I’m not sure I’ll see things worse in my life than what I saw in those hospital rooms last week, or at least I certainly hope that I won’t have to. I don’t yet know the joys and pains of being a mother, but I imagine my week there could not have gotten me any closer than having my own.
I kept asking God to break my heart for what breaks His, and I got what I asked for this past week.
The pictures below may disturb the light at heart. I wouldn't mind processing my own heart on the matter with you, but simply putting words and pictures to the experience would be an injustice. So instead, I share their stories, and ask you to consider for yourself
The children’s burn unit: Cochabamba, Bolivia
Many of the children I’ve seen over the past week have burns covering most of their bodies from fires, cooking oil, or boiling water. Hospital rules say that parents may only visit their children for an hour each day, and the children that get even that are spoiled in comparison to the majority of children whose parents don’t have the money to come see them.
A parent unable to see their injured child for weeks?
A child in pain without someone to love them for weeks?
Esmerelda, 13, burned in a house fire and hasn’t seen her parents for a couple weeks. She spends her day in a room with a three year old and 2 one year olds. When I came to see her, we played cards, she stroked my hair and cuddled next to me. We played cards, and I taught her to use my camera. She wants to be a nurse when she grows up. She humbles herself and asks for a bed pan. She holds my hand as I’m about to leave, just long enough to look longingly in my eyes, a silent way of asking me to stay. God desires so much more for her than this.
Michael, 11, burned so badly even communication was a task. When I asked to take a picture, he agreed, as long as I didn't show him what he looked like.
Cristian, 3, burned when he spilled boiling water on himself. My first day in the hospital I was playing with another child when he started screaming from his chair that he hurt and was yelling to lay down. The nurse came and laid him on his stomach where his burns were better revealed. His legs were wrapped in bandages, his butt cheeks exposed heavy skin peeling from his burn. A plastic bag tied around him for when he needed to use the bathroom. He was allowed out of his restraints under my care. We played with puppets and talked about dogs. I connected the most with Cristian. He would tell me each day that I needed to stay with him, and ask why I had to go. Saying good bye on Friday, I walked out of the room and I could hear his cries muffling the words “come back.”
Daniela, 1, burned from head to toe. While awake she would cry for attention, anything to distract her from the pain she was in. When she realized/remembered that all 4 limbs were tied down she would struggle, push, pull, and cry- anything to get out. Too young to understand how those restraints were to help her- only an hour before I watched her peer pull her IV out, taking away any pain killers that were getting her through the day. Daniela and I shared precious moments together as she fell asleep to me singing her, “Jesus loves me” and “Jesus loves the little children.”
I knew pain this week. My heart was broken. I fell in love.
Physically walking away from that place while hearing cries and pleas of the children was one of the hardest things I've done, but I know a piece of my heart will remain there.
