Something New

Earlier this week I was asked to see another patient with a spinal cord injury.  A few months ago, he fell into a well.  Now he can't walk.  But he came to our hospital because he's been laying on a mat on the floor of his house since his accident and in turn, developed pressure ulcers.

The good news is, his family has plastic arm chairs.  The bad news is, it's too high for him to get into.  Or, at least that's what he thought three days ago.

The Teacher Gets Schooled

I've been feeling a bit intimidated by the responsibility of teaching a Nigerien how to work as a therapy aide.  It's a daunting task . . . taking six years of higher education, removing it from a classroom, and making it up as you go along.  But I've decided to give it a go, and so has B., my new trusty sidekick.

Since I'm trying to get him independent with the things I like least . . . I mean . . . the . . . uh . . . easiest things for him to learn (crutch training, post-amputation rehab, and club-foot clinic), we've started at the beginning . . . or pretty close to it: the foot.

You need to understand that B. grew up in the Nigerien education system . . . which is similar to the American education system in that teachers educate students in a place designated as a school.

Meeting the Kwadda-Kwadda

*Due to security concerns, I cannot, at this time, disclose my current location . . . I'll just say it's not Galmi.  But don't get too homesick, I'll be back soon enough!*

When I first signed up with SIM, the intention was to go to a different hospital, in a different country.  A country where they spoke English and I already knew some people.  But after a bit of a Jonah-process in my life, God closed-and-opened many different doors . . . leaving the FINAL one unlocked . . . the one with 'GALMI' sign on it.

But back before all those door-closings, and I still thought I was going to that other country, I was in SouthAfrica, in a little tiny town in the Draakensburg Mountains spending time with orphans.  At that point, I had been there several times and knew the children well.

'Ahn-tee Deb. whin ah yew kuhming baack tuh see us uh-giin? they would ask with their sweet little accents.  And I would tell them that I didn't know, because I was moving to the other country to work there.  Their eyes would get big and they'd beg me not to go:

'But dey have du Kwadda-Kwadda dere!  Yew can NOT go dere.  The Kwadda-Kwadda are VERY dangerous!  No!  Yew can NOT go DERE!'

Hallway Apraxia

Brace yourself, it's about to get a little nerdy up in here!


In Galmi, we play chicken a little differently than in the US and other parts of the world. Instead of two cars charging head-on until one swerves (or they collide), we play with humans . . . in the hospital hallways. 

Often it's with a family member of one of the patients, but it's always the same thing: I move right, she moves right; I go left she goes left.  This continues until we meet in the middle for a either a slow-dance step or a more sporty fake-turn-and-run-with-the-ball type move. 

Lessons on Taming the Dragon

When I was at university, homestarrunner.com was super popular. My favorite character was StrongBad, a Mexican wrestler, complete with face mask, no shirt, and boxing gloves.

Once a week he would send an email . . . often they were completely pointless. But sometimes they spurred our creative juices (oh how I miss the Colleger Girl Squad). And then, there was my favorite: Trogdor, the Burninator.

Trogdor was a dragon.

And being a dragon, he breathed fire, hence the burninating. There was no thatch-roofed village safe from the fierce fiery flames of Trogdor.

Oumou

Earlier this week I was in Niamey . . . and while waiting for a colleague to join me there, I ended up with a 'free' afternoon.  And thanks to the old-friend-just-passing-through of a friend-of-mine, I found myself tagging along with a filmmaker from the UN's fundraising division as she went with the director of the Christian Blind Mission (CBM) Niger out to a village east of Niamey to find some hope in the midst of Niger's food crisis.

They were going to visit Oumou.*

At the age of 12, Oumou contracted polio and never walked again.  Now, as a woman in her 40's, Oumou sits with her legs curled up beneath her.  But as our Djarma-to-French translator says, she has no interest in keeping her arms crossed!

And the Award Goes To

Last week . . . or maybe it was the week before . . . could have even been last month, now that I think about it . . . my old friend from high school, RV., passed on the Versatile Blogger Award to me!


Here's how the award works: 
1) Thank the award-giver and link them back in your post.
2) Tell your readers seven (7) things about yourself.
3) Give this award to up to fifteen (15) recently discovered bloggers.
4) Contact those bloggers and let them in on the exciting news.

So THANK YOU, RV!

Small Miracles

Monday morning I began my day with the news that the three month baby we had been treating for partial-thickness burns on his feet and buttocks hadn't survived the weekend.  When I had left on Friday he seemed to be doing well.

Wednesday morning, the nine year old with full thickness burns on his back and buttocks died while he was the next in line to be brought in for his dressing change.

In light of last weeks losses and struggles, the deaths of these two children came as quite a blow . . . and of course, a well of emotions.  Anger, frustration, confusion, doubt.

Portraits

You matter because you are you, 

you matter until the last moment of your life

and we will do all that we can

to help you live until you die.

                                          ~Cicely Saunders

 

The Art of Carrying

This morning as I was checking in with the rounding doctors to see if they had any new patients for me, a young mother offered me her baby.

Believe it or not, this is a typical occurrence, which usually ends with roars of laughter when I explain that I have no physiological means to feed their baby . . . which, as a woman of 30, just blows them out of the water . . . and then once they've all explained it to one another how on earth, for the moment, my wells could be dry, they laugh at my expense.

And today, there was laughter, as usual, but this time it was because I don't know how to properly carry a baby!

Confessions of a Spiritual Mason

You know, not every story at Galmi has a funny moment or blog-post-worthy victory.

It is nearly impossible to walk from one end of our hospital to the other without being stopped by a suffering patient who is desperate for pain medication or barely clinging to life.

We work tirelessly to keep patients alive, and in the end, they still die.  Despite all efforts.

It's exhausting.  And discouraging.

But lately I find myself ducking behind a wall . . . it's not too high, but just enough that I can drop to my knees and hide behind it for a little while.

It Takes [Going To] A Village

It's time for another episode of The (Long) Story Behind The Photo.

Every Thursday, the Therapy Department holds a club-foot clinic . . . we counsel mom's that club-foot is a malformation and not the result of a sin they've committed or a curse someone has put on the family . . . we remove the cast or splint from the week before, reposition baby's foot with a little more stretch, and recast him so he's stuck until he comes back to see us . . . oh yeah, and we make babies scream.  And boy, are they loud!

So far we've had two kids.  So that's two kids that should have been crippled, that will now be ambulators!  How's that for 'making the lame to walk'!

Things were going really well, until little A-H got some sand in his cast that resulted in a small wound on his shin.  (Brace yourself . . . Short-Story-Long Girl strikes again!)