Margret & The Hospital

Yesterday afternoon I heard that my good friend Margret (the mama of the twins who I post about excessively- not sorry about it) was rushed to the hospital unable to speak and unable to use her legs, symptoms that came on frighteningly suddenly. She was referred by a compound clinic and sent to a major public hospital. Upon examination, it was determined that Margret suffered from a vague “heart condition.” She was admitted and spent the night in the hospital.

And that’s all I heard about it. Visiting hours were over. Margret wasn’t healthy enough to talk, let alone have a phone conversation with me. Margret’s mom stayed overnight with her, but was left in the dark about the goings on. Margret’s twins were rushed over to her sisters’ homes to stay with them while Margret was in the hospital.

And no other details than that. No explanations of treatments or medicines administered. No future specific diagnosis. No plan.

I was planning on picking Elina up at this very time (3:30pm) to meet Margret at the hospital in time for visiting hours to check in on her and get some real answers. A generous donor even contributed for Margret’s medical expenses and diagnosis/treatment for the unknown issue. But I received a phone call from Elina saying that she was discharged. She was on her way home.

Now I do believe in miracles. I believe 100% that her body could have been miraculously healed overnight. God is totally able.

But a part of me is curious about a different possibility, one that is all too real here. Perhaps this hospital is just like the one who poisoned my friend because she was “taking up space” at the hospital and they needed her bed for “someone else.” Perhaps Margret is facing the injustice of a lack of diagnosis simply because she is a woman from a compound. Perhaps she was attended to by the same doctor who murdered my other friend’s baby because a rich family needed the baby’s blood so that their baby could survive. Perhaps she has fallen victim to a corrupt and unjust system. And that pretty much makes me want to hurl.

But here I am. Still sitting in my house without any other option. I have to wait to hear from Elina later once she visits Margret’s home to try to get more details. Perhaps there’s a clear diagnosis with a clear treatment, and that would be amazing. Perhaps she has been completely healed by a miracle of Jesus, which would be incredibly amazing. But perhaps she has been sent home, “better,” but with a band-aid on a life-threatening issue.

And every ounce of my justice loving, deeply feeling, righteous anger driven self just wants to scream. I want to know. I want to help. I want to fight for my friend. I want to hold accountable the systems that threaten to kill my friends. But I can’t. I’m just one person.

But God. God is in control, even over situations as huge and confusing and complex as healthcare injustices in a developing nation. He is aware of her pain, her plight, her position, and He cares. He is fighting for her in ways far beyond my understanding. He is providing for her in ways I will never be able to. He is holding her and comforting her in ways deeper than my heart can even muster. He was with her in her going to the hospital, and He is with her now on her return. And when my heart breaks, yearns, shatters for answers and solutions, I can trust my Jesus. I can fight the fear and lack of control with the knowledge and belief that my God is greater. That my Jesus saves. That my Savior is our healer, our friend, our warrior.

So today Jesus, I put Margret in your hands. You know her. You formed her. You sustain her. You have created her for a purpose that only you know. She is yours and you delight in her. Even if I never know why and I never get to the bottom of this mystery, You are in control. You have all the answers. You are to be praised, adored, thanked. So thank you Jesus for loving my friend and for calling her blessed no matter what hardships she faces, no matter what storm threatens to engulf her. She belongs to you.