" Adventure is a path. Real adventure - self determined, self motivated, often risky - forces you to have first hand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagined it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of human kind - and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white."
- Mark Jenkins
Most of us have arrived at our final destinations home, or are at least homeward bound as I write this. It's been an incredible experience, not one easily described with words, or even photographic proof. So please bear with us when you see us, as we try to explain how nothing is really the same anymore.
Missing my makua sisters. Safe travels girls, see you all soon! <3
~Jess (L)
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Snaps of Mongu
It has been two days since I left my heart in Mongu. As I sit at our hostel in Livingston I find myself reminiscing about all of the wonderful memories from our time in Mongu that was all too short. They say a picture says a thousand words, so I hope these tell you a little bit about what I saw and loved in Mongu.
heather.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Bye for now, Mongu!
Well I suppose since we have now finished in Mongu, it’s about time for my debut as an official blogger! I have definitely been putting it off… I have been having a hard time deciding what to say or how to say it, but here goes! I decided that I would like to share some of the things that I have learned during my short time here in Zambia, so:
1. Experience is what really makes you an expert! I have discovered this so many times since my very first day at Lewanika Hospital. I started off in OPD (the Emergency/walk-in clinic department) and sat with the clinical officers while they saw patients. A clinical officer has three years of formal training, after which they can assess, diagnose, refer, prescribe medications and perform procedures for all the patients they see – comparable to a doctor at a walk-in clinic at home. They are not considered doctors, however, and would have to complete seven more years of training in order to be one. I honestly couldn’t see any difference in what they do or know as compared to any doctor.
While in a remote village outside of Mongu, we also met the lone trained nurse (two years of school) and her three staff members, one of whom was a man who has no medical training of any kind, doing many of the same things that the clinical officers were doing in the hospital! While I certainly value the importance of learning and school and books, I found that some of these people, in particular the man in the village clinic, had developed an amazing sense of understanding people and their illnesses; he could pick Malaria cases out as if the diagnosis were written on their foreheads, and with great accuracy! Although we still have years of experience to gain, I’m grateful for our time here because it has given us a tiny bit of experience in ways and with people and conditions that we might never see or really understand at home.
2. Everyone deals with difficult situations differently. And along with that, different doesn’t mean wrong! At first I felt almost a bit angry at how indifferent or almost cold some of the health care workers could be at the hospital when dealing with hard cases, such as domestic or sexual abuse or dying babies. I started to realize that maybe they weren’t being cold or indifferent, but were dealing in their own ways with those difficult situations that they often see multiple times in one day.
Even in our own house in Mongu, I had brought the first season of the TV show Glee with me, wondering if that was maybe the most ridiculous thing I could possibly have included in my luggage… It turns out that it was a very useful tool for us to escape some of the stress of the day and get together as a big group to laugh and distract ourselves for 45 minutes! Some people need to be alone, some need to cry, some get angry, some get sick, some push their feelings aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand and some just need a big group hug! While I might not fully understand why some people react the way they do, we all have our own ways and I can respect that!
3. Be grateful – you have no idea how good you have it! Although this is not my first experience in a third-world country, I am always grateful for the renewed understanding of how lucky we are and how humble we should be for what we have. I could list about a gazillion things that we take for granted every single day that we should be grateful for, but I won’t! The difference for me being here in Africa is realizing how blessed we are to have the kind of access to health care, supplies, treatments and services that we do. Even if you have to wait a whole four hours in the walk-in clinic, just be grateful that you didn’t have to walk four hours to get to the walk-in clinic. At the rural clinic I attended, we talked to a young man maybe in his mid-twenties who was blind and had walked/been led hand in hand with his 10 or 11 year old little brother for probably an hour and a half just to have his eyes looked at to see if he would be a candidate for an eye surgery team coming in May (he most likely isn’t a candidate). They thanked us and then got up to walk hand in hand the same distance back to their rural village somewhere else, as if they had just come from around the corner. I love being reminded of how lucky I am and I wish that everyone could really experience these kinds of things to help us remember all those little luxuries that we don’t even think about.
It has been such an experience. Good, hard, sad, happy, all of the above! I have learned so many things, about myself and just human beings in general! Now that we have left Mongu, it seems like we blinked and it is over. I hope that I can always remember to be grateful and more understanding of all the different kinds of us that there are!
See you at home!
Shannon
1. Experience is what really makes you an expert! I have discovered this so many times since my very first day at Lewanika Hospital. I started off in OPD (the Emergency/walk-in clinic department) and sat with the clinical officers while they saw patients. A clinical officer has three years of formal training, after which they can assess, diagnose, refer, prescribe medications and perform procedures for all the patients they see – comparable to a doctor at a walk-in clinic at home. They are not considered doctors, however, and would have to complete seven more years of training in order to be one. I honestly couldn’t see any difference in what they do or know as compared to any doctor.
While in a remote village outside of Mongu, we also met the lone trained nurse (two years of school) and her three staff members, one of whom was a man who has no medical training of any kind, doing many of the same things that the clinical officers were doing in the hospital! While I certainly value the importance of learning and school and books, I found that some of these people, in particular the man in the village clinic, had developed an amazing sense of understanding people and their illnesses; he could pick Malaria cases out as if the diagnosis were written on their foreheads, and with great accuracy! Although we still have years of experience to gain, I’m grateful for our time here because it has given us a tiny bit of experience in ways and with people and conditions that we might never see or really understand at home.
2. Everyone deals with difficult situations differently. And along with that, different doesn’t mean wrong! At first I felt almost a bit angry at how indifferent or almost cold some of the health care workers could be at the hospital when dealing with hard cases, such as domestic or sexual abuse or dying babies. I started to realize that maybe they weren’t being cold or indifferent, but were dealing in their own ways with those difficult situations that they often see multiple times in one day.
Even in our own house in Mongu, I had brought the first season of the TV show Glee with me, wondering if that was maybe the most ridiculous thing I could possibly have included in my luggage… It turns out that it was a very useful tool for us to escape some of the stress of the day and get together as a big group to laugh and distract ourselves for 45 minutes! Some people need to be alone, some need to cry, some get angry, some get sick, some push their feelings aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand and some just need a big group hug! While I might not fully understand why some people react the way they do, we all have our own ways and I can respect that!
3. Be grateful – you have no idea how good you have it! Although this is not my first experience in a third-world country, I am always grateful for the renewed understanding of how lucky we are and how humble we should be for what we have. I could list about a gazillion things that we take for granted every single day that we should be grateful for, but I won’t! The difference for me being here in Africa is realizing how blessed we are to have the kind of access to health care, supplies, treatments and services that we do. Even if you have to wait a whole four hours in the walk-in clinic, just be grateful that you didn’t have to walk four hours to get to the walk-in clinic. At the rural clinic I attended, we talked to a young man maybe in his mid-twenties who was blind and had walked/been led hand in hand with his 10 or 11 year old little brother for probably an hour and a half just to have his eyes looked at to see if he would be a candidate for an eye surgery team coming in May (he most likely isn’t a candidate). They thanked us and then got up to walk hand in hand the same distance back to their rural village somewhere else, as if they had just come from around the corner. I love being reminded of how lucky I am and I wish that everyone could really experience these kinds of things to help us remember all those little luxuries that we don’t even think about.
It has been such an experience. Good, hard, sad, happy, all of the above! I have learned so many things, about myself and just human beings in general! Now that we have left Mongu, it seems like we blinked and it is over. I hope that I can always remember to be grateful and more understanding of all the different kinds of us that there are!
See you at home!
Shannon
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Truth be told
March 7th, 2011
Truth be told, I never imagined I would travel to Africa-- I considered Europe and Australia, but never a third world country. In fact, I hadn't considered joining this expedition until a few months before we arrived. Having a rather diminished bank account after four years of University, I figured that this would be a safe and affordable opportunity to fulfill my post-graduate needs before I begin my career.
Our final days in Mongu have arrived, and the weeks we've spent at Lewanika Hospital have flown by. The differences in healthcare and hospital conditions which were once shocking and eye-opening have become accepted as common place. I, as well as many others, have just become comfortable working within this setting and find it difficult to comprehend that we will soon be enjoying a carefree week in Livingstone.
I have always known that it takes a specific person to be a nurse-- someone with a compassionate heart, a caring soul, and nurturing nature. These are aspects of nursing that we are taught in class and that are continuously admired by stranger when we disclose our career choice. However, I never truly understood nursing the way I do now, as I have learned from the 16 women I have spent a continuous 888 hours with thus far. At times it has been challenging to be in one another's presence on such as constant basis; however, mostly it has been a saving grace. Having someone to play crib or Dutch blitz with, to go for a bike ride, to sit and read quietly...Someone who has witnessed the same tragedy, poverty, helplessness, and pain you have witnessed helps ease the sadness and provide comfort. I think it is safe to say that we have each had a turn to play the therapist, and that we have each had a turn to have our eyes opened to the hardships that plague countries less fortunate than ours.
Undoubtedly, the experiences we have had will change our perspectives of healthcare, change our hardened hearts, change our priorities in life, and change our relationships with one another-- forever.
leah
They Wait Patiently
Where do I begin … my practicum experience has been somewhat unique as I have spent much of my time in the community rather than the hospital. I had the privilege of working alongside some South African missionaries who have set up a camp here to reach out to the surrounding communities. Matoya camp has a school for children, a feeding program for vulnerable babies and their mothers, they employ many people from the community, and the nurse does much to aid in the health of everyone involved. Simply put this place is amazing, it is a beacon of hope for many. As the nurse was out of town on an outreach trip this last week I was asked to work at this camp and be available as health needs arose. Besides troubleshooting some minor problems I also went into peoples' homes located in some of the more poor areas of Mongu. On more than one occasion I would set out to see a sick child at home only to find that there were siblings at home in worse conditions than the one I had set out to see.
I have seen children whose eyes could not be opened due to infections and purulent drainage and the antibiotic these children need is not available in the hospital, or any pharmacy in town, but it may be available tomorrow, and so they wait. I have seen babies that are in the hospital due to excessive malnutrition, but the hospital does not have enough food to feed their patients, and the hours I spend walking around the city looking for the food these babies need is in vain, it is not available until next week, and so they wait. I took a sick child and baby to the hospital the other day, and was given priority over other patients who had been waiting, I was happy to skip the long lines to help these two brothers, although I was also saddened why it worked; the other children did not have a white nurse advocating for them, and so they wait. They wait patiently, and gracefully. They smile at the simplest of gestures, such as saying hello in their local dialect.
Their lives are simple, they live within walls of clay or bamboo, and under roofs made of grass, tin, or plastic, the floor is dirt. They may be poor, but you can see patterns in the sandy dirt left by their brooms made of grass, revealing that someone has swept today. Tiny footprints are remnants of children who may have been playing nearby, often their laughter and excitement to hold your hand is the best welcome to a family's house. They are resilient, their lives are full of heartache and pain, yet they have some of the most infectious smiles you could imagine. Clean laundry may be hung in a tree, or over a fence to dry showing that some of the days chores have been done. They work to eat, they eat to survive, if they cannot work, they often do not eat. They know that we afford a much different lifestyle, and yet they love us, they welcome us into their homes and offer us the best seats in the house. I hope that what I do here can contribute some means of comfort and rest and bring as much healing to their bodies and souls, as they have mine.
"Why Do You Cry? You're Just Leaving"
We leave Mongu the day after tomorrow and this fact causes my heart to ache. A friend of ours here, George, was talking with Heather the other day about people coming to Mongu to work for a period of time and then leaving. He said people are often sad when they leave and he asked, “Why do you cry when you leave? You're just leaving.”
This is true. I'm just leaving. I'm still okay (everything is intact, as far as I know), it's an expected departure, and it doesn't signal catastrophe or disaster. So what is it about Zambia, Mongu in particular, that has burrowed into my heart and holds me here? To help explain this, I want to share with you some of the people I've met here in Zambia.
The nurses, who get up each morning to work at the hospital, facing overwhelming needs and limited resources. Women, who sew beautiful handbags and sell them for about $4 Canadian, providing an income for their families. The Harbour Master here in Mongu, who is going to school to get his Masters in Transportation and Urban Planning to improve trade and living conditions on the land bordering the floodplains. Women in Kalabo (a town near Mongu), who commit to running a feeding program in their town on a volunteer basis, walking over two hours to visit one malnourished child in their home twice a month. A pharmacist, who despite his 5-year degree in pharmacology, works without pay at an HIV clinic in the mornings because the clinic serves approximately 30, 000 people. In the afternoon, he works at a different clinic for a salary. George, who visits schoolchildren and their families throughout the week, building relationships and support – so much so that more than 50 children will show up to play a soccer game that he organizes every Saturday. Their laughter and ease around him demonstrates how his thoughtfulness is empowering them, as they know they are believed in by a role model.
To me, it's easy to see why meeting these people has affected me. What's not easy to understand is why I can leave them at the end of this trip and go back to my “real life” and why they can't. This is the feeling of guilt that accompanies my heartache.
In many ways, I feel as though I've accomplished so little over the past 5 weeks. I haven't been able to “fix” or “solve” many difficult situations at all. Maybe part of the sadness is feeling that much is still unresolved.
But, regardless, we leave on Friday. I'm not sure if I will cry or not, but I am sure my heart will ache. Sorry, George, I am not sure if I can fully explain why.
-Miranda
This is true. I'm just leaving. I'm still okay (everything is intact, as far as I know), it's an expected departure, and it doesn't signal catastrophe or disaster. So what is it about Zambia, Mongu in particular, that has burrowed into my heart and holds me here? To help explain this, I want to share with you some of the people I've met here in Zambia.
The nurses, who get up each morning to work at the hospital, facing overwhelming needs and limited resources. Women, who sew beautiful handbags and sell them for about $4 Canadian, providing an income for their families. The Harbour Master here in Mongu, who is going to school to get his Masters in Transportation and Urban Planning to improve trade and living conditions on the land bordering the floodplains. Women in Kalabo (a town near Mongu), who commit to running a feeding program in their town on a volunteer basis, walking over two hours to visit one malnourished child in their home twice a month. A pharmacist, who despite his 5-year degree in pharmacology, works without pay at an HIV clinic in the mornings because the clinic serves approximately 30, 000 people. In the afternoon, he works at a different clinic for a salary. George, who visits schoolchildren and their families throughout the week, building relationships and support – so much so that more than 50 children will show up to play a soccer game that he organizes every Saturday. Their laughter and ease around him demonstrates how his thoughtfulness is empowering them, as they know they are believed in by a role model.
To me, it's easy to see why meeting these people has affected me. What's not easy to understand is why I can leave them at the end of this trip and go back to my “real life” and why they can't. This is the feeling of guilt that accompanies my heartache.
In many ways, I feel as though I've accomplished so little over the past 5 weeks. I haven't been able to “fix” or “solve” many difficult situations at all. Maybe part of the sadness is feeling that much is still unresolved.
But, regardless, we leave on Friday. I'm not sure if I will cry or not, but I am sure my heart will ache. Sorry, George, I am not sure if I can fully explain why.
-Miranda
Breadcrumbs
I witnessed the most beautiful thing today. Such a small thing really, but after a hard few days it gave me hope and something to cling to.
See, yesterday I tried to resuscitate a baby, and it didn't work. I found the baby taking one breath a minute, and it's heart rate was about half of what it should be. The baby had oxygen tubing in the incubator, but no oxygen was coming out. It was my first day in the post natal ward, and I was just about in panic mode when my teacher Mary came in. She got a doctor to come in, and just as he was about to turn away the baby took one deep shuddering breath. We rushed her to the operating room, which is the only place in the whole hospital that has pure oxygen. The baby was intubated,we breathed for her by pumping the ventilator, but it didn't work, the baby would not breathe on it's own. The baby had gone too much of the night without oxygen, and was now brain dead. Tiny heart still beating, we gave her back to the grandmother along with the news, as the other family burst into desperate, heart rendering wailing. Minutes later the heart stilled, and I fought to hold back tears. I thought I had cried all the tears one could possibly cry, but a few more defiantly spilled out.
That night I tossed and turned, counting into the thousands of rotations my noisy fan makes. I think it helped the family to see that in the end, we did everything we could to bring that baby back. Yet, in Canada I am sure this death wouldn't have happened. The baby would have been closely monitored in a special neonatal ward, the oxygen would be working, with emergency supplies at hand instead of one having to rush all over the hospital to find them. I miss happy endings. I miss being able to intervene and have 90%of cases turn out OK, instead of the other way around.
The next day, physically and emotionally exhausted I took my first sick day and slept the morning away. I thought I was getting so strong, but I just couldn't face another day with another innocent death. That evening it was my turn to cook supper for the group, so Jessica W and I went to the grocery store. While in there a man approached us and asked if we wanted a taxi. Wary now of being ripped off I asked him how much-our rent is high, taxi prices are high, vendor food is all higher than locals pay. Sometimes I get mad, other times I try to comfort myself that the money goes to people who are less fortunate. It's still leaves a bad taste in the mouth to feel taken advantage of though.
However, this doesn't happen ALL the time, and this Taxi driver proved it. He gave us a great rate. As we made our way out of the grocery store, laden with bags of food, a man approached and indicated that he was selling palm trees. The last thing I need is a palm tree, so I shook my head no and got into the taxi. I glanced over and saw the same man approach my driver, who had a bag of bread crumbs next to him. Curious (was he making stuffing that night? Why did he have those-a snack maybe?), I saw him offer them to the man, who cupped his hands together as the taxi driver piled the bread crumbs high. I saw that man beam a smile and turn to another gaunt-looking man and a boy, and share with them. Bread crumbs are probably the cheapest thing you could buy, and my taxi driver did not look near as well off (comparatively)as the other drivers we have used. His stereo did not work, he had no cell phone that I could call again. He could only afford to buy the cheapest thing, but that he happily shared with others.
It put a smile on my face.
See, I want to be like Jesus. I want to serve others, to love others, even when it's not easy and when it costs me. In my reflexive way of trying to defend myself from trying not to be taken advantage of, I missed out on an opportunity. My eyes were opened to how much the people here help each other, the caring that goes on here between people who have little to begin with. What would that look like if we did more of that in Canada? Single moms who need a babysitter for a night, children who have no money to play sports, elderly who can't clean as well as they used to. I am a student, I don't have much money, but there ARE things I can do, both here and in Canada.
So what have I learned here? I learned about breadcrumbs. A picture that I can smile about and clutch close to my heart.
~Hannah Viejou
See, yesterday I tried to resuscitate a baby, and it didn't work. I found the baby taking one breath a minute, and it's heart rate was about half of what it should be. The baby had oxygen tubing in the incubator, but no oxygen was coming out. It was my first day in the post natal ward, and I was just about in panic mode when my teacher Mary came in. She got a doctor to come in, and just as he was about to turn away the baby took one deep shuddering breath. We rushed her to the operating room, which is the only place in the whole hospital that has pure oxygen. The baby was intubated,we breathed for her by pumping the ventilator, but it didn't work, the baby would not breathe on it's own. The baby had gone too much of the night without oxygen, and was now brain dead. Tiny heart still beating, we gave her back to the grandmother along with the news, as the other family burst into desperate, heart rendering wailing. Minutes later the heart stilled, and I fought to hold back tears. I thought I had cried all the tears one could possibly cry, but a few more defiantly spilled out.
That night I tossed and turned, counting into the thousands of rotations my noisy fan makes. I think it helped the family to see that in the end, we did everything we could to bring that baby back. Yet, in Canada I am sure this death wouldn't have happened. The baby would have been closely monitored in a special neonatal ward, the oxygen would be working, with emergency supplies at hand instead of one having to rush all over the hospital to find them. I miss happy endings. I miss being able to intervene and have 90%of cases turn out OK, instead of the other way around.
The next day, physically and emotionally exhausted I took my first sick day and slept the morning away. I thought I was getting so strong, but I just couldn't face another day with another innocent death. That evening it was my turn to cook supper for the group, so Jessica W and I went to the grocery store. While in there a man approached us and asked if we wanted a taxi. Wary now of being ripped off I asked him how much-our rent is high, taxi prices are high, vendor food is all higher than locals pay. Sometimes I get mad, other times I try to comfort myself that the money goes to people who are less fortunate. It's still leaves a bad taste in the mouth to feel taken advantage of though.
However, this doesn't happen ALL the time, and this Taxi driver proved it. He gave us a great rate. As we made our way out of the grocery store, laden with bags of food, a man approached and indicated that he was selling palm trees. The last thing I need is a palm tree, so I shook my head no and got into the taxi. I glanced over and saw the same man approach my driver, who had a bag of bread crumbs next to him. Curious (was he making stuffing that night? Why did he have those-a snack maybe?), I saw him offer them to the man, who cupped his hands together as the taxi driver piled the bread crumbs high. I saw that man beam a smile and turn to another gaunt-looking man and a boy, and share with them. Bread crumbs are probably the cheapest thing you could buy, and my taxi driver did not look near as well off (comparatively)as the other drivers we have used. His stereo did not work, he had no cell phone that I could call again. He could only afford to buy the cheapest thing, but that he happily shared with others.
It put a smile on my face.
See, I want to be like Jesus. I want to serve others, to love others, even when it's not easy and when it costs me. In my reflexive way of trying to defend myself from trying not to be taken advantage of, I missed out on an opportunity. My eyes were opened to how much the people here help each other, the caring that goes on here between people who have little to begin with. What would that look like if we did more of that in Canada? Single moms who need a babysitter for a night, children who have no money to play sports, elderly who can't clean as well as they used to. I am a student, I don't have much money, but there ARE things I can do, both here and in Canada.
So what have I learned here? I learned about breadcrumbs. A picture that I can smile about and clutch close to my heart.
~Hannah Viejou
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Our final days at Lewanika
Hello again! I can't believe that tomorrow is already our last day of clinical. Although I've been homesick on and off for the whole trip (not really missing out on the Canadian winter, but the Canadian people!!) it feels like time has gone by so fast here. Every Zambian friend that I talk to and tell that I am leaving soon asks me to please remember them when I am gone. How could I forget? These people already have a place in my heart, have touched my spirit, and ultimately have changed my life. This is what Zambia does.
I just wanted to share my experience of yesterday and today on the maternity ward at the hospital. The maternity ward is for labour and delivery, as well as the recovery area once the woman has given birth. Yesterday Shannon and I were observing a woman give birth, and it was not the experience we had hoped for. Shannon was right in there trying to help with the delivery, but stepped back as soon as things started to take a bad turn and the other nurses came rushing in. The baby had gotten stuck on its way into the world, and when it finally was delivered it was limp and not breathing. Both Shannon, myself, and a couple other nurses rushed the baby to an incubator and began CPR on its tiny chest, suctioning the nose and mouth and just trying to get this babe to cry out. Finally, and God bless, it finally did. I did not panic outwardly in the moment, but on the inside I was terrified - begging and pleading that this babe would make it into the world. Somehow it did. But here, babies aren't always that lucky. As this baby lived, the baby in the next ward died. The life cycle can be cruel sometimes... Today, on the other hand, I was able to be a part of a wonderful birth. The woman arrived already 6cm dilated, and spent a couple of hours labouring on the ward until she was ready to give birth. After walking herself to the delivery room and getting herself up on the table, it was only about 10 minutes until her daughter took her first breaths. The mother was amazing - she worked so hard and was so focused on her child. The baby girl came out healthy and crying, just how it is supposed to happen. I was going to deliver the baby myself, with assistance of course, but the baby was coming so quickly that there was not enough time for the midwife to walk me through it. However, I was able to help, and to hold the babe after birth, and later walked with the mother back to her bed where she could cuddle and feed her baby. It was wonderful to have a good experience, and realize that yes health care is not as safe and as advanced as it is in Canada or other parts of the world, but sometimes it still works and things turn out wonderfully.
We will be spening the next week in Livingstone, vacationing next to Victoria Falls and enjoying all that nature has to offer. And before you know it, some of you will be picking us up from the airport as we head back home! Thank you again to all who have been reading the blog, and I hope it has been interesting and worthwhile to you. We have many more stories to share when we are back home -- these blogs really are just the tip of the iceberg.
Loving and missing you all back home, can't wait to see you soon <3
With peace and love, Melanie
I just wanted to share my experience of yesterday and today on the maternity ward at the hospital. The maternity ward is for labour and delivery, as well as the recovery area once the woman has given birth. Yesterday Shannon and I were observing a woman give birth, and it was not the experience we had hoped for. Shannon was right in there trying to help with the delivery, but stepped back as soon as things started to take a bad turn and the other nurses came rushing in. The baby had gotten stuck on its way into the world, and when it finally was delivered it was limp and not breathing. Both Shannon, myself, and a couple other nurses rushed the baby to an incubator and began CPR on its tiny chest, suctioning the nose and mouth and just trying to get this babe to cry out. Finally, and God bless, it finally did. I did not panic outwardly in the moment, but on the inside I was terrified - begging and pleading that this babe would make it into the world. Somehow it did. But here, babies aren't always that lucky. As this baby lived, the baby in the next ward died. The life cycle can be cruel sometimes... Today, on the other hand, I was able to be a part of a wonderful birth. The woman arrived already 6cm dilated, and spent a couple of hours labouring on the ward until she was ready to give birth. After walking herself to the delivery room and getting herself up on the table, it was only about 10 minutes until her daughter took her first breaths. The mother was amazing - she worked so hard and was so focused on her child. The baby girl came out healthy and crying, just how it is supposed to happen. I was going to deliver the baby myself, with assistance of course, but the baby was coming so quickly that there was not enough time for the midwife to walk me through it. However, I was able to help, and to hold the babe after birth, and later walked with the mother back to her bed where she could cuddle and feed her baby. It was wonderful to have a good experience, and realize that yes health care is not as safe and as advanced as it is in Canada or other parts of the world, but sometimes it still works and things turn out wonderfully.
We will be spening the next week in Livingstone, vacationing next to Victoria Falls and enjoying all that nature has to offer. And before you know it, some of you will be picking us up from the airport as we head back home! Thank you again to all who have been reading the blog, and I hope it has been interesting and worthwhile to you. We have many more stories to share when we are back home -- these blogs really are just the tip of the iceberg.
Loving and missing you all back home, can't wait to see you soon <3
With peace and love, Melanie
Monday, March 7, 2011
Almost leaving but never forgetting
We are nearing the end of our work at Lewanika Hosiptal. Today is Monday, March 7th. Our last day working on the floor: Wednesday March 9th. Then on Thursday we are hosting an appreciation lunch, for the doctors and nurses we have worked with. And then thats it. We pack up, clean house, and catch the bus to Lusaka and then Livingstone... so we can do a bit of sightseeing and lounging by the pool before we head back to Canada.
This experience has been amazing. It has been wierd to feel as though you are living out every cliche life could throw our way, know in advance about the situations we would run into and then be shocked by the way we end up reacting to them. Because really no matter how prepared you think you are in advance, you really don't know how you are going to react until you find yourself ... well... reacting.
Then you discover that all your preconceived notions, don't really matter anymore. Perhaps you never thought you would cry on the floor, or almost pass out (multiple times).... but once you have, there is no point in feeling ashamed (although, at first I did). And no point in wondering if you handled the situation badly because you did what you did for a reason, and you needed to do it... Of course you can still learn from it later.
A huge part of me thought that coming to Zambia would be about hardening my spirit . . . and my stomache. To see the difficult things, the trauma, the poverty, the neglect, blood, guts, pain and torture. Then to learn that life serves these things up and thats just life... "toughen up buttercup". Time to learn to silence the emotional response, the anger, the tears, the disbelief... become dessensitized to the heart break ( and no doubt, in small ways, I have).
But I think the bigger lesson has been to do somewhat the opposite. To learn of course when you need to be strong, wear your poker face, hold down your lunch, and do what needs to be done. The larger part though, has been to recognize when the "weakness of your emotional reaction" and the compassion of the human spirit actually makes you strong. Gives you the strength to work to change your circumstances and to stand up for what you know in your heart is the right thing to do. To use the fire that builds from the pain, to push through the difficult moments and the resistance.
Then, to find a graceful, caring way to be strong from a place of love. To advocate for the things that need doing, without stepping on toes and crushing people along the way.
To model and also encourage this newfound ability in those near you. To support the voice of the nurses, doctors, students and patients, and to help them to speak when they are unable to do so.
Lastly to remember, that just because someone is not caring for you, or supporting you, does not mean that you can't care for others. Because in the end the only way to care for yourself and be fair with yourself, is to speak up. Not shut up. To learn that caring for others really is an everyday act, of caring for yourself.
And that is a lesson I can bring home with me.
Regardless of whether I ever come back to Zambia (and I hope I do), Mongu will always hold a piece of my heart. Will always have an influence on the way I see the world around me, and how I treat it.
I owe such a huge thank you to all the Canadians and especially all the Zambians who made it possible for us to be here, and for supporting us on our journey.
So, thank you! And thanks for reading along, and reminding me that my thoughts are not just my own.
Missing those back home. Love always,
Jess (L)
This experience has been amazing. It has been wierd to feel as though you are living out every cliche life could throw our way, know in advance about the situations we would run into and then be shocked by the way we end up reacting to them. Because really no matter how prepared you think you are in advance, you really don't know how you are going to react until you find yourself ... well... reacting.
Then you discover that all your preconceived notions, don't really matter anymore. Perhaps you never thought you would cry on the floor, or almost pass out (multiple times).... but once you have, there is no point in feeling ashamed (although, at first I did). And no point in wondering if you handled the situation badly because you did what you did for a reason, and you needed to do it... Of course you can still learn from it later.
A huge part of me thought that coming to Zambia would be about hardening my spirit . . . and my stomache. To see the difficult things, the trauma, the poverty, the neglect, blood, guts, pain and torture. Then to learn that life serves these things up and thats just life... "toughen up buttercup". Time to learn to silence the emotional response, the anger, the tears, the disbelief... become dessensitized to the heart break ( and no doubt, in small ways, I have).
But I think the bigger lesson has been to do somewhat the opposite. To learn of course when you need to be strong, wear your poker face, hold down your lunch, and do what needs to be done. The larger part though, has been to recognize when the "weakness of your emotional reaction" and the compassion of the human spirit actually makes you strong. Gives you the strength to work to change your circumstances and to stand up for what you know in your heart is the right thing to do. To use the fire that builds from the pain, to push through the difficult moments and the resistance.
Then, to find a graceful, caring way to be strong from a place of love. To advocate for the things that need doing, without stepping on toes and crushing people along the way.
To model and also encourage this newfound ability in those near you. To support the voice of the nurses, doctors, students and patients, and to help them to speak when they are unable to do so.
Lastly to remember, that just because someone is not caring for you, or supporting you, does not mean that you can't care for others. Because in the end the only way to care for yourself and be fair with yourself, is to speak up. Not shut up. To learn that caring for others really is an everyday act, of caring for yourself.
And that is a lesson I can bring home with me.
Regardless of whether I ever come back to Zambia (and I hope I do), Mongu will always hold a piece of my heart. Will always have an influence on the way I see the world around me, and how I treat it.
I owe such a huge thank you to all the Canadians and especially all the Zambians who made it possible for us to be here, and for supporting us on our journey.
So, thank you! And thanks for reading along, and reminding me that my thoughts are not just my own.
Missing those back home. Love always,
Jess (L)
Friday, March 4, 2011
Two Little Lines
One Line-LIFE
Two Lines-Death Sentence
A man has just walked into the rural health clinic where Shannon and I are helping out for a week. He asks to be tested for HIV, so I get my supplies ready: gloves, a ball of cotton with alcohol on it, a needle, the reagent, and the test paper. I poke his index finger and squeeze a drop of blood onto the paper, and drop one drop of reagent on top. Then we wait. 15 agonizing minutes. I watch the blood move down the strip and see the first line appear, praying that it will stop there. Then the second line appears. I show him the paper where the two lines are, and ask the health care worker to explain that we need to do another test to confirm. The two lines appear again. What do you say to ease the blow? "I am sorry" just doesn't seem to cut it. Truly, I am sorry though. Sorry for his wife and two children who will now have to come in and get tested. Sorry for the strife that this will cause in his marriage. Sorry that his two little kids may lose their daddy before they are fully grown up. Sorry that there is a nation crippled by a 15% HIV rate, a nation where people are so scared of being on drugs for the rest of their life that they don't take the treatment that is offered, or come in too late.
This past week has been filled with interesting experiences, things I may never see in Canada. There is the toddler with a huge hookworm visible underneath the skin of his foot. He had no shoes to protect his feet from the hookworm that enters there, or to keep the flies off of the infected area. We gave him deworming tablets and antibiotics-I just wish I had some socks and shoes to give as well.
I gave many ladies the contraceptive depo-provera shot in the arm. One girl came and was told to come back when she has her period to prove in a little side room that she isn't pregnant. There have been cases when women want to terminate the pregnancy and swallow a month's worth of contraceptives in one shot and have died from the bleeding. Things I wouldn't normally think about. I test people for syphilis and do antenatal checks. I can now feel where a baby's head is, and count with my fingers from the navel to see how many weeks along a woman is in her pregnancy. I put my ear to a fetoscope that is on her belly and count the baby's heart rate. All is well with the baby, but the mother looks thin and tired. She has walked 2 hours to the health clinic, and now faces a 2 hour walk back. Other women walk as much as 4 hours-and will likely give birth at home, for who can walk 4 hours at 9 months pregnant and in labor? A ray of hope however; this clinic is to receive an oxcart and 2 oxen to transport women to the clinic in times like this.
Late in the evening Lihanna(the missionary nurse we travelled with) and I are called to the clinic. A woman has given birth on her front porch, but the placenta is not coming out. In the room that I just cleaned earlier that day a lone candle is burning (there is a light switch-but no light bulb), and seven women crammed in the dark room. They part a path for Lihanna and I . Lihanna instructs a woman to put the baby to mama's breast to stimulate the oxytocin necessary to birth the placenta (not culturally normal here-many women wait up to 24 hours to bath the baby in special herbs before breastfeeding, but it's best for baby to start breastfeeding immediately) I grab the birthing instruments and hold the flashlight while Lihannah gently pulls out the placenta, praying silently all the while. A retained placenta can be a serious thing, but luckily for this mama everything turns out well.
The next day we go visit the mom at home. I give out a baby blanket and toque, and get to hold this precious little bundle in my arms. Last night the women offered Lihanna and I the chance to name the baby (the second time now this has happened to me), but we decline. The mother did the hard work, that is her privelege.
Camping in the bush has been an interesting experience. We squat over a hole to do our business, and take bucket showers. The teenaged boys that travelled with us to do evangelism and put on soccor games do all the cooking over the campfire, and it is delicious. Fire roasted corn-mmmmmm!!! In the evenings we play card games of Scum and Speed and Cheat which the boys pick up quickly and enjoy. During the night I sort out where strange noises are coming from: 2 emaciated dogs linger by our camp site and bark for what we timed as more than an hour. The rooster starts up at 5 am for another hour and I dream of making chicken pot pie. But in the morning the sun shines, the tall grass gently waves and the thatch huts beckon in the distance.
I have thoroughly enjoyed my week-I have seen a side of Africa that I am lucky to have had the opprtunity to see!
~Hannah Viejou
Two Lines-Death Sentence
A man has just walked into the rural health clinic where Shannon and I are helping out for a week. He asks to be tested for HIV, so I get my supplies ready: gloves, a ball of cotton with alcohol on it, a needle, the reagent, and the test paper. I poke his index finger and squeeze a drop of blood onto the paper, and drop one drop of reagent on top. Then we wait. 15 agonizing minutes. I watch the blood move down the strip and see the first line appear, praying that it will stop there. Then the second line appears. I show him the paper where the two lines are, and ask the health care worker to explain that we need to do another test to confirm. The two lines appear again. What do you say to ease the blow? "I am sorry" just doesn't seem to cut it. Truly, I am sorry though. Sorry for his wife and two children who will now have to come in and get tested. Sorry for the strife that this will cause in his marriage. Sorry that his two little kids may lose their daddy before they are fully grown up. Sorry that there is a nation crippled by a 15% HIV rate, a nation where people are so scared of being on drugs for the rest of their life that they don't take the treatment that is offered, or come in too late.
This past week has been filled with interesting experiences, things I may never see in Canada. There is the toddler with a huge hookworm visible underneath the skin of his foot. He had no shoes to protect his feet from the hookworm that enters there, or to keep the flies off of the infected area. We gave him deworming tablets and antibiotics-I just wish I had some socks and shoes to give as well.
I gave many ladies the contraceptive depo-provera shot in the arm. One girl came and was told to come back when she has her period to prove in a little side room that she isn't pregnant. There have been cases when women want to terminate the pregnancy and swallow a month's worth of contraceptives in one shot and have died from the bleeding. Things I wouldn't normally think about. I test people for syphilis and do antenatal checks. I can now feel where a baby's head is, and count with my fingers from the navel to see how many weeks along a woman is in her pregnancy. I put my ear to a fetoscope that is on her belly and count the baby's heart rate. All is well with the baby, but the mother looks thin and tired. She has walked 2 hours to the health clinic, and now faces a 2 hour walk back. Other women walk as much as 4 hours-and will likely give birth at home, for who can walk 4 hours at 9 months pregnant and in labor? A ray of hope however; this clinic is to receive an oxcart and 2 oxen to transport women to the clinic in times like this.
Late in the evening Lihanna(the missionary nurse we travelled with) and I are called to the clinic. A woman has given birth on her front porch, but the placenta is not coming out. In the room that I just cleaned earlier that day a lone candle is burning (there is a light switch-but no light bulb), and seven women crammed in the dark room. They part a path for Lihanna and I . Lihanna instructs a woman to put the baby to mama's breast to stimulate the oxytocin necessary to birth the placenta (not culturally normal here-many women wait up to 24 hours to bath the baby in special herbs before breastfeeding, but it's best for baby to start breastfeeding immediately) I grab the birthing instruments and hold the flashlight while Lihannah gently pulls out the placenta, praying silently all the while. A retained placenta can be a serious thing, but luckily for this mama everything turns out well.
The next day we go visit the mom at home. I give out a baby blanket and toque, and get to hold this precious little bundle in my arms. Last night the women offered Lihanna and I the chance to name the baby (the second time now this has happened to me), but we decline. The mother did the hard work, that is her privelege.
Camping in the bush has been an interesting experience. We squat over a hole to do our business, and take bucket showers. The teenaged boys that travelled with us to do evangelism and put on soccor games do all the cooking over the campfire, and it is delicious. Fire roasted corn-mmmmmm!!! In the evenings we play card games of Scum and Speed and Cheat which the boys pick up quickly and enjoy. During the night I sort out where strange noises are coming from: 2 emaciated dogs linger by our camp site and bark for what we timed as more than an hour. The rooster starts up at 5 am for another hour and I dream of making chicken pot pie. But in the morning the sun shines, the tall grass gently waves and the thatch huts beckon in the distance.
I have thoroughly enjoyed my week-I have seen a side of Africa that I am lucky to have had the opprtunity to see!
~Hannah Viejou
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
No pain, no gain...
With my nursing heart strung up in pediatric and intensive care, I have spent much of my time in Mongu in the critical care unit. It is never overly busy, having just been established a few months ago and the nurses are still understanding the criteria of an ICU patient and when to transfer someone, but nonetheless there has always been work to do. One patient in particular has completely touched my heart, and I have care for her on and off the entire time here. After my first week with her it didn't look like she was going to make it, but a miracle happened over a weekend and she pulled through. This past week she wasn't looking well again, and miraculously she made it through another weekend. She has suffered through two surgeries now, and somehow this young woman has the strength I could have never imagined, and has pulled through some of the most horrific conditions. Knowing that she may pass at any time, I have made it my mission to give her the best care I can give when I am there, and advocate for her needs - the rest is in Gods hands. Today one of the doctors was assessing her, and it was heartbreaking to watch her face scrunch up and tears fall from her eyes (this girl never cries, she always is strong... so I knew when the tears came that this was serious). I convinced the doctor and nurses to go easy on her, even after laughing and stating that "surgeons are not meant to be gentle".... The only things within my power where to give her the most dignity possible, to keep her pain as minimal as I could, and give her comfort care (I washed her, changed the bed linens, rubbed lotion into her dry flaking feet). It was so hard to see her with so many tubes everywhere, and to know her prognosis was so severe, but it was also amazing to see the strength in her. That is one thing I have definitely noticed here -- everyone is so strong, and makes such an effort to pull through the tough times. Even as I was leaving the ward for the day, I saw a small child with half his face burned off which looked so raw and painful, but he was not crying. These patients are given absolutely nothing for pain either! I asked one of the doctors today for pain meds for my ICU patient and he said, "she does not need it, dont worry". Even after the weeks we have spent here, the strength of these patients still astounds me...... just sometime I wanted to share with you all back home.
Missing you all in Canada, can't wait to see you again,
Love Melanie
Missing you all in Canada, can't wait to see you again,
Love Melanie
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Half Way
I can hardly believe that we are more than half way through our trip..!..? Seriously where has the time gone? Well actually that is a silly question considering how much we have done while we have been here, but it still feels like things are moving too fast!
Since we arrived in Mogu, I have worked on the Male Medical/surgical ward, gone on safari, worked in the Intensive Care unit, toured the little Zambezi, celebrated many a birthday, and worked on the children's ward. We have explored the green market, the black market ( don't worry mom not what your thinking. I still have both my kidneys ;) and countless other small shops along the way.
In a sense, the newness of Zambia has begun to wear off. However it comes and goes in waves. At one moment I feel comfortable and the next some unusual situation comes up and smacks me in the face. As if to say, 'Hey! Don't forget where you are now!'. In a sense it is easier and harder in the same space. The newness and beauty has worn off a bit, the excitement about being in Africa. Then the reality sinks in about the world around you and the place we are living. Its not all sparkly and amazing. Sometimes being spotted from a distance as the 'makua' from Canada is exhausting. When you've had a hard day and you just want to be annonymous for a bit... ya.. good luck with that one. Holding it together sometimes is harder. Then again you arent able to dwell on things in the same way, and sometimes that's a blessing.
Really I can't explain what it is like to be here anymore. So I think I am going to stop trying. The reality is that my mind is working so hard to explain the everyday here. The medical world, the poverty, the politics. Sometimes My theories have changed, my thoughts switched directions before they even have a chance to leave my lips, before the sentence is typed, or written. And the truth is everything comes out more dramatic, or less than it is. And talk just begins to feel cheep.
Its easier than we make it out to be, but its harder than we let ourselves believe.
However, for some reason I am compelled all the time to try to explain away the things before my eyes, and I don't think I am alone in that sentiment. No one can really find the answers, but for some reason every once in a while we get caught up in trying.
So Ill stop talking now! Stop contradicting myself over and over, and maybe share some things worth more than words, which I know you have all been waiting for...
Pictures!
Here is a photo from the boat ride on the little zambezi!
Here is one of some of the girls on the boat
and here is a photo of the safari's resident hippo cuddling with a boat;)
and the children who chased us along the river bank as our boat pulled out on the little Zambezi:
Missing everyone at home! Love always,
Jess (L)
Since we arrived in Mogu, I have worked on the Male Medical/surgical ward, gone on safari, worked in the Intensive Care unit, toured the little Zambezi, celebrated many a birthday, and worked on the children's ward. We have explored the green market, the black market ( don't worry mom not what your thinking. I still have both my kidneys ;) and countless other small shops along the way.
In a sense, the newness of Zambia has begun to wear off. However it comes and goes in waves. At one moment I feel comfortable and the next some unusual situation comes up and smacks me in the face. As if to say, 'Hey! Don't forget where you are now!'. In a sense it is easier and harder in the same space. The newness and beauty has worn off a bit, the excitement about being in Africa. Then the reality sinks in about the world around you and the place we are living. Its not all sparkly and amazing. Sometimes being spotted from a distance as the 'makua' from Canada is exhausting. When you've had a hard day and you just want to be annonymous for a bit... ya.. good luck with that one. Holding it together sometimes is harder. Then again you arent able to dwell on things in the same way, and sometimes that's a blessing.
Really I can't explain what it is like to be here anymore. So I think I am going to stop trying. The reality is that my mind is working so hard to explain the everyday here. The medical world, the poverty, the politics. Sometimes My theories have changed, my thoughts switched directions before they even have a chance to leave my lips, before the sentence is typed, or written. And the truth is everything comes out more dramatic, or less than it is. And talk just begins to feel cheep.
Its easier than we make it out to be, but its harder than we let ourselves believe.
However, for some reason I am compelled all the time to try to explain away the things before my eyes, and I don't think I am alone in that sentiment. No one can really find the answers, but for some reason every once in a while we get caught up in trying.
So Ill stop talking now! Stop contradicting myself over and over, and maybe share some things worth more than words, which I know you have all been waiting for...
Pictures!
Here is a photo from the boat ride on the little zambezi!
Here is one of some of the girls on the boat
and here is a photo of the safari's resident hippo cuddling with a boat;)
and the children who chased us along the river bank as our boat pulled out on the little Zambezi:
Missing everyone at home! Love always,
Jess (L)
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