It’s not what you think. Trust me. Has nothing to do with
drugs, or make up, or girls, or a magic dragon, or even CPR. It is a phrase
that has uplifted me in the midst of a difficult week.
There are times when I
am struck with an unreasonable feeling of discouragement or loneliness. It
happened this week again. We were able to reconnect with some friends and
family over the weekend, and should have been refreshed when the week started.
Instead, I watched as Ryan struggled to find his purpose and place, feeling
frustration over our lost shipment and over the fact that he hurt his knee
playing soccer (minor this time) and is unable to connect on the one place he
is most comfortable- the soccer field. Instead, I felt lonely for our friends
we have left. Instead, I felt as I worked on Monday that I was working in the
dark without cultures or pap smears or the ability to biopsy. This feeling of
working in the dark, along with the numerous patients with cervical cancer too
advanced to operate, gave me pause as I advised a resident doctor not to do a
hysterectomy; nevertheless, the cervix looked ok (to the naked eye).
I felt prepared for heat, for mosquitoes, for limited
options for medicine. I felt prepared for the inability to perform minimally invasive
procedures like hysteroscopy (looking with a camera at the inside of the
uterus) and laparoscopy (doing surgery through tiny holes with a camera). I
felt prepared for difficulty with follow up with patients, for tropical
diseases and conditions I’d never seen, and for bigger complications like
uterine rupture. But I didn’t feel prepared for the battle within my mind of
just how inadequate I might feel when asked for advice by residents and
students, or for the loneliness that I might face, or for the darkness of
discouragement. But God is good, and He reminds me time and time again to rely
on Him for strength and provision of grace. It is so good to know that He is
the one ultimately in control.
Four things encouraged me this week, one of them being “puff,
puff, puff!” First, I was able to talk with a colleague who is working in Kenya
with Samaritan’s Purse as well. Her experience is much the same, and that
certainly helps me not to feel alone. I know there are many many people lifting
us in prayer daily. Secondly, I also
have been able to keep in contact especially with two very close friends from
language school- we are all living in different places here in Congo, and that
has been a great source of laughter and sharing of tears. The third and fourth
things happened while teaching in the maternity ward.
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| Sydney also got to practice helping the baby breathe |
We started teaching a course, internationally known, called
Helping Babies Breathe, for the maternity nurses. Dr. Rice and his wife Kathy, nurse educator,
and one of the Congolese doctors and I directed the course. It is so much
different than the rote memorization I think they are used to. We had life-like
baby mannequins and real ambu-bags and practiced every step of the way. At
first, it was like pulling teeth to get them to come up from their chairs and
practice with the babies. Kathy and I acted like crazy pregnant women coming
during active labor, and soon they were laughing and playing along. And even
though what we were practicing was very simple (we only did the first part
which is when the baby is breathing and everything goes smoothly), we could
immediately correct the small errors that they were making.
I watched as one of the older nurses went literally from sitting in the corner with a disinterested look on her face to actively participating, feeling for pulsations in the umbilical cord before cutting it, and telling the younger nurse, in French of course, “Well we haven’t been doing it like that, but we are going to start doing it like this from now on!!” I also watched as she connected what she had seen me doing in a delivery with her earlier this week, which at the time had seemed quite strange to her, with what we were teaching them now. She was all smiles with her new knowledge of the importance of drying off the baby, skin-to-skin contact with the mom, and waiting to cut the umbilical cord.
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| Practicing Helping Babies Breathe |
And lastly, I spent one afternoon in the maternity ward,
while waiting for patients or any questions from nurses, with the medical
students and a resident. They had their heads buried in their books at first,
but I told them I thought it was important during their clinical year that they
be taught practical and hands-on things, as these are hard to learn from just
reading. I brought in my suture training kit, and I told them we were going to
practice tying surgical knots. Here in Congo, they almost solely use instrument
ties as this conserves the suture the most and is the most simple. But time and
time again, I watch as they make one crucial mistake in this knot which makes
it more like a slipknot and susceptible to come untied. I first reinforced with
the students the concept of square knots, and changing directions. Then, we
moved on to one-handed and two-handed knots. They eagerly tried it out,
teaching each other after they had figured it out. And then they would groan as
I told them they had to switch hands (dominant hand switching to non-dominant
hand) because from my experience, if they can switch hands, they truly
understand the theory and technique of that knot. The resident explained that
they had only been taught one part of the one-handed knot in their school. So
when I explained that that would make more of a slipknot than a square knot,
and had to be paired with its opposite, they were eager to call the first part
the Congo knot, and second the Shannon knot.
One of the students, in particular, looked to me as he tried
out the two-handed knot. Each time I affirmed that he had the technique or
movement right, he nearly shouted with excitement, “Puff!” So as he got more
proficient, I just saw his smiling face as he went through the motions, “Puff!
Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff!” The joy of teaching is summed up in that face, in that
smile, and in that shout of “Puff!”
I joked with him that I would go to bed that night, hearing
him in my head saying over and over, “Puff! Puff! Puff!”
