Death- It seems so cruel. It takes the young and old alike. For some it comes quietly and quickly. For others, it is extremely painful and drags on for days, sometimes months.
My heart dropped the other day when I was discussing a friend’s care with a coworker and they stated “she’s starting to die.” I know its true, but it still stung. We’ve been caring for her for over 6 months now, informing her she has cancer, then supporting her as she’s went to other hospitals for testing and an operation then returned here for woundcare. Her wound started healing, but her cancer wasn’t squelched. It gradually took her energy away, leaving her bedbound. Her two little children were given to others to care for, since she could no longer cook or keep house for them. Three weeks ago her husband came and asked me for a cot to bring her in. He said she could no longer climb the 15 minute trail into clinic.
They brought her in later that day. She looked wasted and in such pain. I helped her settle into our hospital. We gave some pain meds and she slept better that night than she had in a long time. The next day she was so happy to be feeling so much better.
I rejoiced with her, but my heart ached because I knew this was the beginning of the end for her. Her aunt and uncle who live across the street from clinic visit her daily, and community friends trickle in to chat with her.
A few days after she was admitted, she asked Mis Alayna for someone to pray with her to accept Christ. Pastor Mark prayed with her and she accepted Christ as her Savior. We gave her a Bible, and she spends what strength she has reading it between visits. The other night she asked for the hospital room light to stay on a bit longer so she could read it more.
When I asked her this morning how she was feeling, she just looked at me and said “Oh nurse! It just hurts all over. I can’t lay down or sit up without hurting. And I can’t get out of bed by myself now.” We adjusted her and she became more comfortable. I gave her some more pain meds, and told her when to take the next ones. She smiled, thanked me for the care, and rested her head on her pillow. I told her I’d be back later to check in on her. She’s in her 30s.
Disassembling a cot
Photo shared with parental permission
Last week, Andrea and I trekked to Saint Jean’s house. I smiled, because I remembered the last time I’d been to visit their place.
It was last summer, just before bedtime, during a very heavy rain storm. Saint Jean had pounded on our gate, asking us to come to his house to help his wife who was having a baby. We usually dont do home births, but we figured since she was local and it was pouring rain, we wouldn’t ask them to bring her into clinic. Jared, Charity and I went to clinic to grab some supplies, then headed to their house. Saint Jean lead the way, and the trails were more like waterfalls. We stepped on the rocks we could see poking out of the running water, and grasped at clumps of grass or nearby branches if the rock we stepped on shifted. We arrived at their home to discover a tiny little girl had already been born. We clamped and cut the cord, bathed the baby as best we could, and dressed her. I made sure the mom was doing well, then we clambered our way back home.
This day however, was bright and sunny. Saint Jean had talked to Boss, then came and found me at clinic, to ask if there was anything we could do for his son. He showed me a picture and my eyes widened with concern. “This is your son?” I asked, as I stared at the emaciated boy in the picture.
“Yes, he’s 8 years old and hasn’t eaten this last week.” was the reply.
I asked lots of questions, trying to figure out why they hadn’t brought him in sooner, and how this child had come to be so malnourished. I learned that Izarak been life flighted from our clinic as an infant, been hospitalized for several days, and that drs hadn’t given the family much hope for him over the years. Now, he wasn’t eating and his father was wondering if there was anything else we could do for him. I told Saint Jean we’d come visit once clinic was finished for the day.
Andrea and I arrived at their home, and were warmly welcomed. Madam Saint Jean pulled 2 chairs out for us to sit on, and we chatted with some of her other. children. I tried to hold little Ruth-Chelda, but she just cried. The oldest girl, Danika, took the 7 month old and laid her down for a nap. Madam Saint Jean called us into the other room to see Izarak. He lay on the bed, his tiny body curled up. We gave him several spoonfuls of water, then I asked if I could hold him outside for a little. His mom expertly changed him into a clean Tshirt, then I picked him up. We sat outside on a wobbly bench under a tree. Andrea helped feed him some mamba (peanutbutter). He loved it, but didnt eat much. We gave him more water to wash it down. Soon it started to rain, so we headed inside. Just then Saint Jean arrived home. He greated is warmly. The rest of our visit was spent sipping ginger tea and dipping bread into it, chatting with the other children, and learing how to tie bags of juice to sell at market.
Two days later we received word little Izarak had passed away. I saw Saint Jean on the trial a few days later and he expressed his gratitude for our visit. He was so thankful for all the ways clinic staff had helped his family over the years. Several days later, Madam Saint Jean came to clinic. Her eyes filled with grief when I asked how her and her family was doing. “I miss Izarak so much, and it’s hard to do anything” was her reply.
Monday afternoon a baby was born, a man died, a lady died, and another baby was born. Life and death mixing together in such an odd way.
-Loveda Lee