Actually, five times. But only three times for myself, so obviously there’s no need to worry.
I’ll work backwards so as to save the most exciting (and ultimately, the true subject of this blog) for last.
Before I left for the race, the people in my life who love me might have expressed a slight concern for my well-being. Truth be told, I am equal parts clumsy and unlucky, and I’ve demonstrated a knack for catching strange diseases. I once cut my toe off in a Pizza Hut bathroom. I had mono and pneumonia simultaneously in high school. I fall down the stairs roughly 33% more than my peers. At one point, I convinced myself that I was dying of consumption. My track record for being unfortunate is not spotless. There were probably more than a few prayers sent up on my behalf for protection against malaria, broken bones, and uncontrollable diarrhea. So, when I became febrile and started sleeping around the clock our second week of ministry, I was certain I was gravely ill. After being whisked off to the clinic by my new Malawian brother Paul, the doctor delivered the news I had been fearing:
That’s right. In the land of guerilla mosquitoes and weird African afflictions, I was taken down by a nasty case of tonsillitis. The prescription? I had to get a GIANT shot of some antibiotic I had never heard of and would certainly, definitely make me nauseous. In my butt. Every day, until I was well. This was only two days in a row, but in my retelling of events, I typically range from three days to a week. Now the truth is out there. Add this to my visit the previous week for the staph infection on my foot, and you have the entirety of my medical history in Africa. Hopefully, this is the final draft.
My first exposure to an African hospital took place about this time last month during our debrief at Lake Malawi. After months one, four, seven, and eleven on the race, our squad mentor and coaches fly out to see us, and the whole squad comes together for a time of reflection, worship, and relaxation. This month, we spent four days in Cape Maclear on Lake Malawi, which I think translates to “heaven on Earth,” as I’ve never seen a more beautiful place. We stayed at a lodge right on the beach, surrounded by mountainous islands that disappear into the clouds. My days were filled with naps (in a bed! Something I’ve almost forgotten!) and kayaking long distances around aforementioned mountain islands. It was a nice change from sleeping in a tent out in the deep bush of Mozambique. On our last full day of debrief, we all hopped on a boat to go snorkeling. Since I am very athletic, this was obviously right up my alley. If my sarcasm doesn’t translate over the internet, or you just don’t know me very well, I’m just kidding. I am not athletic. But I do like adventures, and we were having a grand time splashing about and chasing brightly colored fish around the rocks. When the time came to head back for lunch, I gingerly climbed back onto the boat and took my seat. At the very front of the boat, there was a portion of the floorboards missing, that was obscured from view by a pile of rope. I managed to navigate this obstacle successfully, and was relieved to find myself safely in place. As I settled in and began to dream of whatever delicious treasures my future held, I was suddenly snapped back to reality as someone climbing onto the boat misjudged the gap, and fell hard against the front bench seat. After the initial shock of seeing such an incident wore off, I realized that it was one of our coaches, Becky, that had fallen.
Let me tell you a little bit about Becky. She is not only the prettiest, happiest, most smileyest gal I’ve ever come in contact with, but she’s one of the most loving and Christ-focused as well. She’s like a momma to 35 crazy world race kids. She’s athletic and sure-footed, and honestly the last person I would have expected to have any sort of accident. I immediately launched into caregiver mode. Luckily her husband Bob and a few other girls from my squad were there to hold her up and help make her comfortable. I yelled to the boat driver (the skipper? What is that guy’s title?) that we needed to get her back to shore quickly. As we were speeding across the lake, Becky began to lose consciousness as I was talking to her. She hadn’t hit her head but her ribs when she fell, so I knew her body was in shock. We laid hands on her and prayed the entire way back to the shore. When we landed (docked? I don’t know boat words) two of my (incredible, selfless, servant-hearted, terrified) male squadmates hopped off and quickly returned with a lounge chair from the beach. As a group, we helped lift Becky off the boat and onto the lounge, so we could carry her like Cleopatra up to the driveway. We fetched Noleen, the owner of the lodge and the only person we knew in Malawi with a car, and asked to take her to the hospital. Luckily, there was a clinic close by and she happened to be friends with the doctor. After taking a consensus, we decided that Noleen would drive Becky, Bob, and me, the token healthcare provider, to the hospital. As we drove down the bumpy dirt road, I tried to keep the mood light by cracking jokes and asking her silly questions to gauge her level of alertness.
“So…your daughter, her name is Andrea, right?” (“Aubrei.”)
“And she just started college where?” (“You know she’s at Nebraska!”)
“And she plays… football?” (“No! Soccer!”)
Obviously, I knew all of these answers already, and Becky knew that. She was able to answer them all correctly, and I was satisfied. Luckily the clinic wasn’t far away, and they whisked us right in. The doctor had spoken to Noleen on the phone, and was waiting for us. She was a Dutch woman with a kind face and a gentle manner. She took her time explaining everything and I was very thankful to be able to “talk shop” with her and the nurses, so Bob could focus on his wife. The general assumption was that Becky had probably broken multiple ribs, as they were making clicking sounds whenever she breathed. The clinic didn’t have an X-ray machine, however, so the doc ordered some pain meds (the good stuff, guys) and began to make plans to release her in the afternoon. The clinic was both what I expected of an African hospital, and not at all what I expected. There were many patients in one room, and it was very hot. I remember there were no chairs to sit on. Still, I didn’t feel like we were Forrest Gump and Lieutenant Dan trapped in that military hospital at the end of the Vietnam war, which is honestly what I expected. We sat and chatted and laughed and told stories, and we prepared to leave. When Becky sat up from her bed, the pain became too much for her body, and she fainted. Not to be dramatic about things, but she fainted in my arms. And then a few more times. Each time, I went through the motions, asking her if she knew where she was, remembered what had happened, etc. The first time it happened, there was a split second where I knew she didn’t recognize me. After that, we got her laid back down and talking more comfortably. The doctor decided that since they were scheduled to fly home to the states the next day, she really wanted Becky to have an X-ray, which would require her to be transported by ambulance to the nearest big city, four hours away. So with a heavy heart, I left my beloved squad parents at the hospital for the night, and returned to the lodge and my squad.
(Looking like a class act in my swimsuit in the hospital room…)
Later that night, I found myself sitting alone on the beach, processing the day. I couldn’t help but cry. In the moment, I was so quick to jump into the caregiver role. I knew what to do, what to look for, how to talk to the doctor, I knew what medicines she was taking. I knew to stay calm for both her sake and Bob’s sake (“He’s a worrier.” –Becky) But at the end of the day, after I didn’t need to be strong anymore, I cried because I was a person who had seen their friend get hurt. And that moment revealed a lot about who God made me to be, and who He thinks I am. I’d rather stay out of the hospital for the rest of the race, but I’m thankful that God put me on that boat with her. Further proof that He shows up in strange and lovely ways.
From my hospital room to yours,
Erin
