I sat on the floor shaking while a teammate held me against her chest, another teammate rubbed my legs and yet another was in the bathroom getting a cold washcloth to put on my face. In the last 24 hours, I had gone from carrying 60+ pounds of food up a mountain for one of the largest internally displaced people (IDP) camps in Colombia to having to be carried up the stairs, unable to walk by myself.
Colombia has more IDP than any other country, including Syria. Our team has been serving this community on the weekends, and we had spent the entire day going up and down the mountain with backpacks full of food to give to families in desperate need. As the sun began setting, we headed back to the guest house we were staying in and settled in for the night. I continued to feel fine that evening as we ate dinner and played cards. However, once I laid down for the night on a bed that felt like a wooden plank, I realized that my breathing was getting worse.
Only a few days prior, I had noticed that I was having a hard time breathing and could not stop coughing. I had spoken with my team leader about it, and the nurse on site at the organization we’re serving with this month checked my lungs and said they sounded clear, so for the last few days I had decided to ignore it.
Yet, that night was something different. It was far worse than it had been the last few days.
I fell asleep, but not long after I woke up struggling for breath. All night long I tossed and turned, coughing, and fighting the urge to cry out for help.
The next day was a blur. I tried my best to pull it together and love on some precious kiddos, but my body couldn’t handle it. I was throwing up, coughing up blood, struggling to breathe, and physically exhausted. Before I knew it, I was on my way to the emergency room. Being sick in another country sucks but being sick when you cannot communicate with the nursing staff is even worse. I received chest X-rays, IV’s, and nebulizer treatments, all to tell me that they didn’t know what was wrong. I might have altitude sickness, or it might just be a bad virus that had settled in my lungs.
I was discharged from the hospital and we made it back to our ministry site, but it wasn’t long before I realized something was really wrong. I couldn’t walk up the stairs. I couldn’t change my clothes. I couldn’t even use the bathroom without assistance. My legs, arms, and face were going numb. I struggled for breath and began breaking out in a sweat – all things they told me were common after receiving so many nebulizer treatments, but the side effects were far worse than I had ever imagined.
Before I knew it I was headed back to the hospital to get more medicine and some IV fluids.
Unable to walk down the stairs, my squamate carried me. As we sat on the curb waiting for the Uber to take us back to the ER, I was still unable to feeling anything. I had pretty much zoned out, until one of my squad leaders said, “Lauren, do you hear him singing to you?”
My teammate, who had been so gracious to carry me down the stairs, was holding me and singing over me. Another teammate was holding my head praying, and when I looked up I was surrounded by 4-5 people praying over me. As they carried me into the Uber and we began the two-mile drive to the hospital, my squad leader prayed out loud for healing and for fear to flee.
In that moment, I physically still felt horrible, yet the fear was slowly fading as she kept calling out to the Father on my behalf. It was as if fear was tangible in that moment and I could feel it leaving my body as she continued to pray. Once we arrived at the hospital, she continued to sit by my side until two in the morning when they finally discharged us again, full of fluids and medicine.
It’s a day I never wish to relive, but a day that I look back on with gratitude as I remember the love, servanthood, and kindness of my squadmates. Squadmates who went out of their way to make sure that I was given the best care in the hospital. Squadmates who gave us sleep and food to ensure that I was never left alone and was taken care of. My squadmates showed me a selflessness that I hope and pray that I one day also possess.
Living in community can be hard. Thirty girls sleeping in a small room with one bathroom can be challenging. I’m definitely looking forward to the day when I can shower without someone else using the bathroom and brushing their teeth during my three-minute, freezing cold shower. Our entire squad using one washer machine means wearing a lot of dirty clothes. Never being able to find time to be alone has certainly be challenging.
Yet, I’m finding that living in community can be one of the most beautiful things even in the least glorious moments of life.
Much love & Many blessings, Lauren
