This morning I was moving around pediatric ward seeing patients when I
got the message that Luke's knee injury was potentially as bad as we
feared, and that the orthopedic surgeon had recommended an MRI in
Nairobi to help make the decision about surgery. And after that I
found it hard to concentrate on the kids in front of me, thinking of
my own child. Again the paradox occurred, where both extremes are
true, even extremely true: deep compassion compels me to stay, and a
numb despair pushes me to escape. There is a sense in which being a
mother who has entrusted her son to the care of other doctors
heightens my sense of responsibility for the patients in my care. I
can easily put myself into the parents' shoes (not that many wear
them . . ) and I want to do my best, just as I hope the doctors in
Kijabe are doing their best for Luke. On the other hand, I struggle
to wonder why I am here helping other peoples' kids when my own is not
well. So much of me wants to pick up and run. When Luke's news came,
I was actually standing by the bed of 2-year-old Nyakato: she came
yesterday barely breathing, a slowing heart rate, cold, in shock,
unresponsive. Her father had red eyes from crying all the way to the
hospital; her mother sat in the corner and prayed into her hands
Hannah-like. Nyakato was the only surviving twin, and her mother's
heart was breaking. Heidi, Olupa, the head nurse Mwenge, and I all
went to work. Whether the fluids, the medicine, the prayers, or all
of the above, she revived, and today she was sitting up eating a
lollipop I gave her. A very satisfying snatch back from the shadows
of death, except that as I stood there the price paid by Luke to have
us here and him there, well, it seemed steep. Praying for the wisdom
of Solomon, and feeling the tearing of my heart.
This morning I was moving around pediatric ward seeing patients when I
got the message that Luke's knee injury was potentially as bad as we
feared, and that the orthopedic surgeon had recommended an MRI in
Nairobi to help make the decision about surgery. And after that I
found it hard to concentrate on the kids in front of me, thinking of
my own child. Again the paradox occurred, where both extremes are
true, even extremely true: deep compassion compels me to stay, and a
numb despair pushes me to escape. There is a sense in which being a
mother who has entrusted her son to the care of other doctors
heightens my sense of responsibility for the patients in my care. I
can easily put myself into the parents' shoes (not that many wear
them . . ) and I want to do my best, just as I hope the doctors in
Kijabe are doing their best for Luke. On the other hand, I struggle
to wonder why I am here helping other peoples' kids when my own is not
well. So much of me wants to pick up and run. When Luke's news came,
I was actually standing by the bed of 2-year-old Nyakato: she came
yesterday barely breathing, a slowing heart rate, cold, in shock,
unresponsive. Her father had red eyes from crying all the way to the
hospital; her mother sat in the corner and prayed into her hands
Hannah-like. Nyakato was the only surviving twin, and her mother's
heart was breaking. Heidi, Olupa, the head nurse Mwenge, and I all
went to work. Whether the fluids, the medicine, the prayers, or all
of the above, she revived, and today she was sitting up eating a
lollipop I gave her. A very satisfying snatch back from the shadows
of death, except that as I stood there the price paid by Luke to have
us here and him there, well, it seemed steep. Praying for the wisdom
of Solomon, and feeling the tearing of my heart.
2 comments:
Hi Jennifer. I have been praying all day that the news of Luke's knee injury would be good news, and my heart just sank when I read your post just now. I can't imagine how you have gotten through the day trying to focus on your patients when your son is hours away and injured. I am praying that the doctors in Kijabe are as loving and dedicated and compassionate as you are, for certainly Luke (and your family) deserves that kind of treatment for him. I know you must feel such joy to see Nyakato's near miraculous recovery, but I can imagine your joy must be mixed with such angst about Luke. You have indeed paid a steep price for the 15 years you have served in Bundibugyo, yet nothing ever feels as steep as things involving your child. What is so upsetting to me is what making the soccer team meant to Luke, and how miraculous it seemed he and his roommate both made the team, only to be followed a few days later with this distressing news about the injury. I am still praying fervently that whatever it takes to restore Luke to full health with be swift and complete and done with great care and at a minimum of pain to him. I will be praying also for wisdom as you and Scott contemplate what to do in terms of going to be with him. I'm just so sorry you are all having to deal with this - God bless, Cindy
We are praying. My heart aches with you, and my heart praises for you and your work for these precious ones in your care. Praying that Luke will receive excellent care, and trusting that he will feel the Lords and your love.
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