I began his discharge paperwork, checked his surgical site, ensured his dressing was clean, dry and intact and that no hematoma was present. I cut of his armband, explained his discharge medication, gave him his outpatients appointment and told him he will need to gather his belongings. I checked again in an hour and he was no closer to being packed up. His belongings were still strewn across his bed. It was as if he didn't really believe me when I told him he was going to be discharged this morning. The shuttle driver then walked onto the ward to collect the patient. I helped him pack up his belongings including his nifty little Mercy Ships bag containing new toiletries, towel, mirror and thongs. I started to say goodbye, wishing him well in his recovery.
All of a sudden he began speaking loudly with emphasis and hand gestures to all who were present in the room. What is he saying? I asked the translator. He's saying thank you very much to Mercy Ships. He has never met people like you here. He has had this problem for six years and now it is gone. He's so happy. May God bless your work, he says. He had a look of relief and delight on his face that I hadn't seen before during his stay. This change of attitude coincided with his discharge. Obviously he was happy to be going home, but why relieved? What did he think we were going to do him?
Then I remembered what a chaplain had told me earlier in the week. In Guinea (previous outreach) a rumour was spread amongst the patients that Mercy Ships was taking out patient's eyes and replacing them with dog's eyes. When working on screening a few weeks ago I was asked to ring and check why a patient had declined surgery. Why does it matter I thought? There are many other patients who will gladly take his spot. Then Laura (a screening nurse with a heart that pours out nothing but love and compassion) explained to me that there are often conspiracy theories, usually involving witchery, that get spread around the villages about Mercy Ships. That we couldn't possibly provide free surgery without another motive. There's got be something more going on. And remember, she explained, it wasn't that long ago slave ships (led by people of my colour) sailed off these same shores. I then realised the huge trust that a patient must have to walk up the gangway on to the Africa Mercy, choosing to ignore these rumours, doubts and fears and instead choosing to believe that what they have been told is true. That their surgery is free and there is no hook on the end of the lure.
As I was hurrying to discharge this man onto the shuttle, it dawned on me. He must be realising that he's going home and nothing bad has happened to him. He's had his hernia repaired and that is it. We didn't take his eyes. We didn't sail away with him onboard, never to see his family again. We didn't hold him captive until he coughed up an impossible amount of money. I'm sure he had fears and doubts prior to his surgery but he chose to trust the organisation and it's crew.
How was your shift? Asked my stunning, curly-haired room mate that afternoon. Her personality and mannerisms remind me so much of Annelise. (Obviously she's awesome). Really cool, I answered her and relayed the story of the patient I'd discharged earlier that day. That's kind of like our relationship with God, she said. He has offered us love that knows no end, forgiveness, peace and eternal life.
If only we will walk in trust and accept it.
It's free.