Fishing Boats & Towels

It breaks my heart and I hate to admit it, but he has been on the ward with us since we removed the small football sized tumor from his shoulder more than four months ago. The surgery to remove the tumor from his shoulder went extremely well. The skilled, South African, surgeon that removed his tumor grafted new skin from his right thigh to cover the gaping wound that was left in his shoulder after removing the mass that had protruded from his arm for far too many years. A few weeks after his surgery his skin graft had taken and his shoulder was healing. He started to learn shoulder range of motion. He was ecstatic when he got to use his regained shoulder range of motion to wave at his brother, who was in a fishing boat that randomly passed by the ship one afternoon during the patient’s daily trip outside to deck seven of the ship. We loved watching him stare at the clock each day waiting in anticipation for the daily patient trip outside. Another day he randomly saw another one of his family members float past the ship in a tattered fishing boat and the smile on his face melted our hearts. We got so excited for him and his “family sightings” from deck seven, that we started making nursing notes in our charge nurse handover notes about who he got to wave at each day. His happiness added to our happiness.


Although his shoulder was healing well, the donor site on his thigh that we grafted skin from was not healing well. Then it got infected. As soon as we thought the skin was getting better, another area of infection would appear and the fragile skin that was healing would once again break open and pus. This cycle of almost total healing, then wound breakdown has continued and despite our best efforts, his years of malnutrition and poor skin condition in general have made his healing process extremely lengthy and prolonged.

He has been sad, depressed, discouraged, and questions why it has taken so long for his leg to heal. We ask the same questions. He misses his wife and kids; the waves from deck seven of the ship aren’t enough. He needs his family, but they live too far away and cannot travel each day to visit him. We are discouraged, but know God is big enough to heal his leg. And praise God, just this past week his healing has sped up and we pray that soon he will be able to go home.

Yesterday, he asked to speak to me and I hate to admit it, but I tried to avoid him, not wanting to tell him once again that he was not ready to be discharged. He started to speak to me in Krio, the main language here in Sierra Leone. I understand most Krio, but wanted the support of a translator to help me explain once again to my patient that I didn’t know why his leg wasn’t healing, but that I was praying with him for it to get better, and that we weren’t giving up on his healing. He agreed to wait for me while I found a translator. I prepped my translator, telling her about the situation before we approached my waiting patient. With a heavy heart, we approached my patient once again and I had my translator start to explain to him that it wasn’t time for him to go home yet.

She started speaking in a local tribal language and smiled at me and was laughing with the patient. I was confused and interrupted her, telling her to tell the patient what I asked her to tell him because I was certain if she had really told him that he couldn’t go home, that he wouldn’t be laughing. She stopped me and said, “No, Laura, it is okay.” I was dumbfounded. It wasn’t really okay. My patient has been here more than 130 days and his wound still isn’t better. She said, “No, it really is okay, He just wants to know if when he finally goes home if he could take a towel with him. He doesn’t have one at home.”

All the heaviness that had been on my shoulders lifted. I breathed a sigh of relief and told my patient he could most definitely have a towel when he goes home. He smiled from ear to ear, shook my hand, and thanked me for all we are doing for him, and walked back to his humble bed, in a busy ward, to wait for his healing, but somehow comforted by the idea that he would have a towel to take home.


Dear Father in Heaven! Thanks for my patients. Thanks for the healing YOU WILL BRING THIS PATIENT. Thanks for the chance to be here & thanks for simple things like towels. (Next time you use a towel- please pray for my patient, that he will soon heal & be able to take home the towel I promised him).