Real talk: if you don’t like honesty and tough stuff and
harsh reality, stop reading here. Writing is what God has given me to process
through the hard things I see and do and walk through, so we’re here. Lately
I’ve felt lost in it all, like I can’t even gather my own emotions/anxieties,
so how on earth could I share them with others?
So today I will just begin. Some friends who really get me
and know me deeply have challenged me to share my stories, to share the
realities, to share the daily traumas because honestly, I need to. No one has
to listen, no one has to read, but I need to share. I suppose I didn’t even
realize that much of what I walk through on a daily basis is traumatic, but it
is. And it’s important that I begin recognizing it and processing through it
before my mind and soul explode. Sound good? Good.
Here goes…
Today I took Margret to the hospital. You can read more
about her situation through some social media posts and this post.
And today I got more of the story: On Saturday morning,
while Margret and her husband were praying together, Margret started feeling
bad. Like really bad. She said her legs felt like ice while her brain felt like
it was sparking with fire. Margret collapsed onto her bed, and continued to
pray for healing until the words just wouldn’t come. She was unable to speak,
but tears poured down her face. Seeing that the situation was incredibly
severe, Festus, her husband, called a taxi and rushed her to the hospital, one
of 2 public hospitals to serve over 1 million people of Lusaka and surrounding
areas.
Margret was admitted immediately with symptoms of a stroke.
One really great Zambian doctor compiled a full report on her. Margret was even
given a bed, signifying the severity of her condition, considering that many
patients are forced to sit/lay on the ground due to a lack of beds at this
hospital. A few hours later, the doctor returned to find that Margret was
speaking, even walking, and was astonished. It’s what they called a miracle.
Margret stayed overnight for review. Her file shows that the doctor ordered
some follow-up procedures like an EKG and a CT scan of the brain to check for
abnormalities, clots, etc. However, the doctor’s shift ended and a different
doctor came in. This was a weekend doctor from another country, who perhaps
wasn’t as knowledgeable or as caring as the last doctor. This doctor discharged
Margret with a diagnosis of a “headache” and a handful of antibiotics. So lame,
right?!
Margret did not know that she needed a CT scan because the
doctor who discharged her didn’t seem to care enough to let her know. Which is
really dumb. Margret went to another hospital yesterday to get her EKG (since
the machine was down at the first hospital) and an ultrasound of her heart.
Both were normal, praise Jesus.
So today Margret returned to the hospital, this time with
Wyatt and me. Before, she went with Elina because I was sick earlier in the
week. This was my first time at this particular public hospital. I was
impressed with the new design, the spaciousness, the cleanliness and the number
of staff around. This hospital only opened a year ago, and I am grateful for
it. Thanks to a Zambian doctor friend who’s also in our Bible study, Margret
got to shortcut some inefficient procedures, got to read her chart fully to see
what the first doctor really ordered, and discover that the hospital’s CT
scanning machine was broken. Otherwise we would’ve waited hours and hours in
line only to find out that she couldn’t receive her scan today. Besides being a
bit weak, tired, and having a few memory problems, Margret was a champ. She’s
probably the strongest woman I know. In fact, she is the strongest woman I
know. Thanks to two generous donors who donated the exact amount that a CT scan costs at a private hospital, Margret
was able to get her scan done in under an hour at this other hospital we took
her to with the referral we needed. We pick up results tomorrow morning, and
she goes for review of the results next Wednesday. The final steps in making
sure our dear friend is healthy, and arriving at a proper diagnosis to treat if
needed.
Those are the events. But what about the feelings?
Today I saw things I never thought I would have to see.
Things I never imagined that I would see. Things that Margret probably sees
daily, but are not normal. Things that are, indeed, traumatic.
Sitting outside waiting for Margret’s papers, I see a child
being supported by her mother with a gash over her eye exposing the bone
underneath. I see open wounds covering her entire head. I see her hobble along
covered in a chitenge (cloth), most likely covering even more wounds. I thought
she was walking around waiting to be seen, but she was just discharged. They
did all they could for her. And after Margret speaks to them, she tells me that
this girl has just been hit by a car. There’s not much else they can do for her
besides send her home to rest and heal. A young girl, hit by a car. How? Why?
No. Just no.
And then I see an old Corolla car swerve up to the front of
the hospital. And out of the hospital doors, a man carries a limp boy, still in
his school uniform, dead. His arms and legs just hang, and it takes me a minute
to come to reality with this situation. His family members are in the car,
shocked, emotionless. And the boy’s body is just placed in the back seat
resting on the laps of the family members who came to try to save him. Who
knows why he died? Who knows how he died? Who can even fathom the emotions
plaguing every person in that car? Death so visible, so real. So awful.
And next to me is a man waiting to be seen who shares his
injury story. He has also been hit by a car. Margret tells me that accidents
are very common. This man rolls up his muddy pant leg, with a hem stitched in
jagged stitches with embroidery thread, and exposes his wound. His leg and foot
are swollen three times the normal size. His leg with a wound that has become
infected, even discoloring his leg. Yet he shares his story so
matter-of-factly. He chuckles when the rain falls; he is grateful when Margret
gives up her seat so that he can be under the rain shelter when a storm
approaches. He portrays emotions that are unfathomable to me considering his
condition.
Person after person, wheelchair after wheelchair, limp after
limp, sick baby after sick baby, sunken face after sunken face, exposed wound
after exposed wound. It was all so much. The pain so tangible, so real, so
intense, so heartbreaking. I get it- it’s a hospital. But words just can’t
express what it’s like to witness hundreds
of people waiting to be treated, on the verge of death, not just because they
have an annoying cold or headache (guilty), but because they are about to die. Really
die. Because the wound/disease/injury they have was even too much for their local clinic to handle.
I observantly watched the people go by, and kind of
matter-of-factly even. Sure there is pain and death, it’s life. But I’m trying
this new thing where instead of suppressing my feelings, I feel. I hurt. I
break. I cry. I wrestle. I seek truth in the chaos. Even if the particular
situation demands my strength for the benefit of others, like at the hospital,
I can find that freedom, that respite when I reach my home.
Honestly I wanted to snatch up every single person and save
them from their pain. I’m a deeply empathetic person and sometimes it’s a great
thing. Other times it just really hurts. But I am grateful that Jesus made me
this way. I can only get a glimpse at how He feels, how He pains. I wanted to
force every doctor living the comfy life in America to come to Zambia to serve
the 1.6 million people in Lusaka that only have 2 affordable hospitals to go
to. I wanted to congratulate each (honest) doctor in that hospital for doing
his/her best with an immense lack of resources and funding and an overwhelming
number of patients. I wanted to fix it. And I still do. But I can’t.
But I can feel and grieve and hurt with the people I
witnessed hurting today, people whose stories will go unknown, people who’s
names will never be remembered beyond their own families. I can anger over the
injustices of this world that are taking the lives of too many people, people
who die from very treatable conditions and diseases.
And when my heart feels like it just can’t take anymore, I
can look in the face of my Father who gets it. Who knows what it feels to lose
a child. Who became man to take on every suffering and sin of the world. And
whose promises I can cling to as the Bible says, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with
them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their
God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more,
neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former
things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)
There is intense pain and injustice and grieving in this
day. The world is hurting and broken. But this is not the end of the story.
Jesus came to redeem the world, and I get to live every day in the very real
hope of what is to come- these promises that He’s spoken over all who believe
in Him. The way today was, the way the hospital here is, the way these
traumatic situations are, they aren’t okay. They aren’t how God intended them
to be. They are not right. But Jesus died to make all things right, to
reconcile us to Himself, to defeat death and pain and darkness. And when my
head can’t figure it out and when my heart shatters, my soul will choose to
believe that this is not all there is, not even close. The best is yet to come.
