I spent the majority of last week at a Nicaraguan hospital.
It all started one night when I was woken up in the middle of the night by a racer who had such an extremely painful headache that it woke him up. It was so bad, he wanted to go to the hospital.
Shoot.
All I could think about was that I didn’t know how to handle this. And that I couldn’t get out of bed because I wasn’t wearing a bra. I wanted it to just go away so I could go back to sleep. Except… I signed up for this. I’m the one who chose to squad lead, and with that I accepted the responsibilities that it requires.
So I got out of bed and put on a bra. I prayed. I talked to the front desk at the hostel and asked them where there was a clinic. Turns out, it was the same one we’d walked past earlier in the evening that was, literally, two doors away. Praise the Lamb.
A few hours later, we were sent back with rehydration salts, nausea medicine, and migraine pain relief.
The next day hadn’t brought any change, so we went back to the clinic. This time, James was hooked up to an IV and had blood work done. He was extremely dehydrated, but everything else came back clear. They wanted to check him for malaria the next day, so we went back again for the third day in a row, where he tested positive.
We talked to a specialist. We went to a bigger hospital where James was admitted, tested again, and told he didn’t have malaria but he did have Dengue Fever. We spent a restless night in the hospital, where we quickly learned that they don’t like it when sick people sleep. So they come in at midnight to give medication. And again at 4am to draw blood. And again at 5am to make the sick people get out of bed so they can change the sheets. And again at 6am to bring breakfast. And again at 7am to mop.
The next day, three more racers from the same team were also admitted with Dengue Fever.
Suddenly, my worst fear came true. One of my biggest worries in squad leading was having racers under my care become seriously ill or injured and to have to bear the responsibility of making decisions and ensuring they would be taken care of in a foreign country. And not just a foreign country, but one in the developing world where I don’t speak the language and with questionable health care.
Yup. It happened. I found myself right in the middle of a situation that I had be so afraid of happening.
I settled in for the long haul, sleeping and eating at the hospital, translating for the doctors and nurses, and only leaving for a few minutes at a time to call insurance companies back in the states, get more minutes for my phone, and buy supplies. I learned all sorts of new Spanish words like “spleen” and “bed sheet” and “blood transfusion” (don’t worry, that never ended up happening).
After 6 long days, everyone was released and sent back to the hostel in Leon to continue their recovery.
You know what? I survived. I knew enough Spanish to understand and communicate. I had the support of the office and my co-leader. I could make decisions and see that these racers were receiving the care they needed. I could love them to the best of my ability and be there for them as they lay sick and away from home and loved ones.
It didn’t hurt that the hospital room had TV and air conditioning.
I didn’t tell the team this, but I’m pretty sure God allowed all this for my sake. The ordeal gave me confidence and showed me that when trials come, the Lord will give me what I need to make it through. If He called me to this position, then He won’t leave me without exactly what I require to be and do what is necessary. When my worst fears came true, I saw that the fear was worse than the reality.
I am now a champion of the labyrinth that is a Nicaraguan hospital. And if something similar happens again, I know I’ll face it with much more confidence and trust in myself and the Lord. Thanks to James, Stephanie, Kristen, and Lincoln for being the tools the Lord used to teach me this lesson. But please, don’t do it again.
