Its hot in here

Last week I had one of those experiences I can't shake. I can say pretty confidently that not much rattles me. I can walk into most situations and take in what I see, regardless of how gruesome, and keep stride. As a nurse I have relied on this heavily,
until last Friday.
One of our patients made his way back to the city after futile attempts "up country" with tradition medicine. After getting to his house and realizing he wasn't home, our translator called to find out where he was. After hanging up the phone he said "He is at the coughing hospital".
This particular patient has lymphoma (a tumor) on his neck. As the tumor grows he struggles more to breath, and now has developed a cough. Thoroughly confused we started making our way over to the "coughing hospital". When we pulled in we found ourselves at a facility (notice I am not using the word hospital anymore) that treats tuberculosis and cholera. For those of you unfamiliar with these diseases, thy are nasty, highly contagious, and both life-threatening. Not to mention a fairly random couple of diseases to throw together in one room.

As we walked into the room we passed by two patients laying in their beds. The first was one I watched for an extra second, the delay caused only because I was making sure he was breathing. The second looked even worse, covered by flies with a dirty, blood stained cloth held next to his mouth by bone-thin fingers. I've been around dying people, I have seen enough poverty that I thought I had a grip on how things work here.

Apparently not.

At least not entirely.
My eyes found their way to my patient, something familiar, something to focus on besides the men nearing death laying on bare plastic mattresses. He appeared to have declined quite a bit since the last time we saw him. His quick shallow breaths were often interrupted by coughs that rippled through his body causing his face to show the pain he was feeling. His lips were pale, almost as pink as mine. His mouth was dry as he greeted us, but his kind eyes and sweet smile broke through it all, and I felt myself return the smile as I touched his feverish arm.
As we talked I swear I could feel the disease in the room start creeping in around me. The air was filled with this charge, a sickening feeling of claustrophobia.
At home a patient with tuberculosis (or one just suspected to have it) would be in a room with negative pressure air systems, respirator masks for everyone going in and out, signs posted everywhere and plenty of other precautions.
Here, well, the windows were open.
I don't know if it was because I was taking in tiny gasps or air in between the coughs of the man laying 3 feet away from me, or maybe it was the sight of the housekeeper using a dirty rag to wash, rather, wipe the germs from one side of the floor to the other. It could have been the actual heat too, the next day which was equally as hot registered close to 115 degrees F (something like 45 c for everyone else who reads this outside of America). Whatever the cause, all I heard come out of my mouth as I fought the urge to faint was;
"Its hot in here"
My body and mind were fully rejecting everything around me. As I tried to pick a fixed object to stare at and convince my mind to stay with me I moved towards the end of my patients bed, trying to find a spot in the room that didn't have air threatening to suffocate me. My eyes kept falling on the man whose thigh I could have wrapped my hand around. The coughing from the other bed didn't give up, it wouldn't stop.

I successfully managed to step back from the ledge that would have plunged me into unconsciousness. I tried to manage a conversation as we left but all I could focus on was a shower, please get me to a shower.
Once I was satisfied with how clean I was (read: scrubbed until my skin was red) I thought back to what I was feeling in that room, a mental debrief, if you will. My body started reacting the same way. I started pulling in breaths through my nose and forcing them out through my mouth. I used to tell my little patients at home "smell the roses and blow out the candles" haha, there I was, 26 years old telling myself the same thing while sitting alone on the floor in my room. Finally it dawned on me to pray. Novel idea, eh?
The feeling left immediately, I knew it was ok. I can tell now looking back I wasn't recognizing how overwhelming it was to see my patient in the condition he was in. Like I said, I'm ok with the process of dying and all, but this situation is just wrong. He shouldn't be there, this isn't how this is supposed to be.

I feel like this post will leave people wondering if I am discouraged by all of this, if this job is getting to me. Instead of pretending like I have found resolution or can reconcile all of what I see here, I will just tell you I am doing really well. I'm not seeking some philosophical answer to why this all happens, or why some people in this world are born into sub-standard living conditions. I am drawing close to God, some days clinging or praying through strained breaths, but feeling good overall.

Isaiah 40:28-31

Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and to him who has no might he increases strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.