No Fair Answer

Friday, March 16, 2012  Day 8

One of the craziest days so far...

We started out the morning in the peds ward. It was very empty (compared to previous days this week) with only 6 patients. Phillip and I split the load between us. My 3 patients were doing really well- one even ready for discharge. We quickly write our notes and meet Dr. Tom in the men's ward. After seeing a few patients we begin to hear a loud screaming sound from the direction of the peds ward that struck everyone around us all at once. It seemed like everyone straightened up and started paying attention. Some even glancing at the open windows to see what was going on, however despite all this, it did not seem to come as a surprise to anyone at all. Dr. Tom looks at us. We had not yet given report from the peds ward. "What is going on over there," he says suspiciously. "Nothing," we reply in agreement, just as confused. "Everything was fine when we left." We began to worry. After losing five other patients already this week and witnessing one yesterday, the sound of the wailing still caught me off guard. I hope it is a sound that, unlike the people here, I never get used to. It seems to be just another noise to them, as if it blends with the sounds of the fire crackling in the distance or the leaves of the palm tree rustling in the wind. People continue on about their ways, sometimes not even noticing at first that anything has even happened. Lorena tells us stories of how the children in school stand automatically at the procession of the body being escorted from the hospital through their school yard. I cannot imagine going through school with the distraction of people wailing all throughout the day as I sat waiting and wondering, "Is it someone I know? Is it my family?" 

Twice today we received new patients on the peds ward...and twice today we heard wailing as the mourning mothers made their way through the crowds weeping in sorrow and flailing themselves about. It is quite the expression of the most undesirable and often indescribable sensation. And these people live with it every day. It is so hard for me to face the sorrow from the loss of my grandmother, but to have that repeated many times over is more than I hope I ever have to experience. 

As the day progressed and the work continued on, we saw improvement. We discharged several people. It is always such a delight for me to write discharge orders for a peds patient. To see them go from fighting to breath to playing and laughing is a miracle every day.

I've learned that with medicine in Africa, you only do half the work and most of the time with less than half the resources...God does the rest. It frustrates me greatly to try to figure out how He decides who will go and who will stay. I know I shouldn't, but I always find myself asking, "what if we'd have done this?" or "maybe we should've tried that?" It's such a hard game to play and the only fair answer is- there is no fair answer- it is all written into part of His greater plan.

Today after clinic, we came back to Bud and Judy's house for dinner. Meredith and Lorena joined us again and we spent the evening chatting with them and sharing our day's work with one another. After a short while, the kids began to collect on our front porch as they often do. They began to yell for us through the window until finally Lorena came out and agreed to sing a song with them. We all ended up sitting on the front step in the cool evening breeze and joining along. It was so much fun to see how excited the children became when singing and dancing. It again amazed me at how a nation filled with such grief and despair could also provide children that are so happy and joyful as if they were completely naive to the fact that death surrounded them.