"M'am!"
I glanced across the room and saw a 70-year old woman with a nest of orange hair, waving me over to look at her screen.
"How can I help?"
"I want to get to the email." she said.
"Which email?" I asked.
"The Email!"
"Do you have email?"
"No. Can you help me get it?"
"Sure." I wasn't sure if she was ready to have her mind completely blown by 'the email'. But I dove in head first any way. I typed in www.gmail.com and the logo popped up.
She let out a huge exasperated grunt and gave me a look, as if she was through dealing with people who just didn't get it.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Well, this isn't what I asked for. I said I wanted 'E'mail not 'G'mail."
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Excerpts from the Elderly
Back in the U.S.
Started 4th semester, last semester.
I think I understand the greater picture here (regarding what I am about to explain) however I do believe there could have been a better, more impactful way of learning about the elderly.
We are on our community health rotations, which means it is time for us students to leave our (now) familiar hospital setting and venture out, explore, and mingle with "the community". For this, each student is placed either in hospice, a women's clinic, or a senior community center.
I am in the latter.
Initially when I was placed at the senior community center, I had no expectations or really no idea of what I would encounter, except seniors- of course. However, much of what I am doing is completely unrelated (at least in the linear sense) to health.
I am helping tutor a computer class to people age 65 and older. We help them learn how to use the internet, sign up for facebook, surf AARP.
How is this going to make me a better nurse?
Typically I let my optimism override all, plucking positive's from experiences and building them up to form some type of mental structure that to me looks nice, keeps me satisfied, and draws out the deeper side of life. But I have now spent 2 of my clinical days walking around a computer-filled classroom explaining to people that a double click is different than a single click.
So in an attempt to really see the beauty in an otherwise VERY slow rotation I am going to start recording the funny encounters.
Started 4th semester, last semester.
I think I understand the greater picture here (regarding what I am about to explain) however I do believe there could have been a better, more impactful way of learning about the elderly.
We are on our community health rotations, which means it is time for us students to leave our (now) familiar hospital setting and venture out, explore, and mingle with "the community". For this, each student is placed either in hospice, a women's clinic, or a senior community center.
I am in the latter.
Initially when I was placed at the senior community center, I had no expectations or really no idea of what I would encounter, except seniors- of course. However, much of what I am doing is completely unrelated (at least in the linear sense) to health.
I am helping tutor a computer class to people age 65 and older. We help them learn how to use the internet, sign up for facebook, surf AARP.
How is this going to make me a better nurse?
Typically I let my optimism override all, plucking positive's from experiences and building them up to form some type of mental structure that to me looks nice, keeps me satisfied, and draws out the deeper side of life. But I have now spent 2 of my clinical days walking around a computer-filled classroom explaining to people that a double click is different than a single click.
So in an attempt to really see the beauty in an otherwise VERY slow rotation I am going to start recording the funny encounters.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Action from all angles
Our 2 weeks is coming to a close. Erica and I are waiting to catch our bus back to Accra where we will spend tomorrow at the beach and then hop our flight back home and return this coming weekend.
It seems to be a non-stop medical adventure. We have both agreed that much of what we have been dealing with has been rather acute and intense. Your prayers are much appreciated.
Yesterday morning I woke up and prepared myself to help in a delivery with my old friend Afriyie (the midwife now). Being in the ward with her felt like the good old days, when I first started my apprenticeship in 2006, except now she is the head midwife.
I could hear the laboring mother already in the labor ward, vocalizing her pain, which for women here means they are about to push their child out. I unknowingly put on the last pair of gloves that the clinic owned and assisted in the delivery. It was a perfect birth of a beautiful baby girl. (Erica raised money for the trip and spent that afternoon in Kumasi buying much needed drugs to stock the depleted dispensary and more gloves)
However the night did not go as smoothly. We spent a good portion of our time in the back of an ambulance (which was really only a fast car with oxygen available), where Erica and I performed 30 minutes of CPR on a 3 month-old who had to be transferred from our clinic to the local hospital, and then, to the next biggest hospital. It was a night of a lot of fast-decision making and many firsts. The story is a long one, and graphic, so I'm saving it for my blog for those who are interested. The end result was undefined. It was getting late and we were far from our village with no money and no food. Our job was done and we had spent hours with this child. We couldn't wait around any longer to know whether the baby would survive or not, however the CPR sustained her life and our skills were very much needed. The ambulance drivers took pity on us and drove us all the way back to the clinic for free- and a very interesting conversation ensued regarding care across cultures. We shook hands and promised we'd add each other as friends on facebook and keep in touch that way. I had a grateful moment that communication had become that easy. And maybe one day, we'd be working the ambulance together again?
On Monday Erica, Agyei (the translator), Mabel (a healthcare assistant) and I took a bush taxi out into a very, very remote village. We had decided we wanted to do a 1-day wound clinic and serve people who lived too far to walk to the Huttel Health Center. We carried with us (in a big red backpack) supplies to cleanse and dress wounds. Slowly people lined up. We took them one by one and sat them on a bench underneath a big tree. They slowly unbandaged wounds that had been wrapped up in dirty old cloths. Let me just say I typically find this type of thing to be utterly repulsive. Originally it almost made me not want to be a nurse. But something shifted on this day and the Good Lord has given me a new tolerance! The most exciting part of the day was the discovery of an 11-year old with Buruli Ulcer. Buruli Ulcer is a local flesh-eating bacteria that infects a person and utterly destroys the place it decides to inhabit. I have seen limbs completely scarred and unusable due to the buruli ulcer. However it is very easy to treat, especially when detected at the early stages. Much of this comes down to education. We called the girls mother over to look at her wound. We asked her why she hadn't sought medical care. She said because it wasn't a painful wound (even though it was larger than a large slice of salami) so it hadn't posed a problem. I told them it wasn't painless (that is a telltale sign) but it would continue to grow and there was a good possibility if she didn't seek care her daughter would lose her leg. She seemed to understand and said they'd come to the clinic the next day for a referral letter to the big hospital. I told them they have a free program for Buruli Ulcer patients. Treatment is free and they even provide incentives of chocolate milk (Milo) and sugar.
But even with all that they never came to get the referral letter.
So we loaded up in a taxi again (a few days later), went back out to the village, and found the girl and her mother. We said the exact same thing we did a few days ago and we delivered the referral letter. Repetition and repeated attempts seem to be essential here. At times it can become a little frustrating, but hopefully, ultimately, it works. I re-bandaged the wound (hooray!) and gave her a See's candy to put a smile on her face and a little anticipation in her future. Then we made sure her next weeks taxi fare was paid for so she would have no excuse to not go.
So that is a little of what is going on here. We called the family I stayed with my first night (the 4-pillow family) and they said to please come back and stay with them while we are in Accra. So that is where we are headed. Oko and Angela leave back to America on the same flight so I am sure we will be taken care of up until we leave. However your continued prayers are much appreciated- I truly believe they have enhanced this trip.
It seems to be a non-stop medical adventure. We have both agreed that much of what we have been dealing with has been rather acute and intense. Your prayers are much appreciated.
Yesterday morning I woke up and prepared myself to help in a delivery with my old friend Afriyie (the midwife now). Being in the ward with her felt like the good old days, when I first started my apprenticeship in 2006, except now she is the head midwife.
I could hear the laboring mother already in the labor ward, vocalizing her pain, which for women here means they are about to push their child out. I unknowingly put on the last pair of gloves that the clinic owned and assisted in the delivery. It was a perfect birth of a beautiful baby girl. (Erica raised money for the trip and spent that afternoon in Kumasi buying much needed drugs to stock the depleted dispensary and more gloves)
However the night did not go as smoothly. We spent a good portion of our time in the back of an ambulance (which was really only a fast car with oxygen available), where Erica and I performed 30 minutes of CPR on a 3 month-old who had to be transferred from our clinic to the local hospital, and then, to the next biggest hospital. It was a night of a lot of fast-decision making and many firsts. The story is a long one, and graphic, so I'm saving it for my blog for those who are interested. The end result was undefined. It was getting late and we were far from our village with no money and no food. Our job was done and we had spent hours with this child. We couldn't wait around any longer to know whether the baby would survive or not, however the CPR sustained her life and our skills were very much needed. The ambulance drivers took pity on us and drove us all the way back to the clinic for free- and a very interesting conversation ensued regarding care across cultures. We shook hands and promised we'd add each other as friends on facebook and keep in touch that way. I had a grateful moment that communication had become that easy. And maybe one day, we'd be working the ambulance together again?
On Monday Erica, Agyei (the translator), Mabel (a healthcare assistant) and I took a bush taxi out into a very, very remote village. We had decided we wanted to do a 1-day wound clinic and serve people who lived too far to walk to the Huttel Health Center. We carried with us (in a big red backpack) supplies to cleanse and dress wounds. Slowly people lined up. We took them one by one and sat them on a bench underneath a big tree. They slowly unbandaged wounds that had been wrapped up in dirty old cloths. Let me just say I typically find this type of thing to be utterly repulsive. Originally it almost made me not want to be a nurse. But something shifted on this day and the Good Lord has given me a new tolerance! The most exciting part of the day was the discovery of an 11-year old with Buruli Ulcer. Buruli Ulcer is a local flesh-eating bacteria that infects a person and utterly destroys the place it decides to inhabit. I have seen limbs completely scarred and unusable due to the buruli ulcer. However it is very easy to treat, especially when detected at the early stages. Much of this comes down to education. We called the girls mother over to look at her wound. We asked her why she hadn't sought medical care. She said because it wasn't a painful wound (even though it was larger than a large slice of salami) so it hadn't posed a problem. I told them it wasn't painless (that is a telltale sign) but it would continue to grow and there was a good possibility if she didn't seek care her daughter would lose her leg. She seemed to understand and said they'd come to the clinic the next day for a referral letter to the big hospital. I told them they have a free program for Buruli Ulcer patients. Treatment is free and they even provide incentives of chocolate milk (Milo) and sugar.
But even with all that they never came to get the referral letter.
So we loaded up in a taxi again (a few days later), went back out to the village, and found the girl and her mother. We said the exact same thing we did a few days ago and we delivered the referral letter. Repetition and repeated attempts seem to be essential here. At times it can become a little frustrating, but hopefully, ultimately, it works. I re-bandaged the wound (hooray!) and gave her a See's candy to put a smile on her face and a little anticipation in her future. Then we made sure her next weeks taxi fare was paid for so she would have no excuse to not go.
So that is a little of what is going on here. We called the family I stayed with my first night (the 4-pillow family) and they said to please come back and stay with them while we are in Accra. So that is where we are headed. Oko and Angela leave back to America on the same flight so I am sure we will be taken care of up until we leave. However your continued prayers are much appreciated- I truly believe they have enhanced this trip.
Poverty and Riches
A lot happens in one week. I'll jump right in.
New Year's Eve was quite special, and incredibly simple. Around 9 pm, the head nurse at the clinic (Ma Vic) brought Erica and I to an old worn-down schoolhouse. We sat at dilapidated desks while the room slowly filled up with local villagers. About an hour later, the pastor arrived with his bible in hand and a message to share.
"I'm surprised by how spiritual everyone here is." Erica mentioned earlier that day.
For the life of an average Ghanaian in Boamadumase (our village) there is no separating life from God. And when the New Year approaches it is very evident. All day celebrations and all night dancing- all in the name of Jesus.
We were tired from a long days work and weren't quite sure we'd make it to 12:00. The clinic has been very busy. We've been thrown in the middle of it and I am quite pleased to say that this time around I actually have something to give back! It is very refreshing.
The pastor began his New Years Eve message in English. I looked around the room and realized Erica, Ma Vic, and I were the only ones who'd be able to understand. I leaned over to her "This message is for us" I said.
She smiled.
"No, literally, it's for us. It's in English."
"Ohhhh, okay." she said.
The message was beautiful, especially after what we have been experiencing. All day long people show up at the clinic needing medical attention. Many of these people exist on the famous "less than a dollar a day'. That does not translate well when one needs to seek healthcare. Like yesterday...
A man stepped on a sharp piece of metal and the sole of his foot lacerated down to the muscle. He needed bandages and a tetanus injection. That is about 5 dollars. But that was also the money for this weeks food. So there is a decision that must be made. In these situations there is a lot of cause for desperation.
And this situation is everywhere. Most of us Americans are the minority of what is really happening in this world.
Stepping into this is uncomfortable, in that I am American and I have resources and this is temporary for me. How do I best approach working in a situation like this, spiritually, financially, and physically??? Do I pay for his care? What about all the other people?
Erica and I first met this guy at night while we were buying dinner. She saw his foot was bandages in a dirty cloth and asked to look at it. "He needs to follow us to the clinic. Why hasn't he had this taken care of?"
I asked him in Twi. He said "menni sika".
I don't have money.
"For God says! I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink" the Pastor preached from Matthew 25 "and I was thirsty and you gave me something to eat!" The message struck deep in my soul. "What you have done to the least of these, God says, you have done onto God!"
After we wrapped the man's foot, gave him a shot, and sent him on his way- he turned around and asked us for dinner money.
"I don't know" I told Erica.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"Well it's complex. We've given him free care- he should have enough for dinner now shouldn't he? And I only have a 5. It's a lot. We can't be giving this much out to everyone who asks. And does he REALLY need it?"
5 Ghana cedi in the village is equivalent to giving somebody $50. The difference between what he needed and the smallest change we could offer was almost embarrassing.
I began to intellectualize the implications of giving this money through the same old common mental pathway. Meanwhile he stood in front of me watching me think. I hate the existence of the gap between my mind and his reality. The words, "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat" permeated my thinking. We gave him the 5.
Then the pastor moved on to the next line of his message- which he only said in Twi. "For I was a stranger and you took Me in."
I looked across the classroom. Many of those people had invited us over to their place for dinner. Others have comforted me through friendship over the years. Ma Vic opened her doors at 2 am one early morning after I had a terrible nightmare and has been letting us sleep in her tiny house, on the living room floor, with the rest of her family ever since.
The 5 ghana cedi paled in comparison to God's greater picture of community. Perhaps that man couldn't pay for his healthcare or his dinner that night but there we were to step in as God's presence. And maybe I wouldn't have been able to sleep the rest of my trip had I not a peaceful place to rest my head? We are so intricately involved in one anothers lives in ways far beyond what we see or know.
After the sermon, we danced wildly and sang until our voices grew hoarse. Then Erica and I looked at our watches and realized we were far from making it for the New Year's countdown (do they even do that here?).
We walked back together to get ready and go to bed, however as we laid in bed we talked in the dark about the past few days, all that had happened and the message that night.
"Hey check your watch." I said.
"It's 11:54."
We waited 5 minutes, and with our headlamps on did a duet of a countdown, with shadowy smiles, underneath our mosquito nets.
New Year's Eve was quite special, and incredibly simple. Around 9 pm, the head nurse at the clinic (Ma Vic) brought Erica and I to an old worn-down schoolhouse. We sat at dilapidated desks while the room slowly filled up with local villagers. About an hour later, the pastor arrived with his bible in hand and a message to share.
"I'm surprised by how spiritual everyone here is." Erica mentioned earlier that day.
For the life of an average Ghanaian in Boamadumase (our village) there is no separating life from God. And when the New Year approaches it is very evident. All day celebrations and all night dancing- all in the name of Jesus.
We were tired from a long days work and weren't quite sure we'd make it to 12:00. The clinic has been very busy. We've been thrown in the middle of it and I am quite pleased to say that this time around I actually have something to give back! It is very refreshing.
The pastor began his New Years Eve message in English. I looked around the room and realized Erica, Ma Vic, and I were the only ones who'd be able to understand. I leaned over to her "This message is for us" I said.
She smiled.
"No, literally, it's for us. It's in English."
"Ohhhh, okay." she said.
The message was beautiful, especially after what we have been experiencing. All day long people show up at the clinic needing medical attention. Many of these people exist on the famous "less than a dollar a day'. That does not translate well when one needs to seek healthcare. Like yesterday...
A man stepped on a sharp piece of metal and the sole of his foot lacerated down to the muscle. He needed bandages and a tetanus injection. That is about 5 dollars. But that was also the money for this weeks food. So there is a decision that must be made. In these situations there is a lot of cause for desperation.
And this situation is everywhere. Most of us Americans are the minority of what is really happening in this world.
Stepping into this is uncomfortable, in that I am American and I have resources and this is temporary for me. How do I best approach working in a situation like this, spiritually, financially, and physically??? Do I pay for his care? What about all the other people?
Erica and I first met this guy at night while we were buying dinner. She saw his foot was bandages in a dirty cloth and asked to look at it. "He needs to follow us to the clinic. Why hasn't he had this taken care of?"
I asked him in Twi. He said "menni sika".
I don't have money.
"For God says! I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink" the Pastor preached from Matthew 25 "and I was thirsty and you gave me something to eat!" The message struck deep in my soul. "What you have done to the least of these, God says, you have done onto God!"
After we wrapped the man's foot, gave him a shot, and sent him on his way- he turned around and asked us for dinner money.
"I don't know" I told Erica.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"Well it's complex. We've given him free care- he should have enough for dinner now shouldn't he? And I only have a 5. It's a lot. We can't be giving this much out to everyone who asks. And does he REALLY need it?"
5 Ghana cedi in the village is equivalent to giving somebody $50. The difference between what he needed and the smallest change we could offer was almost embarrassing.
I began to intellectualize the implications of giving this money through the same old common mental pathway. Meanwhile he stood in front of me watching me think. I hate the existence of the gap between my mind and his reality. The words, "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat" permeated my thinking. We gave him the 5.
Then the pastor moved on to the next line of his message- which he only said in Twi. "For I was a stranger and you took Me in."
I looked across the classroom. Many of those people had invited us over to their place for dinner. Others have comforted me through friendship over the years. Ma Vic opened her doors at 2 am one early morning after I had a terrible nightmare and has been letting us sleep in her tiny house, on the living room floor, with the rest of her family ever since.
The 5 ghana cedi paled in comparison to God's greater picture of community. Perhaps that man couldn't pay for his healthcare or his dinner that night but there we were to step in as God's presence. And maybe I wouldn't have been able to sleep the rest of my trip had I not a peaceful place to rest my head? We are so intricately involved in one anothers lives in ways far beyond what we see or know.
After the sermon, we danced wildly and sang until our voices grew hoarse. Then Erica and I looked at our watches and realized we were far from making it for the New Year's countdown (do they even do that here?).
We walked back together to get ready and go to bed, however as we laid in bed we talked in the dark about the past few days, all that had happened and the message that night.
"Hey check your watch." I said.
"It's 11:54."
We waited 5 minutes, and with our headlamps on did a duet of a countdown, with shadowy smiles, underneath our mosquito nets.
Wakwaaba
I am in Ghana, alive and well, along with Erica. Thank you for your
prayers up until this point. They have been doing us well and I really
appreciate it! It has been really great to see how God has worked out
what could have been potentially distressful situations.
One hour before I was to leave for Ghana I got an email stating the
person who was going to pick me up could no longer do so. I was
getting in at night and typically stay with friends while in Ghana's
main city, Accra, however obviously some plans had changed.
As I was on my flight over to Frankfurt I realized I was going to miss
my Ghana connection. The vision became pretty clear. I was just a few
short hours away from being one of those travelers I had just seen on
the news; stranded in Frankfurt, exhausted, sleeping on an airport
cot.
As I walked off the plane I stuffed one of their tiny pillows in my
bag, thinking I needed to get crafty, but feeling a little guilty for
doing so.
The day ended up a very tiring one. When I saw the line to rebook my
ticket the only motivation for standing in it was that it would only
grow longer the more I waited.
"Excuse me? How long have you been waiting here?" I asked a man in the middle.
"Four hours." He said blankly.
I felt a sense of doom. Where would I sleep? When would I catch my
next flight? Would I make it in time to meet Erica who was flying over
2 days after me? However God quickly reminded me what this trip was to
be about. Putting trust in him.
I joined with the others, and the next person who stood behind me
looked to be of African descent. After a few minutes we started
talking, he was from Ghana. He, his wife, and three children live in
Atlanta and were going home for the holidays to visit his family in
Accra.
Then after a few hours of standing in line we became friends. When we
finally reached the front of the line (five hours later) we went to
shake hands and say our goodbyes.
"But actually" Oko, my new friend said "where will you be staying
while you are in Ghana?"
I told him I was still figuring that out.
"No need to figure that out. You will stay at my family's house. You
are our sister now!"
When we arrived in Ghana they set me up like a queen. His family
seemed to be very rich, with a large house, nice cars, and real art on
the walls. We enjoyed a feast-like dinner with over fifteen people,
full of laughing and merriment. They hired a driver (and refused
payment) to bring me to the airport the next day to pick up Erica and
to drop us off at the bus station (to make our way up to the village
where we will be working) And then, they brought me to my room. "You
will stay in here" they said, opening the door to a nice big bed with
fresh, soft sheets and four pillows. I have never met a Ghanaian who
owns four pillows, let alone on one bed!
When I went to unpack my bag and I pulled out the tiny pillow I had
taken from Lufthansa, I didn't really feel bad for stealing- I felt
more pathetic mixed with a deep sense of gratitude and awe. I held
that pillow- and I looked at my bed- and I realize how often I do
this. I have this idea that I need to take care of myself, figure it
out, provide, make things work. But then God, the source of all
provision and creative ideas, steps in and makes everything so much
better.
When I went to sleep I asked for him to make this a trip where my
mindset was less of the little pillow mentality and more focused on
His greatness and His plans.
prayers up until this point. They have been doing us well and I really
appreciate it! It has been really great to see how God has worked out
what could have been potentially distressful situations.
One hour before I was to leave for Ghana I got an email stating the
person who was going to pick me up could no longer do so. I was
getting in at night and typically stay with friends while in Ghana's
main city, Accra, however obviously some plans had changed.
As I was on my flight over to Frankfurt I realized I was going to miss
my Ghana connection. The vision became pretty clear. I was just a few
short hours away from being one of those travelers I had just seen on
the news; stranded in Frankfurt, exhausted, sleeping on an airport
cot.
As I walked off the plane I stuffed one of their tiny pillows in my
bag, thinking I needed to get crafty, but feeling a little guilty for
doing so.
The day ended up a very tiring one. When I saw the line to rebook my
ticket the only motivation for standing in it was that it would only
grow longer the more I waited.
"Excuse me? How long have you been waiting here?" I asked a man in the middle.
"Four hours." He said blankly.
I felt a sense of doom. Where would I sleep? When would I catch my
next flight? Would I make it in time to meet Erica who was flying over
2 days after me? However God quickly reminded me what this trip was to
be about. Putting trust in him.
I joined with the others, and the next person who stood behind me
looked to be of African descent. After a few minutes we started
talking, he was from Ghana. He, his wife, and three children live in
Atlanta and were going home for the holidays to visit his family in
Accra.
Then after a few hours of standing in line we became friends. When we
finally reached the front of the line (five hours later) we went to
shake hands and say our goodbyes.
"But actually" Oko, my new friend said "where will you be staying
while you are in Ghana?"
I told him I was still figuring that out.
"No need to figure that out. You will stay at my family's house. You
are our sister now!"
When we arrived in Ghana they set me up like a queen. His family
seemed to be very rich, with a large house, nice cars, and real art on
the walls. We enjoyed a feast-like dinner with over fifteen people,
full of laughing and merriment. They hired a driver (and refused
payment) to bring me to the airport the next day to pick up Erica and
to drop us off at the bus station (to make our way up to the village
where we will be working) And then, they brought me to my room. "You
will stay in here" they said, opening the door to a nice big bed with
fresh, soft sheets and four pillows. I have never met a Ghanaian who
owns four pillows, let alone on one bed!
When I went to unpack my bag and I pulled out the tiny pillow I had
taken from Lufthansa, I didn't really feel bad for stealing- I felt
more pathetic mixed with a deep sense of gratitude and awe. I held
that pillow- and I looked at my bed- and I realize how often I do
this. I have this idea that I need to take care of myself, figure it
out, provide, make things work. But then God, the source of all
provision and creative ideas, steps in and makes everything so much
better.
When I went to sleep I asked for him to make this a trip where my
mindset was less of the little pillow mentality and more focused on
His greatness and His plans.
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