The sun was intense, beating down, burning my neck and the back of my shirt was sticking to me with sweat. I was a little light headed and should have being drinking more water. Ben brought both water and sunscreen over – how did he know? My mind was running a mile a minute processing all that was happening around me; cars, pousse pousse (bicycle taxis) and tuk tuks flying past, a lady carrying a bunch of live chickens by their feet, people tapping me on the shoulder trying to jump the queue to be seen. I stood there at the front of the line, trying not to be distracted by the sights around me nor let my gaze wander down the hundreds of patients that were waiting to be seen. I quickly asked God to help me be present for that one patient in front of me. I smiled and shook her hand. Salama Tompoko (hello), what is the problem that you’ve come with today? She shook my hand and greeted me in return before hesitantly unzipping her stained, wet jacket. I was confronted with a large infected wound and what appeared to be a cancerous growth covering most of her breast. Flies were buzzing all around her and landing in the wound. She quickly zipped her jacket closed. I realized too late that my filter between my brain and face probably wasn’t at its tightest. God help me. I reached out and touched her shoulder. How long have you had this problem? Nine months it had been there. Mercy Ships doesn’t offer chemotherapy or radiation therapy, nor is breast surgery part of our surgical program. I couldn’t give this lady what she needed. I’m so sorry, I don’t think we are able to help. I explained what surgeries Mercy Ships can do and why we weren’t able to help and apologised again. She nodded, half-smiled, thanked me anyway and walked away. The helplessness was intense but I couldn’t stay there, the next patient was already walking over.
This conversation was repeated again and again. I’m sorry this appears to be cerebral palsy, this is a problem with your child’s brain and surgery will not fix their legs. Devastation and disbelief written on their face, they would ask with their eyes, surely there is something you can do? I’m sorry mama there isn’t. You are doing a good job mama, continue to love them and care for them. There’s a crippled thirty two year old standing in front of me, asking for help. I know the rule. I’m so sorry but Mercy Ships only offers orthopedic surgery to children. I heard my translator explaining in a simple way to the patient, your bones are hard, but children’s bones are soft. It’s a difficult job translating - I wonder if they knew the emotional intensity involved in this job when they signed up? I have grown to really love our day crew translators – Maria, Jo and Pierre.
Thankfully they have the joy of delivering good news too. His name was Ismael. His mama pronounced it like ‘Smile’ which was perfectly fitting. This little boy was all smiles, seemingly unaffected by his bowed legs. He was born this way his mama told me, can you help him? Yes, yes I think we can. With delight the translator informed the mama. Ismael and his mama were given a ticket to go through and see the nurses inside the centre for further assessment before being given a date to come to the ship and be seen be seen by the orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Frank Haydon.
What a privilege to repeat conversations like this again and again. To the mama, holding her baby with a cleft lip – yes we have a maxillofacial surgeon who can fix this, come on through and we will take your contact information and give you a date to come to the ship and see the surgeon. Then there was young man telling me about his hernia and how it was painful at times. He then proceeded to undo his pants to show me and the hundreds of other people standing around – argh it’s ok! Keep your pants on, come on through inside and we can assess you privately. But yes, we have a general surgeon who will likely be able to help you. To the desperate papa holding his son with an obvious bulge protruding from his shirt, yes come on through, I think we can help you. A friend Heather who works on the ward has since written a beautiful blog about this little boy named Lucas.
Both of these conversations, one laced with sadness and difficulty, the other full of hope and joy are part of my job. In order to find those we can help, I have to say sorry to those that we cannot help. But what a privilege it is to do both. To love both people. I don’t know exactly how that looks, but I’m learning. Learning from the people I work alongside (Mirjam, Jas and Nate) who inspire me and exemplify what it means to love others. Learning to trust God when the limits of what men can do are so confronting. Learning not to be overwhelmed that we cannot do everything, we cannot fix everything. But instead I will remember the phrase that Dr. Gary often quotes,
Where do I begin? How do I summarise all the emotions that I’ve felt and all of the people that I’ve met over the last month working on the dockside and in the Toamasina Screening Centre? I have attempted a few times to collate my thoughts and encapsulate the experience thus far, but I don't think a neat little summary is possible. So I’ve taken the pressure off and decided I’ll just try to reach out and grab hold of a couple of those thoughts, describe some of their beautiful faces and relay a few of those feelings that are floating around in my memory. "One person cannot change the world, but together we can change the world for one person."