If today was one of my first and last days of Palliative care visits in Mozambique,
I think it would have been enough.
I am satisfied.
But, longing and eager for more...
Blessed to be used in writing this story.
More soon....
Monday, October 20, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
resting in the abnormal
This week was so weird. It started as a normal Monday-- shopping, laundry, prepare for the week/errand day. But this week I found myself trying to think of everything we might need knowing that we were not going to leave the house on Wednesday or Thursday. Cars were filled with fuel, cupboards were stocked.
Tuesday came around-- as normal as any day.
Wednesday I woke up later than usual since Nede wasn't going to school. My first thought was, "Wow, it's quiet. I can hear birds singing." I don't know what I expected-- I knew violence and war wasn't really likely but because I don't understand African politics I didn't know what this election day (that had been geared up for so long) might bring. Turns out I found it sort of fun. Knowing my family and I were just home together, not to go out for 2 days "just in case". I felt safe with my Loves near. We were okay and all WAS quiet.
But, also on Thursday, that knot sat heavy in my tummy. With someone dear going for an angiogram I found myself in a full blown worry-- a bit anxious and even scared. When all was well I realized that that felt like a big deal because, well, frankly, it was a big deal. Yes, it is so "normal" in America but so ABNORMAL in Mozambique. We wonder if the local hospital even has a stethoscope, yet alone an electronic device of any sort. It felt not normal.
What is this world that I find myself in?
Then Friday, I'm concerned again about 2 special people here. One who I know needs more antiretrovirals or he'll be out for the weekend allowing that blasted virus to mutate and make his medications ineffective. I went to check on him to make sure he'd gone. Not home. Not at the hospital either. Picking sugar cane to sell to have money to buy food. Also important, but not medication. Shoot.
Then, a special young mom that I met on the street had just spent the day at the hospital, hardly strong enough to walk, out of breath, sores on her swollen face. She had been sent away and treated with Tylenol and iron tablets. I could have screamed my face off knowing those are not what she needs. What can I do? Treat her myself and pray against this abnormal.
Despite all of this, yesterday and today I was in a giddy, silly-girl mood. I'm not sure my husband knew what to do with me. And this afternoon, while lighting a candle and rolling out my bread dough I found my mind writing and thinking, "This is normal and no matter where I am, as long as I'm with these Loves I can take a deep breath, light a candle, roll out some bread and enjoy something normal." I can find normal in this oh so abnormal life we journey. If I'm in the center of where I know He wants me, then all is well and even the most abnormal can be accepted as normal. I can be giddy and full of a joy from the Lord. Despite all of this, here is where I'm happy, resting in His place of abnormal.
Tuesday came around-- as normal as any day.
Wednesday I woke up later than usual since Nede wasn't going to school. My first thought was, "Wow, it's quiet. I can hear birds singing." I don't know what I expected-- I knew violence and war wasn't really likely but because I don't understand African politics I didn't know what this election day (that had been geared up for so long) might bring. Turns out I found it sort of fun. Knowing my family and I were just home together, not to go out for 2 days "just in case". I felt safe with my Loves near. We were okay and all WAS quiet.
But, also on Thursday, that knot sat heavy in my tummy. With someone dear going for an angiogram I found myself in a full blown worry-- a bit anxious and even scared. When all was well I realized that that felt like a big deal because, well, frankly, it was a big deal. Yes, it is so "normal" in America but so ABNORMAL in Mozambique. We wonder if the local hospital even has a stethoscope, yet alone an electronic device of any sort. It felt not normal.
What is this world that I find myself in?
Then Friday, I'm concerned again about 2 special people here. One who I know needs more antiretrovirals or he'll be out for the weekend allowing that blasted virus to mutate and make his medications ineffective. I went to check on him to make sure he'd gone. Not home. Not at the hospital either. Picking sugar cane to sell to have money to buy food. Also important, but not medication. Shoot.
Then, a special young mom that I met on the street had just spent the day at the hospital, hardly strong enough to walk, out of breath, sores on her swollen face. She had been sent away and treated with Tylenol and iron tablets. I could have screamed my face off knowing those are not what she needs. What can I do? Treat her myself and pray against this abnormal.
Despite all of this, yesterday and today I was in a giddy, silly-girl mood. I'm not sure my husband knew what to do with me. And this afternoon, while lighting a candle and rolling out my bread dough I found my mind writing and thinking, "This is normal and no matter where I am, as long as I'm with these Loves I can take a deep breath, light a candle, roll out some bread and enjoy something normal." I can find normal in this oh so abnormal life we journey. If I'm in the center of where I know He wants me, then all is well and even the most abnormal can be accepted as normal. I can be giddy and full of a joy from the Lord. Despite all of this, here is where I'm happy, resting in His place of abnormal.
(Aren't they sweet, too?)
Saturday, October 11, 2014
world hospice and palliative care day
And YES I DO!
In a time and world where the big news is a 29 year old, Brittany Maynard, deciding on assisted suicide and a Jesus-loving, Kara Tippetts, mother of 4 (also with cancer) begging her not to cut her life short, my heart bleeds for the both. I weep because Brittany could have beautiful access to supreme palliative and hospice care until her last breath. She could write a beautiful story with her husband and those she loves for as long as possible. And my heart, weeps at the beauty of Kara doing just that-- working with the best to be able to enjoy reading every last story to her kiddos, to go for that walk holding the hand of her beloved husband.
As my friend here says, "Everything is possible in America. American's can do anything."
And, isn't it true?
Here I am, on this day hoping with the World that we can expand palliative/hospice care into this little dark corner of the world. That I can take a nugget of what I know from the land of possibility and lengthen a day and bring some quality back to the hopefulness of an 8 year old.
Because life, in your living and your dying is sacred. It is beautiful, it is to be treasured-- all your days, every last breath. They are ordained and gifted from our loving Father and it's in our living we get to learn to know him as we prepare for our dying.
I'm encouraged as I read a quote from Bono saying,
“In life, you try your best to hold
on tight to your dignity, in death sometimes others have to hold onto
it for you. The premise of hospice care is very close to the bone for
me. The hospice was available to look after my father before he died
of cancer.
These people are kind of angels. They escort you to the door of your death; they are the midwives for delivery into your next life. The comfort and relief they provide is exponential, it spills over to family, friends, colleagues. It’s a blessing that everyone should be able to receive.
In the poorest countries, where so many people are fighting for their lives, the conditions of death don’t get much of a look in. But how we care for the sick and dying is surely a litmus test of our humanity. Just as we fight for equality in life, we should fight for equality in death.”
These people are kind of angels. They escort you to the door of your death; they are the midwives for delivery into your next life. The comfort and relief they provide is exponential, it spills over to family, friends, colleagues. It’s a blessing that everyone should be able to receive.
In the poorest countries, where so many people are fighting for their lives, the conditions of death don’t get much of a look in. But how we care for the sick and dying is surely a litmus test of our humanity. Just as we fight for equality in life, we should fight for equality in death.”
Please pray because we do care and I agree, we should fight for equality in death. Not just in America.
Monday, October 6, 2014
it has begun
As this week comes to an end,
my throat still scratching
Me, second guessing my antibiotic choice
And reflecting on the week
Wondering if it's worth it??
Although, really, when I think about it,
Despite feeling not great for a couple of weeks,
It was one of the best weeks I've had in ages.
It was time.
The stirring was there,
We listened.
We made our first palliative care/hospice home visit.
I wish I could show you his eyes,
Because, there is so much there.
So much hope,
Yet so much pain when he says, "I'm too tired to play with the kids,"
So MUCH, when he admits he brushes his teeth with his finger and sand.
So much age when he says "my sores and head are always hurting."
Of course it was time.
It's time to love my "little guy" to bits.
Yes, I am smitten.
And, yes, part of me is really scared to walk this journey--
to risk it yet again.
I wish you could have seen after he visited the clinic later in the week.
After we gave him a foot scrub and cleaned up his feet,
Gave him a warm cup of milk and a lollipop,
He walked out giving me a thumbs up and a wave.
There was pride back in his little hurting heart.
I could see it,
He knew he had value.
He KNEW that day that he was important to someone.
There was no cure,
It may not even have looked like "palliative care"
I might be changing my program already.
My definitions are changing that's for sure.
"Comfort care" may be changing from morphine,
to giggles.
And that's just fine with me.
Because we saw change, there was quality.
If only for a minute.
And when Chad asked, "So Dear, how was it to be back in the community again?"
"I LOVED IT!"
"I thought so."
my throat still scratching
Me, second guessing my antibiotic choice
And reflecting on the week
Wondering if it's worth it??
Although, really, when I think about it,
Despite feeling not great for a couple of weeks,
It was one of the best weeks I've had in ages.
It was time.
The stirring was there,
We listened.
We made our first palliative care/hospice home visit.
Because, there is so much there.
So much hope,
Yet so much pain when he says, "I'm too tired to play with the kids,"
So MUCH, when he admits he brushes his teeth with his finger and sand.
So much age when he says "my sores and head are always hurting."
Of course it was time.
It's time to love my "little guy" to bits.
Yes, I am smitten.
And, yes, part of me is really scared to walk this journey--
to risk it yet again.
I wish you could have seen after he visited the clinic later in the week.
After we gave him a foot scrub and cleaned up his feet,
Gave him a warm cup of milk and a lollipop,
He walked out giving me a thumbs up and a wave.
There was pride back in his little hurting heart.
I could see it,
He knew he had value.
He KNEW that day that he was important to someone.
There was no cure,
It may not even have looked like "palliative care"
I might be changing my program already.
My definitions are changing that's for sure.
"Comfort care" may be changing from morphine,
to giggles.
And that's just fine with me.
Because we saw change, there was quality.
If only for a minute.
And when Chad asked, "So Dear, how was it to be back in the community again?"
"I LOVED IT!"
"I thought so."
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