Life & Death

Although many of us hate to think about it; life is short. Each day we are given is a gift. We do not know the hour or time our lives will end. One day you may be remembering the “good old days” when you used to cut grass for the old lady from church. The next day you hear death snatched her, your grandmotherly figure, away before you got to tell her how important she was to you. Or consider this, a humble, servant hearted, middle-aged father of 12; gone in the blink of an eye. Death is not prejudice and no matter how hard we try to fight it; death is a part of life. Death is the only certain thing in life, but still it surprises us. And somehow we still try to convince ourselves that we can escape it with the right formula. Suppose I quit my job, move to Africa, and serve the poor. Can my life then be free from the pain and hurt that death brings? No. She came seeking “hope and healing.” Sure, her surgery was risky, but we are trained professionals. She was a middle-aged mother, it couldn’t have been “her time,” but it was. What did we do wrong? What if we had gotten there sooner? What if we would have had more advanced technology? The “what ifs” could go on forever, reality; she is gone. What about the wee babe, merely four months old. The babe was wrapped tight, but breathing softly while being held closely by a loving African mama. The hospital crew member escorted the pair into the ship to wait in line to see the doctor. While in the cargo hold (patient waiting room), death came and snatched that precious babe away from its young, loving mother. Why? How? What? Can’t we be immune from the horror of death? What about the young life waiting in line at another screening location, why them? How was it that when we scanned the room moments earlier, all appeared okay? Why did the tumor win when help was so close? With a heavy heart and mind plagued with the intensity of losing three patients in one week, I run around the hospital ward getting ready for one of the most exciting events in the lives of our VVF patients: the “Dress Ceremony.” When our patients have successfully recovered from surgery it is something to celebrate. My job as VVF Co-Coordinator includes helping prepare the women for their dress ceremony. Our VVF women come to the ship smelly, constantly soaked in urine, plagued with frequent infections, without work, homeless, alone, and “dead.” After surgery they are “reborn” and given another chance at life. To celebrate we give each healed woman a beautiful, traditional African dress during a special ceremony in their honor (see photo). The women have a chance to share their personal stories and my patients that wouldn’t smile upon arrival to the ship now dance like teenagers to the sound of the conga drums banging in the corner of the ward. Their excitement is palpable and songs burst forth throughout the hospital. One lady stands and shares, “I came with tears… I go home with joy!” Another woman, who had been leaking urine for over ten years, timidly admits, “I tried EVERYTHING; I even went to the fetish priest, but he couldn’t help me, but HERE I found help. No more witchdoctors they just take my money. I will keep my money and eat my chicken… no more sacrifices!” The intensity of life here is unreal. I could go home and ignore it all, but would that really change anything? No; life begins and life ends, no matter where we are. I grieve. I celebrate. No matter the pain and confusion my heart may feel, it is my pleasure to celebrate and grieve with my patients. I have no doubt that life truly is a gift and for the time being my challenge comes with learning how to open that gift and enjoy the “present.”