.<br />
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For some people, the world feels like it stopped to night. For me, it feels like it should have; kids aren't supposed to die. But the crickets and the bats still sing. And it still smells like flowers outside (Only in certain areas. There are other areas where it smells like other things, believe me). The sun is still going to come up in the morning. And someday, kids aren't going to die.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-19232238664530036502016-06-27T11:19:00.001-07:002016-06-27T11:19:05.576-07:00The ClashI'm sitting in the pavilion. It's a cement, skeleton structure on our compound, kind of in the middle of where most of the houses are. It's open and airy and cement-like. This is where most of our potlucks or celebrations take place. But most of the time, it's quite, empty, and open. Like right now. It's Sunday afternoon. I'm sitting here reading; I don't know where everyone else is.<br />
<br />
It's beautiful right now. It's rainy season, so it's green. Everything is green, almost. There is bright, fresh grass growing, and mango trees around. Their green leaves and branches hang down to the ground. The weather is beautiful at the moment, as well. The sky is partially clear and blue, partially filled with fluffy white clouds. It's hot, but not too hot.<br />
<br />
I can hear pigeons cooing. It's calm, beautiful, and peaceful. But I can also hear someone wailing over at the hospital.<br />
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People here don't usually wail for no reason; likely someone died.<br />
<br />
How can the world be simultaneously so beautiful and so full of pain?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-84275652104674098212016-06-16T11:49:00.003-07:002016-06-16T11:49:53.115-07:00Home This evening I was walking home from the hospital, I realized that this is home.<br />
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It doesn't always feel that way. Not at all. But after being gone for 2 weeks (in Cameroon! More on that later), coming back to somewhere familiar has been really nice. When I walk through the hospital, I see multiple people who I know and stop to say hello. When I go out to buy more megabytes for my phone, I see people there who I know. And as I walk down the street, I hear my name, and look up to see someone who knows my name, although whether I know them or not is debatable. (It does help that multiple Sarah's have been here over the years...it's a safe guess if you see a white girl.) Coming back after being gone (in big, unfamiliar cities) has made me realize that I have friends here.<br />
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Living here isn't always easy. For multiple reasons. One of them, for me, is the very friendly, involved culture. I'm an introvert. The only one in Chad, I sometimes think. I love people, but I don't always love talking to them, and I don't always want to be with them 24/7. That hasn't necessarily changed here. But I'm learning. I'm learning how to talk to people that I don't know. It's especially fun when we don't speak the same language. At all. I'm learning that sometimes I just want to go in my room and close the door, but playing with my kids is more rewarding. And I'm learning that relationships are rewarding. And those are built, incidentally, by talking to strangers. I've learned a lot of things here. I still have a lot to learn, but I wouldn't change the experience I've had here. When I leave, a piece of my heart will stay here always.<br />
<br />
But while I'm talking about home, one month from tomorrow, I leave Béré. I few days later, I arrive back in Portland, my other home. I definitely left a piece of my heart there when I came here, so it will be good to be back. Maybe someday I'll have left pieces of my heart all over the world, so that wherever I go, I'll be at home.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-19916813577983722532016-05-25T05:07:00.001-07:002016-05-25T05:07:33.443-07:00DanceI live with a local family, just off of the compound. It's often an interesting experience; there are about 9 kids in the family, although it's not at all uncommon for a couple of extras to appear for a few days. My schedule at the hospital (ok, more like my poor time management skills) sometimes makes it difficult to spend an appropriate amount of time with them, so this week, after a week of working nights and barely seeing them, it's nice to spend more time there.<br />
<br />
The other evening I arrived at home, and was promptly presented with an invitation to a birthday party scheduled for the next day. I don't think that birthday parties are common here, so it was kind of a big event. The next morning, my sister asked me if I knew how to make a birthday cake. Unfortunately, I said yes. And further, I agreed to help her make one for the party. Now, excellent cooking skills are in my blood (and by that I mean my family), but my personal cooking skills often leave something to be desired. I contribute this mostly to the fact that I don't tend to use precision in the kitchen. I mean, I know about how much a teaspoon is, so why bother actually getting out the measuring spoons and dirtying them? Anyway, I can cook, but baking isn't much my thing.<br />
<br />
After I agreed to make the cake and told my sister what ingredients we would need, it occurred to me that I had never successfully made a cake in my life.<br />
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Anyway, the cake was almost a success. The frosting was far from successful. The combined result was quite mediocre. Oh well. I think everyone liked it, and for at least some of them it was probably the first time they had eaten birthday cake. So they didn't know what was missing.<br />
<br />
The party itself started in the mud afternoon and lasted through most of the evening. When I arrived with the cake, there were already a few kids there, dancing to the radio. We blew up balloons and hung them everywhere, ate candy, and radio continued its serenade. In total, there were over 40 kids there. And maybe 5 parents. There was food and cake, and then dancing.<br />
<br />
I think that dancing comes almost as naturally as walking here. My nine year old sister can (and did) dance for hours, effortlessly. She's tiny and graceful. I love watching her. It seems to be an important part of every celebration. And sometimes of everyday life, too. It's almost like its the preferred form of expression. I like it.<br />
<br />
As I sat watching the many dancers with interest, I received several invitations to join them. I replied by telling them that I don't know how to dance. Which is completely true. But when one of the ladies literally pulled me to my feet and gave me no choice, it became really fun. I still don't know how to dance, but I had so much fun. Especially because it was dark, and we were outside in the beautiful, fresh evening. It rained on and off, so we alternated between the veranda and the courtyard. After awhile, Chantelle, a little girl who is probably about 6, took my hand and wouldn't let go. She didn't care that I don't know how to dance. :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-24351352263330194542016-04-18T14:43:00.002-07:002016-04-18T14:43:23.085-07:00Evening in the Courtyard Since I started working at the hospital here, almost all of the time that I've spent there has been during the day. There have been exceptions, but not many. Generally I work in the morning/afternoon and do other things in the evening. This week, though, I've been working evenings on the surgical ward.<br />
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The surgical ward is generally an interesting place. There are generally more than 20 patients, they generally (at least this time of year) spend very little time in their beds, there are flies everywhere, and we have a resident mouse who pops in from time to time. The vast majority of these patients have recently had surgery. Occasionally there is one or two who are waiting to have surgery. Right now, laporatomies and amputations are what most of the patients have had (one or the other, that is...not both). </div>
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Outside of the surgical ward, there is an expanse of...I don't know, dust, sand, dirt. Whatever you want to call it. This extends from the surgical ward over to the medical ward, not too far away. There are a few trees, and a whole lot of mats on the ground for people to lay on. During the day, there are people milling around, talking, cooking nearby. But in the evening the courtyard (it's really not a courtyard, but I have no better word for it) begins to change.<br />
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It's evening now. Some women are cooking dinner for their families in an open structure not far away. Some of the men are sitting around eating. Others are talking or resting on their mats. There is a rhythmic drumming sound. I look over and see a naked baby sitting on the ground, beating out a rhythm (of sorts) with two empty water bottles.<br />
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It's starting to get dark. The women are starting to exchange their complete outfits for just a pagne (basically a piece of fabric; two yards of it) wrapped around them just under their arms. Or some of them just take off their shirt and wear their bra for the night. The number of mats laid out is increasing. There are people laying everywhere. Some of them have been here for a long time. They all seem to know each other. This is almost like a tiny village. They have all of their food, bedding, things to wash with, and the whole family here with them.<br />
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We start passing out the evening meds. One of our patients is a cute little boy with an infected foot. He's about 8 I think. His sister is probably 10. She's cute and friendly, and likes to help us find the patients we're looking for to give meds to. She follows us around, and if we can't find someone, she tries to locate them. When we give her brother his meds, she brings him water, or holds a flashlight so we can see.<br />
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In the evening, this seems so much more like a home, a family. I like it. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-91953767967446291292016-04-08T14:58:00.001-07:002016-04-08T14:58:31.591-07:00Paint the SkyWhy? I don't know. Why not?<br />
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No, actually because I found a quote on Pinterest. "Paint the sky, make it yours."<br />
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Painting the sky is no small deal. If we paint the sky, everyone knows what we're doing. It's way out in the open. It's big. I think it tends to be easier to paint the ground, or the wall, or maybe the ceiling if we're ambitious. The most we'll need is a ladder; there is a beginning and an end to the job. There's no real danger. But painting the sky is a whole different thing. Where do you start? Does the sky have a beginning? And what about an ending? The sky kind of goes on forever....<br />
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This might seem a little abstract, but I actually think it's really important. There are a lot of different ways to do life. Various things come more naturally to different people, of course. As an introvert, I would typically rather paint in the corner. It is possible that at some point that will be a nice looking corner, and someone might stop to look at it. But when I make mistakes, it's likely that relatively few people will notice. I really like the song "Brighten the Corner Where You Are." But who said we had to stay in the corner?<br />
<br />
What if we weren't meant to be in the corner at all? What if the point is to paint the sky? Maybe not the whole sky (I think that's a little too much for just one lifetime), but even just one brush stroke.<br />
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I don't really know what painting the sky actually looks like in real life. If you have ideas, feel free to share. But I think it's something like boldness, confidence, and willingness to both try and fail. I'm sure this looks different for every person, every day. But there's got to be something. Something each of us can do that has potential. Super great potential to either succeed, or miserably fail.<br />
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For me, I think this might look like telling a story to the kids in French this week (or rather, trying to). Or maybe sitting down with one of my patients and explaining to them everything I can about why they're in the hospital, what sort of treatment were giving them and why, what medications they are on, how to take them and what they're for, how they can prevent this from happening again. Maybe it's doing a craft with the kids who are in the hospital.<br />
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I think painting the sky is more about what we put into it than making a huge difference in the world. If I paint one little brush stroke, it's not going to change the color of the sky. But with time, maybe many strokes will change it. Maybe painting the sky is how we revolutionize the world. If that's the case, then it's certainly worth putting in some effort.<br />
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Let's make the sky ours. One stroke at a time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-87962899149100892972016-03-30T14:24:00.001-07:002016-03-30T14:24:12.692-07:00TodayToday was a good day. I mean, most every day is a good day, so I guess maybe today was exceptional.<br />
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Last night I accidentally went to sleep super early, so I woke up this morning feeling really good and happy. As I am very much not a morning person, "really good and happy" is not usually an accurate description of how I feel at 6 am. Since I was feeling so good and happy, I braided my hair in two braids. Sometimes I feel like this makes me look like a little pioneer girl, but today it was ok. To continue the trend of wonderfulness, my Chadian mother gave me potatoes for breakfast. I love potatoes.<br />
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I went to worship at the hospital, and I managed to sit on a row that was equipped with a French hymnal. This is important, because if I can read along, I feel like I can do a pretty good job of pretending that I can sing in French. If I don't have a hymnal...it doesn't go so well. This morning I also understood the numbers they announced for 2 of the songs. That's always cool too. When I don't understand the number, it's kind of hard (although not impossible) to find the right song before it ends. On Wednesdays, there is a Bible study-type meeting after worship. Today the topic was jewelry, or something like that (I'm actually not really sure exactly).<br />
<br />
Before the meeting began, I got a call about a mother with a malnourished baby who had traveled a really long way to come enter her baby in our malnutrition program. The program is typically run on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but since she had come from so far, not knowing what the times were for the program, we were going to check out her baby today. No problem, I can do that. First challenge: find the woman. I feel like in the US we might say "it's the woman with the baby," or something like that. But it seems like most of the women here have babies. Second challenge: talk to the woman. She speaks Nangjere. I speak English. Sometimes I pretend that I speak French. She speaks less French than I do. (And basically, if you speak less French than I do, you don't speak French. Like, at all.) I speak maybe 2 dozen words of Nangjere. None of which have anything to do with babies, malnutrition, health, etc.<br />
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I found the woman quite easily with the help of one of the hospital staff. At first the talking part went pretty well too. I weighed and measured her baby, asked her how old the baby was (ok, that part didn't go so well; I still don't know how old the baby is), and more or less explained to her how to mix the milk for the baby. Right about this time, she started asking me questions in Nangjere. Shoot, why don't I speak Nangjere?! It would be so useful. Anyway, there was another woman outside, and she apparently noticed that we were speaking different languages. Turns out she spoke French and Nangjere, so she translated. Pretty much a life saver....<br />
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After sending the woman on her way, I got a text message that someone needed to assist in surgery today. My options were to either go myself, or text my 2 fellow volunteer nurses and see if they wanted to go. I figured it was easier to just go myself, since I was between tasks anyway. So I spent about the next 8 hours in the bloc. It was the day of hernias. Not the most exciting, but better the day of hernias than the day of pus. (That was on Sunday. My hands smelled like pus all day. Sorry, you probably didn't want to know that.) I was planning to go out to a village for a mobile clinic this afternoon with some other people, but I couldn't find a replacement for myself in the OR, so I sent them on their way, and went back to hernia land.<br />
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This evening, I got a box of America (thanks mom <3), are some triscuits, talked with various and sundry people, was offered cold grape juice by one of my fellow volunteers (I've forgiven him for dumping cold water on me yesterday), and then came home to my sweet, smiling little sisters. They brought me my supper, which happened to be one of my favorite meals here. I put on my soft, comfy pants--they're better than a skirt, because when my legs sweat when I'm wearing a skirt, they're all sticky. But if I'm wearing pants, it doesn't matter. (Sorry, you probably didn't want to know that either.) Then we sat on woven mats in the courtyard doing various things. I made some plans for tomorrow. Then I read a little bit. My mother gave me some sweet milk. We talked about the day, and then we went to bed.<br />
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But as I lay on my mat and listen to the crickets and think about today, I'm angry. Because there was a mother with a malnourished baby who had to travel for two days to get here for the nutrition program. Because there was a little baby who has malaria and was limp and had intercostal retractions and nasal flaring. Because there was a terrified little boy with an abscess on his liver, who was so scared when the doctor lanced it. And all I can do about it is try to explain to the mother how to give her baby the supplemental milk, hold the baby for a few minutes and say a prayer, and hold the little boys hand (because I only speak 5 words of his language).<br />
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I had a good day today. But a whole lot of other people didn't. And that's not fair. I like it when things are fair. Someone please tell me how to solve the world's problems....at least the ones that involve children.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-43491600380700977722016-03-16T16:40:00.000-07:002016-03-16T16:40:04.434-07:00Nergue-GamI don't know if I spelled that right. Good thing you probably don't know how to spell it either!<br />
<br />
On Monday, Naomi and I hopped on moto taxis and headed out to Nergue-Gam. It's about 12 kilometers away, and takes just over half an hour to get there. I love moto rides, so going to villages on them is always fun.<br />
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The people in the village had gotten some misinformation about what time we were coming, so apme of them had been waiting for us for several hours already. They were in no rush though. We spent some time talking with the village elders outside under a mango tree. Then we talked with the responsable at the health center in the village. Then we returned to the mango tree and they gave us tea and gateaux! This was a pleasant surprise. I love tea. And Chadian tea happens to be quite delicious.<br />
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When we finally started our health education, there were about 120 people gathered to listen. They say on benches or on mats on the ground. Most of the kids just sat in the dirt. (There's really no reason not to; everything is dusty and dirty anyway). This village seemed much more orderly than some of the other villages we've been to.<br />
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We gave some health presentations on topics like malaria, personal hygiene, dental hygiene, tuberculosis, and things like that. The people who came to listen were super attentive, asked applicable and useful questions, and commented on things that they had learned and what they could change as a result of this new knowledge. For example, malaria is transmitted only through mosquito bites. This might seem basic, but it's not common knowledge out in the bush. Some think that it comes from the rain (not a bad deduction; there are more mosquitos, and therefore more malaria, during rainy season). This sparked a little discussion about mosquito nets, and how they are designed to keep mosquitos away at night. They're not exactly meant to be used as fishing nets....<br />
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It was a really enjoyable time of learning and discussion. The people were enthusiastic and interested. Unfortunately very few men were in attendance...but I guess not everything can be perfect. After we finished our health lectures, we asked some questions of those in attendance, shook hands and received many warm greetings, and prepared to leave. But they weren't done with us yet. They led us over to a quiet corner with a table waiting, and brought us a meal! I was so surprised. The food was quite delicious. The hospitality was quite amazing.<br />
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I don't know how much of the health information we presented in this village was new to the people. I don't know whether they will act on what they did learn. But I think maybe they will. They were energetic and enthusiastic about every topic we discussed. We returned on Tuesday to do more health teaching, and today to do a mobile clinic. This evening when we were preparing to leave and there were still lots of people waiting for a chance to have a consultation with a nurse, one of the older women suggested to me that we sleep in the village that night so we could keep working longer. Seemed like a good idea to me...<br />
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I would eat fish sauce every day if I could do it with a group of motivated people who want change and progress for their village.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-52933508155283972122016-02-20T14:03:00.000-08:002016-02-20T14:03:05.265-08:00The Fluid of LifeWater is generally recognized as being pretty important. I mean, typically as humans we drink it, cook with it, wash our hands, clothes and bodies with it (as well as anything else we decide to wash), play in it, and water our plants and animals with it. It's great stuff; very useful.<br />
<br />
Water in Chad is important, of course. It's hot here, so we drink lots of it. Because it's currently hot and dry, we get dusty and sweaty, so frequent washing of clothes and bodies is kind of necessary. And the river sounds more appealing every day, it seems. Even if it is filthy. (I didn't actually care about the filth anyway; I getting in water).<br />
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Dehydration is kind of a common chronic state here, I guess. So we tell patients to drink water. But there are some patients that we tell (or beg, or order) not to drink water.<br />
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Babies in Chad have it pretty rough. They're tiny, fragile, and they're just trying to figure out what it means to be a human on planet earth. They have to fight against malaria, giardia, typhoid fever, all manner of other parasites, heat, dehydration, and the list goes on. All of those parasites and things don't care if you're tiny, adorable and perfect. I'm sure glad I'm not a baby in Chad. Anyway, just one more thing for babies to fight against is water. Because it is a common practice here to give young babies water to drink in addition to (and sometimes, heaven forbid, instead of) breastfeeding. I don't know all of the reasons why this is a problem, but I do know that babies grow fast, and they need a lot of nutrition. Milk contains the nutrition that they need, and breast milk in particular provides them with immunity and antibodies from the mother that help their developing immune system. If babies are getting water instead of milk, they are obviously getting less nutrition. So giving water to babies is a big contributor to malnutrition. And a malnourished baby doesn't have as much reserve to resist disease.<br />
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This week at the hospital I saw a young mother, her baby, and her mother. The baby was adorable; she was two months old, and skinny, but so cute. As we were discussing what we could do for the baby, the grandmother started to give the baby water. I was horrified. I know that this happens a lot here, and I'm sure that I'll see it again, maybe many times, but this was my first time seeing it. I quickly told her to stop and explained that babies that young need only milk, not water. I don't know how much French she understood, but she stopped. And one of the staff nearby followed up with a Nangéré explanation as well. Beyond that, all we could do was send them to the correct area of the hospital to get the help that they needed. I sure hope they didn't keep giving the baby water. She was so tiny and cute.<br />
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I wish I could explain to all of the women in Chad why they shouldn't give their babies water.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-81292762072619411972016-01-30T23:46:00.001-08:002016-01-30T23:46:23.745-08:00Cleaning, Talking, and HipposOn Friday we cleaned the floor in the medical ward. It was a little different than the typical floor cleaning. Step one was to send all of the patients and their things outside. Most of them walked, but a couple of them were carried by their families. We rolled up our scrub pants and basically threw soapy water on the floor, and scrubbed it with squeegees. At first it kind of felt like playing in the mud. Especially because I kept splashing myself (don't worry; there was bleach in the water as well, so all of the microbes were dead). When we were done, we swept the water out through a little drain hole in the wall, or out through the open door. The second time we went over it the water was much cleaner, so I guess it's a more effective cleaning method than I thought. Which is cool, because it was much more exciting than mopping a floor the way that I'm used to doing it. Although I wouldn't want the floor in my house to get as dirty as that floor was; cleanliness is more important than level of excitement to clean.<br />
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A few days ago I was talking with a friend here, and she told me I speak lots of French. I don't; but that made me feel good. The feeling good lasted until we started talking about Nangéré, the primary local language here, and I told her that I want to learn to speak it. She started asking me if I knew various basic words in Nangéré. She was very impressed when I knew all (4) of the words that she asked me. And she went on to tell me that I speak lots of Nangéré. Ok, so maybe we have different ideas of what "a lot" means....<br />
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This weekend we took a trip to the "hippo river." We don't have TV here, so we have to find naturally occurring entertainment. Hippo watching turned to be a good choice. Some of them got out of the water on the other side of the river, and then they started to come towards us. It was really cool. We left before they got close enough to bite us.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-44513954523816043372016-01-06T15:32:00.002-08:002016-01-06T15:32:57.741-08:00Bed 10The medical ward of the hospital here is in a cement building with a metal roof, and a few windows. It is basically two big rooms. There are signs identifying the room designated for men and the other for women, but when all of the beds are full and the numbers don't match up, it gets somewhat mixed. There are 14 beds in the ward, as well as some IV poles. That's about it. Families bring with them everything that they will need. Medical supplies are kept in the office. The floor is cement, and it amazes me how fast it gets dirty again after being swept.<br />
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One day not too long ago I was at work, and bed 10 was occupied by a particular patient who was pretty sick. He had a tentative diagnosis of cerebral malaria. He was on all of the proper medications, most notably quinine. But sometimes the proper medications aren't enough.<br />
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The family seemed to all be there; they must have known how sick the patient was. A blood transfusion was running, and everything seemed to be in order. But everything wasn't in order. And this patient in bed 10 died. It went a little differently than in the US. No one was crying, and one of the family members came and found a nurse, who went and used a stethoscope to determine whether there was any cardiac activity. There wasn't.<br />
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The patient's face was covered with his blanket, and the family began to collect all of their things. Then one by one, the women walked by the open door, carrying the things they had brought, and wailing.<br />
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It seemed really harsh. There was no chaplain or social worker standing by to see if any of the family members needed to talk through anything; not even an explanation by the nurse of what had happened. No one paused to ask if they had any questions or if they needed anything. It was just the cold, hard reality of death. There's a lot of death here.<br />
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Some of the deaths can be explained easily. They waited too long to come to the hospital, we don't have the medication that they need, we don't have the resources for the surgery that they need. The list goes on. But not every death can be explained.<br />
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With or without an explanation, I don't like it when patients die. I'm sure glad it's not always going to be this way.<br />
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"Then the saying will come true: Death swallowed by triumphant life! Who got the last word, oh death? Oh death, who is afraid of you now?" 1 Corinthians 15:54, 55Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-63832223998431060552016-01-03T08:14:00.000-08:002016-01-03T08:14:31.675-08:00Sick kids, amputations, and cancer Happy 2016! I'm finding it very hard to believe that 2015 is over. I hope the new year is off to a good start for y'all.<br />
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The last couple of weeks have been very busy around here. We had some super great times for Christmas, with things like popcorn, big franks, cookies, and bonfires. Parties are always fun... Especially in Chad! :)<br />
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This past week was even busier, though. Currently, we have 2 doctors at the hospital here. And this week, one of them was gone. So I tried to fill in a couple of small parts of what he typically does. I did rounds on pediatrics, which was really fun. A little scary, but it was good. The main nurse there is quite on top of things, and he would give me a very nice report of each patient, and then basically we either moved on, discharged the patient, or ordered them more medications. We didn't have many kids this week that were super sick; most of them stay only a couple of days. Almost all of them have malaria (actually, maybe all of them...), quite a few have typhoid, and others have other parasites and things. There was also one patient with a snake bite.<br />
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The other thing that made my week exceptionally interesting was assisting in surgery! I nursing school I got to observe a few surgeries, but I never scrubbed in. So this week was a totally new experience. It was also a totally exhausting experience. I basically handed the surgeon things, operated suction sometimes, held clamps and things out of the way, etc. (really, I wasn't a very helpful assistant). There were some pretty interesting cases. Lots and lots of hernias, a few hydroceles, a few cancer cases, a couple of small abscesses, a cesarean section, and an amputation. The only one that I found to be really disturbing was the amputation. Yikes. I hope I never ever have to have an amputation. So surgery was interesting, but the days were long. Typically, I work Monday-Friday, 7-3ish. It's basically a perfect schedule; I get off work, have some time to study French, do laundry, send emails, journal, drink tea (a very important part of my life), take a walk.... and other such wonderful things. And then I go home and spend the evening with my Chadian family. But this past week we often didn't get done with surgery until about 7. So I didn't study French at all last week. Not good. Also I was so tired. I don't know why standing in one place all afternoon is so tiring, but it was.<br />
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Another exciting detail of my week is my phone. I love my phone. It's my connection with the world, basically. And I like to be connected. At the beginning of the week, my charger was having some real problems. If I plugged my phone into one particular outlet, dangled it at just the right angle, crossed my fingers, and then tiptoed away to avoid bumping it, it would charge. And then on Monday night, my charger broke. Literally broke into two pieces. I didn't cry, but I thought about it. Fortunately, there are some really great missionaries here, so now I'm borrowing a charger. Crisis averted. Then at the end of this week I used up all of my internet, but I didn't realize it. So all day sabbath my phone didn't work, and I couldn't figure out why. Fortunately, I bought more credit this morning and it's working again. Hopefully in the future I'll remember to buy credit before I run out. That would be good.<br />
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This next week, the other doctor will be back. I'm very happy that I get to go back to being a nurse on the medical ward. :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-39306263956956574992015-12-23T12:47:00.001-08:002015-12-23T12:47:40.524-08:00One Month in Béré One month ago, I arrived in Bere. It's amazing how much can happen in a month, and how much can change. It's probably been the craziest month of my life. Sometimes I can't believe how amazing it is to live in the African bush. Sometimes I don't feel that way at all. But I've learned a ton, met some amazing people, and had some really cool opportunities and experiences. I hope that all of that continues.<br />
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Perhaps a few of the most exciting parts of my month... I have learned some French (more than I think, less than I wish), seen hippos, watched gorgeous sunsets, survived malaria (it's horrible), experienced quinine (treatment for malaria; it's nasty), tried fish sauce, had countless conversations end with someone involved shaking their head, lacking comprehension (usually it's me), shopped in Chadian markets, seen too many patients that nothing more can be done for, stared at the stars on clear nights when the light pollution is practically zero, taken cold bucket showers outside in the open air, and sang songs in French on a mat in the bush with dirty little children.<br />
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So not all of that is super exciting.... Actually it is. It's just not all big stuff. Except that it is... Cause here it seems like sometimes the little stuff is way more important than the big stuff. At any rate, most of those are things that I wouldn't have done if I was in the US, so I'm gaining new experiences if nothing else.<br />
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Sometimes I ask myself what I'm really doing here. I'm not super useful in the hospital yet, and I can't really have legitimate conversations with most people. But I do have laughter and love to share. And sometimes that's all that matters. (And I'm working on being useful in the hospital and being able to have legitimate conversations.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-44232078999929485612015-12-16T10:01:00.000-08:002015-12-16T10:01:09.079-08:00A Few of my Favorite ThingsBush church and singing, and smiling babies<br />
African sunsets and starting IVs<br />
Trying new food and the fun that it brings<br />
These are a few of my favorite things.<br />
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Riding on motos and cool bucket showers<br />
Warm tea with honey and small desert flowers<br />
Tiny bananas and plucking uke strings<br />
These are a few of my favorite things.<br />
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Learning new French words and nights of star gazing<br />
Mail and email and friends iMessaging<br />
Sitting on mats on warm breezy evenings<br />
These are a few of my favorite things.<br />
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When the bugs bite, or my alarm rings<br />
When I'm feeling sad<br />
I simply remember my favorite things<br />
And then I don't feel so bad!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-5261318785327459022015-12-07T13:11:00.001-08:002015-12-07T13:11:59.810-08:00Paper boats, jelly beans, and stethoscopesSo many things happen everyday that are different from what I'm accustomed to, that I really don't know which things to write about. <div>
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I like to think I might be starting to get used to the work at the hospital. It's very different than hospitals in the US. Some things I really like. Other things confuse me. And a few things really bother me. One of the things that I really like is the scale they use to weigh the babies after they're born. Random, I know. It's a hanging scale, and a wash basin is attached to it with little ropes. It's just really cute somehow to weigh babies in a bucket. Another thing that I really like is using cotton balls dipped in alcohol rather than alcohol swabs. It just makes sense. And there are no annoying little packages to worry about. One thing that confuses me is the way they give shots. It's a little different somehow. </div>
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Those are all very insignificant things; the things that really bother me tend to be a lot more significant. Foremost is the number of patients that die. Or maybe more specifically, the reasons patients die. For that matter, the reasons that patients come in to the hospital in the first place. There was recently a woman admitted because her husband beat her up. I know that happens in the US also, but there is no social worker here with resources and help. But going back to the reason patients die, a baby was born not long ago with a severe cleft palate. Because of this, the baby couldn't suck. And treatment options were basically non existent. So the baby died. That bothers me. Babies aren't supposed to die.</div>
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It seems like everywhere I look, there are kids. The family that I live with has five, plus a few extras living here. Anyway, I have been trying to devise ways of spending time with and playing with them that doesn't involve much talking. Last week I made my family's kids yarn dolls. I thought I would just make them for the little girls, but as it turned out they all wanted them! It was fun. Thus week I decided I need to start learning origami. Yesterday we made paper boats. That was fun. What do you like to do with paper? Or yarn? I would love some more ideas! :)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-89690780777855973212015-12-01T08:09:00.000-08:002015-12-01T08:09:13.197-08:00Life in BéréA few people asked some questions after my last post, which was super awesome. I don't plan to post about every detail of life here, because that would probably be boring. So if you really want to know how I slept last night, what I ate for breakfast, what I did after work and with who, when the last time was that I showered, or anything like that.... Send me an email! And I will send you a long, merry chronicle in reply. Should you desire to send me an email, my email address is hisjoyfullamb @ gmail.com.<br />
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Having said that, I'll try to be at least somewhat descriptive about what it's like here.<br />
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It's hot here. I don't have a thermometer, so I don't know how hot. I'm guessing 85-95 or so. This is almost the coolest time of year, so it cools down quite nicely at night. A few months from now, it will be much hotter. There are also lots of bugs. Mosquitos, ants, flies, cockroaches, spiders.... And I don't like bugs here. They're bigger, or something... So if they're inside, I kill them. I don't like killing bugs in the US, but then there aren't really any bugs there that I consider a threat to my wellbeing.<br />
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The food here is interesting. It's good, but very different. We have lots of rice, some pasta, and some other grains I think. They're all white. Hence, there are lots of malnourished little children running around. To go with the rice or boille or pasta or whatever, they have various sauces and such. Beans, spinach, tomatoes, onion... I don't know. Most of the time I don't know exactly what I'm eating. Also there are bananas. And vegetables.<br />
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Laundry is either done by hand, or given to a wash lady to wash by hand. I don't think I like the idea of paying someone to wash my laundry. So I'll probably do it myself. :) On the hospital compound, we have lots of lovely western conveniences like running water, electricity, toilets, fans, etc. Its quite nice. Off the compound where I live there is electricity, but no running water or western bathrooms.<br />
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Currently, I'm "working" at the hospital during the week from 7am to 3pm. By "working" I mean that I follow a nurse around and watch what they do, help if I can, and try really hard to understand what they're saying. To my great delight, French is starting to sound like French, and not like just any old language. Hopefully this continues.<br />
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I have Internet from my phone; it's kind of prepaid, and has data. It's kind of slow and kind of expensive, so I'm trying to not get on Facebook and things like that. Email works great, and also, as of last night iMessage is working on my phone! I'm really happy about that. My Chadian number is +235 65288857. Regular texting from the US doesn't seem to work for some reason, but if you have an iPhone it should work. :)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-12656010566364305162015-11-29T04:05:00.002-08:002015-11-29T04:08:02.398-08:00In the BushThe wind, the sun, and the dust are pretty significant here when riding on the back of a moto, down the open road. As we were heading west, I was pretty much crying because it was so bright and so windy. This was Friday afternoon, and Papa was taking me out into the bush for vespers.<br />
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I hadn't been out of the village since arriving in Béré on Monday, so it was nice to get out and expand my horizons a bit. We went out of the village and down the main road for maybe a couple of kilometers before we turned off onto a small track and wound through the landscape, passing huts from time to time, with groups of children calling, "Nasara, Nasara!" </div>
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We pulled up in front of a hut and Papa tapped the horn a few times to announce our arrival. A woman came out of the hut with a very large mat to put on the ground, and something like 30 kids (and a few adults) came and sat down on the mat in front of Papa and I. We sang a few songs in French, such as Read Your Bible, Pray Everyday, Father Abraham, and Making Melodies. There's something cool about seeing kids in a bush village in Africa singing some of the same songs that I grew up singing on the other side of the world. </div>
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After we sang, Papa talked to the a little bit, and then asked me to tell them a story. I told them about David and Goliath. Then we sang another song, prayed, and left. It was a very short meeting, something like 20 minutes, but there was something special about it. It made me feel like I'm in the right place right now, and that I could stay here for a long time. </div>
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After leaving that village, we went to another village on the opposite side of Béré and had a similar meeting. The kids in these little villages are dirty. They have runny noses. Some of them are half naked. Small kids, maybe seven or so, will carry babies on their backs. It's a different world here. And I like it. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450039612416435106.post-4360758996032082352015-11-26T14:17:00.001-08:002015-11-26T14:17:43.570-08:00Happy Thanksgiving!Thanksgiving in Chad was pretty great.<br />
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Today was day two at the hospital. So far, pretty much all I've done is follow on rounds and such, trying very hard to learn people's names, understand a little bit of French, and learn a few new words, if I'm lucky. There's lots of patients with malaria and typhoid, some with cancer, some with abscesses and infections of various kinds. And other things, of course. Like surgery patients, and maternity patients, and things like that. Lots of skinny kids, too. They're sure cute, though.<br />
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One of my new favorite songs has a line that says "I need to know I can be lost, and not afraid." You could argue that I can't possibly be lost, because God opened the doors for me to come here, and he is with me, and therefore I am anything but lost. And that is true, of course. But some other things are also true. Like the fact that I feel pretty lost here at this point. Because really... I'm in a totally new place, with new people, a new culture, new languages, new food, a new climate, new ways of doing things, and a new approach to nursing.<br />
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Definitely the biggest "new" for me right now that the language situation. It's pretty crazy. I'm realizing that I've taken talking for granted all my life. This is quite startling...so startling, in fact, that I might be an extrovert by the time I get home just because I'm so thankful to be able to talk to people. Just to be clear, there are people here who speak English. But there's a whole lot more who speak French, Arabic, Nangéré, and a whole lot of other local languages. And a good number of people here speak multiple of them. It really made me wonder what I've done with my life when a 12ish year old told me that he speaks five languages. What.<br />
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As a side note, if I ever learn to read Arabic, I think I will feel like I have achieved a significant accomplishment. Look it up. It's super beautiful. I think reading would be even more enjoyable than it already is if the words were gorgeous like that.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08396283436094063702noreply@blogger.com0