Congo Patient Selection Day: August 28, 2013

7,354 people were in the line for Wednesday's screening- the line stretched and wrapped around nearby streets. According to my friend Romina, who was a night time pre-screening nurse, people began to show up before 2am.

4,236 people were admitted inside the school gates for further assessment, more than any other Mercy Ships screening day.

And 300+ crew members were on the site working, along with many day crew translators. Side note- this is an exhausting day for our translators as well, most of whom we met last week. Hardly any of them have a medical background, and translating medical information and often heartbreaking news is a huge task.

But those are just the big numbers- they reflect what a marathon of a day this was, but at the end of it what is most overwhelming is the fact that every one of those numbers is a face and a story.

 

Here are a few moments from the screening day that I will remember and carry with me:

-Quietly climbing into a land rover before dawn along with my fellow crew members, who were probably feeling the same mixture of sleepiness and anticipation that I was.

-The very first patient I welcomed- the first person to make it through the surgeon's screenings and come to us with a yellow patient card. She was a middle-aged woman with a goiter, and after 3 months of the hospital being closed it was wonderful to say "welcome! I'm glad you're here, I'm glad we can help and we are going to take good care of you!"

-How I love working alongside friends, and I love seeing them doing what they are good at- like Krissy welcoming government officials with her beautiful French skills, and how Krystal worked tirelessly leading the registration team.

- the little boy I photographed with clubbed hands and a sweet giggle that melted me into a puddle on the spot. Wow I can't wait for that kid to be admitted when we are doing Ortho surgeries, what a joy. And his dad was looking elated. For them the answer was yes- yes we can help you!

(thanks Catherine for the photo of me working at the medical photography station)

 

-the little girl, maybe about 6 years old, with burn contractures on her arms. (Contractures result when a burn does not heal properly. If there is no access to interventions such as skin grafts, the skin just pulls itself closed any way it can, resulting in the arm being partially fused to the sides)

She was so timid; wary of my camera and the fact that I was inspecting her arms so closely. I put the camera down for a minute just to stop and play, she laughed at my hand clapping game. Grace the wonderful translator helped me explain that I am a nurse, and when she comes to the ship I am going to be there. We will be friends and play together- and I am going to take good care of her. With that said we went back to taking pictures- now it was a game- how far can your arm stretch? Snap a picture. And how far can it reach up? Snap a picture. With plenty of laughter we got through all the required photos and parted as new friends. I'll get to see her again- and soon too! The plastics patients will be cared for on B ward where I work.

- I spent the day with the select people from that line of 7000 who fit all the criteria for surgery, photographing them and recording what their medical condition looked like at the start of the journey. But just outside the doorway was a constant stream of people who we could not help, being escorted to the exit gate.

Late in the day I was standing near our doorway and one mother grabbed my hand- "I lost my papers!" She franticly told me,"the doctor gave my daughter a yellow card just like that one, I put it down and now it is gone". I looked at the daughters arms, one was longer than the other, but I was sure there is not an operation we do on the ship that would help her. Finally after more questions her mother quietly admitted "no, the doctor didn't give me any papers. I just wanted to ask one more time." Then she smiled weakly, shook my hand and thanked me and she and her daughter headed for the gate. I am not a mother, but I can only imagine that if I were in her place I would have wanted to ask just once more as well.

-this story came from my friend Thelma- she was praying for people on their way out, mostly people who were told "no", but also some who were given yellow cards. One of these was a little girl with a deformity we will be operating on. She was in the prayer room with her father, and Thelma asked him through the translator

"Do you believe your daughter is cursed?"

"Yes, I do believe that."

Thelma turned to the little girl and told her "God loves you, and I do not believe you are cursed"

Once those words were translated, a smile began to spread across her face.

Thelma continued "and when you come to the ship I will be one of the nurses for you, and I am going to take good care of you, and oh the games we are going to play!"

-this story came from my friend Frida, who was helping in the women's health area. A woman came through their lines, one of the first ones who was a "yes" for further screening for VVF surgery. (VVF stands for Vesicovaginal Fistula- it the result of a complicated birth, when a cesarean section is needed but not available. The child is stillborn and the mother left with a hole from her bladder that leaks urine constantly. Many of these women are then viewed as cursed and are isolated from their families and communities).

This particular woman had heard of the ship. She explained that she did not try to have an operation from anyone else- she wanted to wait for the ship. She waited for years, and finally we were coming to Congo! She stood in that line, visited each station and finally had her "yes we can help you" yellow card.

But before she left the women's health station, she had one more question for Frida:

"Am I the only one here with this problem?"

No- she is not alone. And when it comes time for her surgery, she will be admitted on to a ward filled with women with the same condition. They become their own sort of a sisterhood, and so much of the healing comes from that- not being alone anymore.

 

We were at the screening site from before sunrise until long after dark- still finishing the last patient charts with flashlights. Back on the ship Chef Ken kept the dining room open late, and groups of us sat there exhausted but happy to have a plate of food and to be sitting down. It was a very successful day- things went very smoothly and safely, and we saw so many people. We found so many of our patients, people who I can't wait to get to know. But that evening in the dining room, what we talked about more than anything else was the burden it is to say no. On screening day we have to say no over and over and it is heartbreaking. At the end of the day though, that burden belongs to God and not to us- He loves each one of the people we could not help, and we have to find rest knowing that He is good and He loves them.

And for the ones we are here to help- we are just at the start of this journey. I can't wait to see the way that God will move in their lives and ours as we spend these 10 months together. Our first patients were admitted yesterday afternoon, and as I write this the first operations of the outreach are underway. Tomorrow afternoon I start my first shift on B ward. Time to get going!

 

For some other perspectives on screening day, here are some links to more blogs-

http://alirae.net/blog/archives/731-today-and-tomorrow-and-forever.html

http://alirae.net/blog/archives/732-glimpses.html

http://debsheartinafrica.blogspot.com/2013/08/my-one.html

http://danaperino.com/a-firsthand-account-of-mercy-africas-assessment-day/

http://krissyonmercy.blogspot.com/2013/08/well-done.html