Stories of Healing and Hope in 2025

We did 52 operations in 7 days. But summarizing a fistula campaign in numbers can take away the humanity of it. I have struggled to know what to write for my patient-centered blog post this year. Obstetric fistulas are the same problem we have addressed for the last 10 years with a lot of the same tragic circumstances. However, each woman has her story, and part of the healing process for the women is for them to share their experience with others. We need to acknowledge what they have been through. But, speaking for myself, sometimes the enormity of what these women face is not felt as acutely when I cannot imagine what they are going through.

Buckets provided to patients for personal hygiene

The daily reality of women suffering from fistula was brought into focus earlier this year when I was talking to a mom about caring for her elementary-aged daughter who is delayed in her ability to be toilet-trained due to a known medical condition. She described the constant buying of diapers and products to help keep her daughter dry. The mom had to apply cream to keep the skin from breaking down. This became more complicated when the child became more active, was going to school, and simply was growing bigger. She then said, “I think I know just a tiny bit of what your fistula patients go through, except they suffer for years. And they may not be able to afford or have access to diapers and just use cloth rags. It’s a very difficult situation.” Indeed. 

Grinder for seeds to make a protein packet seen after cooking in the leaf

You may also be able to think of an elderly parent that becomes incontinent in their later days. It is a lot of work to care for them, to keep them clean and dry, and to make sure they don’t have sores or breaks in their skin which can cause infection. Now imagine this person is not a child nor the elderly who would expect to have someone to care for them, but rather is a caregiver herself, a mom of perhaps other children, or a wife who is expected in the African culture to care for the home and her husband. Keep these pictures in your mind as you hear about two of the women who we helped this year in our fistula campaign (shared with permission, written by members of the fistula team).

This is Malosa Kipitshi. In 2007, she was married and pregnant with her first child. Later that year, after many hours of labor, she experienced a traumatic forceps-assisted vaginal delivery that her baby sadly did not survive. The day after delivery, she notice that she had become incontinent of urine. Despite hoping that her incontinence would improve over time, she continued to experience involuntary leaking of urine due to a vesicovaginal fistula causing a permanent connection between her bladder and vagina. This malady changed Malosa’s life forever; after an unsuccessful attempt to repair her fistula with surgery, her husband decided to leave her, and she was forced to remarry. She had a successful second pregnancy with her now-husband and they share one child together. While Malosa expresses gratefulness to have found a husband who wanted to start a family with her despite her incontinence, she shares that their relationship has been clouded by her condition. She does not share a bed with her husband and is not able to attend church with her family due to great embarrassment about not being able to control the passage of urine in public. Her entire family has abandoned her, not wanting to be burdened by her medical needs and the inconveniences that her condition brings. When Malosa heard about the opportunity to receive surgery at Vanga Evangelical Hospital, she was motivated to give surgery a second chance, knowing that the expenses associated would be covered by the generosities of the Fistula Foundation. Now that she has received her surgery, and has so far regained her continence of urine, she is beyond excited to share the good news with her family and community members. She even told us that she is planning a celebration in her village to announce her healing and begin her reintegration into the daily activities that she has long avoided. Malosa agreed to share this story because she wants other women with fistulas to be encouraged that they too could one day receive a healing surgery that would give them back their freedom. She is thankful to everyone at Vanga Evangelical Hospital and to the Fistula Foundation for offering her this opportunity to live life to the fullest after 18 long years of hiding herself and her condition.

This is Matum Makakiri. In 2021, she and her husband were ready to welcome their first child into the world. After a seemingly uncomplicated vaginal delivery to a healthy baby, Matum’s doctors decided to send her home with a catheter for 20 days. This was likely to prevent excessive stretching of the bladder which could worsen any pressure experienced by the bladder during childbirth. Unfortunately, when it was time for her catheter to be removed, Matum was found to have a vesicovaginal fistula that rendered her permanently incontinent of urine. This was devastating for Matum, who was a new mom and just beginning her adult life. Her condition was deeply embarrassing for her, and so she avoided all public gatherings and appearances so that others would not have to be bothered by the smell of urine that was always with her. She even refused to attend funerals of close family members in order to avoid humiliation. This became especially difficult for her when in 2024, at the age of three, her only child passed away due to severe anemia. The surgery she received at Vanga Evangelical Hospital to repair her fistula was a life-changing event in Matum’s life. While she wants her husband to know that she is grateful to him for staying by her side despite her incontinence, she acknowledges that a successful repair of her fistula will allow them to try for another child in the future, something that was not a priority while she was suffering from the leaking of urine. She looks forward to going to church again and telling the people in her village that she has been healed.

                       

Saving a life

Fistula surgeries are an interesting sort of operation. They require expertise in both the female anatomy as well as the urinary tract. It is a blend of urology and gynecology, and it is highly beneficial to have input from both. Dr Paulin is our Congolese urologist and is a full time fistula surgeon. He performs transvesical operations and ureteral reimplantations which are beyond my scope of practice. I am the complement as I perform prolapse and vaginal surgeries beyond his scope. The main operating room in Vanga has two tables, allowing for simultaneous operations and easy conversation and help. We have a friendly banter as we perform surgeries throughout the week. “Pas de conflit!” is a common phrase we say with a smile, usually after a playful dig at the other’s perspective.

One evening after a long day of fistula surgeries, Dr Paulin stayed late to perform a purely urological case. This man had received 10 pouches of whole blood, had 4 operations, and still the source of bleeding had not been contained. The worry etched in the face of his treating doctor showed the gravity of the situation- he was very likely going to die. Paulin was not deterred. Even if he died on the operating table during his 5^th operation, this would not be different than the certain outcome if left without further intervention. He had to try.

Early the next morning, prior to starting our fistula surgeries, I went with Dr Paulin to see the man post operatively. He was not only alive, but he was doing very well! The urine draining from his catheter was completely clear, without a trace of blood. Surgery had been a success. The smile on the treating physician’s face stretched so wide I didn’t think his lips would move back enough to talk. In a later meeting with the staff doctors, Dr. Paulin recounted the details of how he had to create a flap to cover an area which was impossible to stop bleeding from due to its location at the bone. He mentioned that it would not have been possible without the special catheter that we brought from the US. When I questioned him, he couldn’t resist the temptation to dig, saying a phrase that translates to,  “The gynecologists brought something that they didn’t even know the value of!” A normal catheter costs up to $2. This one is over $100! This catheter saved a man’s life. Our coming to Vanga this week saved a man’s life. God orchestrated timing of it all: the donation of an item to us, the journey of our team to Vanga, the delivery of this item to the OR staff, Dr. Paulin’s readiness to take on a challenge, Dr Paulin’s quick thinking and remembering seeing that item in the pile of donations. In that timing, God allowed us to be part of saving the life of a papa, a husband, a brother.

Jehovah Jireh- God provides.  

Admittedly, part of the preparations for this year’s fistula campaign were more haphazard than other years. We started to gather supplies later than usual as we were unsure if the campaign would even happen. Some needs were not expressed until the last minute. Some essential items needed specifically for fistula surgeries include ureteral catheters and 3 specifics types of sutures on special needles which allow us to get around tough corners in tight spaces. All three of us searched for as many of these as sutures and catheters as we could possibly find. I found only one box. Dr Madeline only found one box. Dr Paulin only found one box. He also brought as many catheters as he could find. As a testament to God’s provision and guidance in this campaign, we used EVERY SINGLE catheter Dr Paulin found and had no further need. And the sutures? All three of us had brought a box of a different type. We had all we needed.

Travel Advisory

Two weeks before our scheduled departure for our fistula campaign, DR Congo made world news. Goma, a city in the East of Congo with significant international presence despite its troubled history, had been overtaken by M23, a rebel group widely-known to be backed by Rwanda. Many lives were lost, horrendous tragedies unfolded, and a world largely distracted by chaos in Washington DC and Gaza and Ukraine suddenly remembered this country. Eastern Congo is a sort of place where conflict never really ceases, much like some areas in the Middle East. There are large deposits of highly-valuable minerals sought worldwide. Tribalism is rampant. Sexual violence is common. Terrorism of innocent villages to pillage and feed scores of men who are fighting is the norm, unfortunately. While none of this is new, the capture of Goma and the sudden advance of M23 caused protests and some destruction in Kinshasa, the capital located far away in the West. A travel warning went into effect, and the level 3: AVOID UNNECESSARY TRAVEL soon shifted to level 4: DO NOT TRAVEL.

What to do? Preparation for a fistula campaign begins months in advance, and scores of women were preparing to walk, float, and ride dugout canoes, motorcycles and planes to get to Vanga. Some of them were likely already waiting. Although Dr Paulin performed over 70 fistula surgeries last year without me, he was counting on my support. Fistula campaigns can be brutal in terms of workload, and the reality of the situation is that postponing the campaign this year would mean cancellation. We did that in 2020 during Covid, leaving 12 women waiting for our arrival, and I did not want any of these precious women to have to wait indefinitely for a chance at a cure.

Anxiety set in for me. I do not take travel warnings lightly. Already, Dr. Tim and Kathy Rice were not able to host us personally this year due to an unexpected stay in the US for healthcare. On top of this, I felt the weight of responsibility of directing the GYN resident and the medical student on my team. So, I prayed for clear guidance. I consulted my African friends, especially those with government connections or impartiality (without any involvement in the campaign). We have contacts at the US Embassy in Kinshasa. Word on the street was that things in Kinshasa, through which we travel on our way to the village in Vanga, were completely calm and normal after the initial unrest. Calm but tense. No one could guarantee that chaos would not return at any time, thus the travel ban, but every contact consistently said that life was going on as normal “for the moment.”

As I went about those last two weeks, my shoulders were granite slabs I carried around. If we needed to cancel, earlier was better. If we were continuing, there were so many tasks and messages, packing and supply-gathering to do, and I felt completely overwhelmed. Should I take this lack of peace as a sign from God, or was this unusual anxiety a sort of resistance from an evil source? Evil would not want hope and healing to reach these vulnerable women. With one week to go, I checked in more intentionally with my US team. Their responses through text brought the clarity and peace I needed. “If you feel comfortable then so do I!” and “If the travel advisory stays at a level 4 then I can’t get elective credit for the trip but that’s not a big deal to me.” Wow. I was so grateful to have their resolute responses.

Somehow, in the midst of single parenting that last week due to a work conference for Ryan, we were able to pack eight of nine suitcases full of surgical supplies. Tuesday, the day before our departure, I drove to pick up one last stash of supplies for the final bag. As I was driving, I glanced up at the message flashing on the highway sign: “WINTER STORM WEDNESDAY. TRAVEL NOT ADVISED.” We were supposed to drive to the airport and fly on Wednesday mid-day, and the snowstorm was to hit 2 hours before our scheduled flight. Sigh. What’s next? Oh, the warning about possible Ebola, the warning about Monkey Pox… it’s no wonder people have a hard time working in Congo. Not to be deterred, we called our travel agent and changed our flight to 0-dark thirty, adding not only 6 hours of travel time, but also peace of mind.

It was with extreme fatigue, yet satisfaction, that we arrived in the village on Friday. Travel was as smooth as I have ever experienced in  the Kinshasa airport, navigating the city of 17 million, and the formalities for the regional flight to Vanga. We collapsed, exhausted, in the guestrooms of the empty house of Dr. Rice. This was after walking from the airport, taking a short tour, and greeting the very excited staff of Vanga hospital. Sleep came quickly and deeply. Finally, prior to sunset, we took the courage to venture out again. We needed to greet the women suffering from fistula who were waiting for us. We had barely rounded the corner of the building where they all slept when we were greeted by excited cheers. As they streamed out of the large simple cinderblock room and filtered in from gathering firewood for the evening meal, they broke out into a song of greeting, dancing, clapping, smiling. And I cried. I couldn’t help it. The granite slabs dissolved and became my shoulders again. This. This is why we came. These women were why “WE MUST TRAVEL.”

It's a Dance

 

Our 6^th fistula campaign in Vanga, 2023, is best summarized by a dance. There are several reasons. Fast and slow, complicated and simple, we moved and worked together to bring healing to many precious women suffering from injuries caused by childbirth and trauma. A quote that stuck with me prior to the trip, and in fact was written on my fridge before being taken over by a packing list, was an African proverb. “As the music changes, so does the dance.” Also, I recall an old journal entry in which I wrote, “When we get close enough to one another, we will step on each other’s toes.” Lastly, this campaign was full of dance because the gyn resident who joined our team this year minored in dance during college. What a joy to see how dance could uplift broken hearts and spirits, break through language and cultural barriers, and join us together with a smile! So, shall we?

 

Travel this year was smoother than ever before, with the lifting of covid restrictions. All four American members of the team benefit from extensive travel experience: Nancy Rice, NICU nurse, previously lived in Congo with us, Madison Strausbaugh, fistula team nurse from World Medical Mission travels so much that her desk calendar is still in January, and Dr. Torie Hayes would likely be living overseas if she weren’t in gyn residency. We had no lost luggage and made our connections, albeit running to our gate in Paris, Home Alone-style.

There was this one incident, however, with fish. Imagine a Toyota Landcruiser with many large boxes of “frozen” fish on the roof rack fighting the humidity and heat, melting down the sides and the windows, blurring our vision of Kinshasa traffic as we drove at 5am to catch our domestic flight to Vanga. Imagine luggage porters running after us, stuffing small fish that were steadily dropping out of our luggage cart straight into their shirt pockets. Imagine the smell. Soaked, cardboard-turned-mush boxes destined for Vanga to help feed our patients for the next month. We paid a little extra to park close to the entrance of the airport where we were weighed along with our baggage. The degree to which this was a ridiculous request for checked baggage is also the degree to which the MAF (Mission Aviation Fellowship) staff took it all in stride. Sure, we lost many fish to the pockets of the porters and people helping us to repackage the fish into plastic water-tight bags, but most of it made it to Vanga and was still edible!

We met many of the women suffering with fistula the day we arrived. They were awaiting surgery together in a pavilion just outside the main hospital. Since December, the Vanga team had been sending out radio messages and occasionally doctors themselves to rural communities and referral centers for recruitment. Some patients came from nearby, but others had traveled over 500km from Angola and the Republic of Congo to get surgery. The road to the hospital is still impassable by car, so by dug-out canoe or by motorcycle or by combination of bus-taxi-foot, the patients came. We screened, consulted, and scheduled for surgery these patients during our first full day on the ground. Then to connect with them prior to starting operations, we returned to the pavilion arm-in-arm with about twenty enthusiastic nursing students. Torie, the gyn resident, our team athletic director, and our dance instructor led us in a collective African line dance to the song Jerusalema. Oh, how we laughed! Though we had practiced at home, it was a whole new level to try to dance with 50 women on uneven dirt and grass, avoiding ants, tree branches, or random rebar sticking out of the ground, and laughing so hard at each other that we could not hear the music.

   

Operations started with our usual team, led by Dr. Paulin Kapaya, fistula surgeon and urologist from Kinshasa. Each OR has a culture of its own, but the whole team adapted quickly, with the Congolese staff warmly welcoming the assistance of Nancy and Madison as they learned the ropes of circulating and assisting with surgeries. It is always fun for me to come back to the same faithful nurses, doctors, and residents and to see them continuing the good medical care provided with such limited resources. The poor air conditioners in the wall fight hard against the African sun, but with cloth gowns and long days, it is always advised to end the day by jumping into the Kwilu River before sunset. The butterscotch water runs over smooth sand, daring us to compete with its current. And our other option of a bucket bath shower is much slower at rinsing out shampoo than swimming upstream for a few seconds!

 

The music changed with the arrival of a team of urologists, nurses, and anesthesiologist from Belgium. Médecins du Desert (doctors of the desert) is an organization with 13 years of experience doing fistula missions all over Africa, and they were invited jointly by Dr. Paulin and Dr. Junior (One of Vanga’s supervising doctors and my friend since we were both residents in 2012) to help with this year’s campaign. The rhythm and tempo in the OR changed, the composition both strange and beautiful. Medicine is an art as well as a science. MDD had a unique challenge to jump into surgeries after we had already consulted and scheduled the patients. Different protocols and requirements for reporting back to our various funding sources caused some duplicity and confusion. However, the diversity and depth of experience in tackling the difficult cases was a huge blessing. By the second day of operating and working together, our dance took shape. We were unified in our goal of helping more women with fistula, and getting in the trenches with the same goals significantly accelerates connection with others.

The weekend was a welcome rest from surgical work, and there was a lot of dancing! Saturday, the American team left the urologists to do and teach purely urological procedures and took a 2 hour boat ride up the river to celebrate the opening of a new hospital. After our canoe touched the shore, we clambered out and up the sandy slope to a waiting vehicle which took us to what we thought was just going to be a simple meeting for the Vanga team to discuss logistics of staffing the hospital. The Landcruiser stopped in front of a large group of people singing and dancing. They were gathered outside the new hospital building, shaded by tarps held up by bamboo poles. After greeting a long-time missionary friend, Katherine Niles, we were paraded into the gathering and placed near the front. We had just come from the river and weren’t quite dressed for the occasion which seemed formal with dignitaries and police and pastors and priests. We settled in, a bit confused. Later, Katherine said, “NONE of this was planned. I had NO idea!” She was even called upon to make a formal speech. Improv at its best.

Sitting there, guessing where we were in the formal program, I took note of the arrangement. As I mentioned, there were bamboo poles holding up tarps which were temporarily attached to the building. There were long rows of people under these tarps, but where the shade ended, so did the people. About 75 feet! back, there was a tree providing shade, and there were about 3 more rows of people sitting or standing, as if they were just behind the row. The sun cut right through the crowd. From where we sat, the speakers were quite loud and close to us. Dr. Tim Rice, not a novice at such things, put earplugs in as we listened to the speaker. However, this became complicated when this pastor finished speaking and came back to sit down, right next to him! In a particularly smooth move, Tim discreetly raised his left hand to his ear to take his earplug out. The row of us Americans behind him could not contain our smiles and then outright laughter after calling him out in private later that day.

 

The Sunday service is always filled with the choirs of children and men and women singing. One cannot help but smile seeing the joy. One particularly endearing part about the choirs is the small children that are a part of an adult choir. Our second Sunday there, the four of us Americans were invited to come up to sing. We decided the best course of action was to learn a Kituba song and the whole crowd joined in, thankfully drowning out our voices for the most part.

All of the teams, American, Belgian, Kinshasa, and Vanga teams were invited that afternoon to take a ride on a larger rented boat. What a delight to get to know the other teams outside the stress of the OR and hospital! As we neared our destination, a sandbar just in front of an island, ominous clouds threatened and lightning and thunder came rolling in. Being in one of the lightning capitals of the world, I usually avoid this danger, but frankly, we had no good options. Under a tree, in a boat, or in the water, we were about to get soaked and the lightning was still several miles away. Throwing caution to the wind, one by one everyone got out of the boat, ran across the sand, splashing, high-stepping, and dancing, flinging themselves into the river. For those that could not swim and had never been in the Kwilu, this was particularly delightful as the water was shin-knee deep. Rain came pouring down and we danced and laughed like schoolchildren, from the oldest Belgian professor to the youngest Congolese medical resident. When lightning encroached, we got out of the water, staying close but not too close to the trees and huddled around a fire. Rain continued, so we started our journey back, holding makeshift tarps over bamboo arches until we finally came out of the storm. Sometimes memories are best when the unexpected happens.

 

 
Surgeries continued and our Kinshasa and American teams left a couple days ahead of the Belgian team. Our postop nursing staff and the lovely ladies cooking for our patients will continue as we see the healing process continue. One by one the ladies will get their catheters removed. They will stay for at least a week before heading back home due to the extreme difficulty of following up and our desire to know and treat them if there is further leaking. Highlights for me continue to be the people of Congo as well as the long-term team who work in Vanga. I love coming year after year to see them, to hear how their families are doing. I was able to see a patient healed from her fistula a few years ago and a nurse who reported resolution of pain after following my recommendations. A couple stopped me to say thank you for a consult I did years ago for infertility. They were proud to tell me they have 4 children now. Working cross-culturally will always be a dance, and when the music changes, so must the dance. It is my sincere hope that we continue to work for the good of the poor and suffering among us, so that they can feel deep down in their souls that they are not forgotten by God.

 

There's a Place for Me

 

Imagine being newly married and pregnant. Imagine having a difficult and long labor without access to an epidural or pain medication much less a cesarean section. Now imagine you experience a stillbirth and then realize in the days after that not only are you having normal postpartum bleeding, but you are also unable to control your bladder. In fact, you are wet all the time. You begin to smell of urine, and your skin becomes calloused with exposure to the acidic urine. You stop drinking water, as the dehydration lessens the wetness. This causes the smell to increase with the concentration of urine and puts you at risk for kidney stones. Imagine your husband calls you “detestable” and refuses to let you stay with him. Your friends abandon you and laugh at your condition. You go back to your family without the expected grandchild or niece or nephew, and after a short time, they also decide that they cannot stand being around you or their house smelling. Imagine having no place to go, being utterly alone. The following three paragraphs are three different first-hand accounts, translated as closely as possible from their mother tongue to French and then English. Grab a tissue.

“I was expecting a child and for a whole week I had labor pains so I was taken to the hospital of [omitted for privacy] after having already labored in a health center. And I delivered a boy and the urine started to pour out of my vagina, but my son was killed mysteriously by the sorcerer. Now it has been 29 years that I’ve had this sickness. After having it, I started to be uncomfortable, as I had to wash all the time in order to not smell like urine. I couldn’t stay in the community because I smelled like urine, I avoided the church because I was wet just sitting down, and even my business I could no longer do because I was not going to be received well knowing that I would dirty their chair or their bed with urine but that also, I smelled like urine. My husband heard the news on the radio and we came. After this operation, I think that this time I will be healed and I have not had any more leakage of urine this time. It is a good thing. I will be able to get my life back and I will be happy.” -29 years after symphysiotomy, a process by which the pelvic bones are separated/broken apart at the cartilage in the front in order to expedite a delivery when a cesarean section is not feasible.

“I was suffering from abdominal pain and the doctors said that I had appendicitis and an ovarian cyst and that it was necessary to operate, but one week later, it hadn’t happened. We had changed the hospital and they told me that my vagina didn’t form all the way and they operated. Urine started to pour out of my vagina. We put in a vaginal compress and the doctors assured me that there would be no further leakage but it continued and as the days passed, there was a lot of urine and also poop that came out of my vagina. We returned to the hospital but they said they could not do anything more for me. Other girls my age laughed at me, I was uncomfortable to see girls my age who were in good condition and not me, and everything made me so sad that I got a stomach ulcer. I believe that I’ll be healed after this operation and that I will wait. I will be very happy to feel that all the openings were closed and I will be able to live like all the girls my age and think of getting married and having children and even my parents will be happy. We heard it on the radio, that’s why we came.” -young woman with transverse vaginal septum (a congenital malformation) who had a large 7cm left ovarian cyst and 3 separate fistulas: one into her bladder, one into her rectum, and one from her bladder to her upper vagina.

“Everything started in 1981 by the first pregnancy that I had and the infant was blocked by the head at the entrance of the vagina and the labor was long before I could deliver and the baby was dead. It was after that difficult delivery that I developed the fistula. My husband abandoned me after that, telling me that I leaked urine from my vagina and I was gross and he said a lot of other hurtful things before he left me. My brothers abandoned me, telling me that my urine leaked out of my vagina and that no one could look at me anymore or love me anymore, in the family or in the village and to live I was forced to sell my goats and chickens to be able to eat. I spent my life thinking of my situation, my state of being and my son that I lost who could have helped me. Instead, I was alone. For 41 years, I tried to get fixed and was operated on 3 times and that didn’t work. So, when I heard the information [about the fistula campaign] I came. I believe that this time I will be healed of this sickness and I will live my own life. I cannot do anything more.” -delightful older woman who came alone, without a fistula but without ability to control her urine as her urethra was destroyed.

This year, our fistula campaign presented more women with complex fistulas, malformations, double and triple fistulas, multiple prior repairs, no urethra, and bizarre presentations after symphysiotomy. For one, we even had to reconstruct a urethra out of skin from the inside of her mouth. These complex ones are done primarily by expert fistula surgeon and urologist Dr. Paulin Kapaya of Kinshasa, although we all work as one team with two operating tables in the same room in order to be able to discuss difficult steps and share ideas. We operated for 8 days instead of 6 as we had in previous years. Dr. Sarah Kennedy and I spent most of our days operating, as you might imagine. Thankfully the third member of the US part of our team, Katherine Krosley, was able to get out into the community, take part in a public health class at the nursing school, visit health centers, watch normal labor and delivery, experience the malnutrition center, and perhaps most importantly, spend some quality time with the fistula patients post operatively.

If you know Katherine, she is quite a talented musician. She can make up a song on the spot, infuse it with humor or sadness, and brilliantly deliver. Many people in Vanga were blessed by her songs. Each year after all of the surgeries are completed, we have a party to celebrate all the work we have done and all the work the postop and kitchen teams have yet to do. We always debrief about the campaign as a whole, both its strengths and weaknesses. This year, a strength that was highlighted was the psychological and spiritual healing spurred on by the time that Katherine spent with the patients, singing and playing guitar with some of the medical students and nurses, and hearing some of their stories which we have highlighted. Perhaps no one interaction made more of an impact on Katherine or the patient herself, than when she sang to woman who was utterly alone for over 40 years.

She sang… 

Who the Son sets free, is free indeed. I'm a child of God. Yes, I am.

In my Father’s House, there’s a place for me. I’m a child of God. Yes, I am.

There’s a place for me. We can’t even imagine the pain, the loneliness, the shame she has endured. Though her situation is difficult and complete physical healing which we trust in will be a miracle, she can know now that she is not alone. She’s a child of God. She may not be completely continent, but she can know she is completely loved. There’s a place for her, just as there’s a place for me.