Life

This morning I sat with a mama and her two year old daughter, Lily. We talked about how there was no treatment, how the tumor, unless by miracle, would not go away. We talked about God, how our hope has to be in Him. We prayed for freedom from pain, peace of mind, and protection over the sweet family of Lily.
Later this morning I sat and faced Clement, our patient who continues to battle his cancer head on. The most recent fight is sending him to Ghana. He doesn't have enough money for the full course of radiation, the radiation that may not even work, "unlikely" is the term our doctors used. When I saw Clement last week for the first time after working on the wards for the summer, he shook my hand so hard my bones felt as though they were rattling inside. Today as we dropped him off to catch his cab to Ghana, he hugged me tight, sending the breath out of my lungs. He is a big, strong, tough, gentle man, who is scared for his life that is slipping away as he watches the cancer grow on his face.

This afternoon we got a call that a two year old had shown up at the ship, his cancer rapidly advancing with no hope for a suitable treatment available. His mom told us that it had started as a small bump on his cheek when he was 6 months old. He timidly sat in the back of the landrover as we drove him home, occasionally flashing a crooked smile, momentarily taking the focus off the disfiguring tumor protruding from his small face. We sat and cried along with the family as we discussed the fact that little Pania's life may be cut drastically short by this heinous disease. His mother, who at first had been holding herself together, told me in broken english,"his name means life", and unfortunately, not for the first time, I saw a mother with pain so deep in her eyes she looked for a moment like she will fall into a thousand pieces. That came right as she broke down for the first time during our encounter.

After dinner I made my way back to my cabin and remembered Aimee downstairs in B ward. He is a three year old with Burkitt's Lymphoma, a highly treatable form of childhood cancer. The problem is that this little body isn't responding to our attempts. We admitted him yesterday to give him a third dose of chemo, scheduled for today. When I was leaving the ship earlier with Pania, Ali stopped me to tell me I should go see him, they had just discussed his poor prognosis with his broken mama. We can't even start the chemo due to the respiratory distress he is in. His cheeks are big and heavy, round tumors on both sides of his face. They sit underneath deeply set, sad, liquid black eyes. His belly is swollen with the fluid accumulating around even more tumors. I let the familiar warm tears fall down my cheeks as I prayed with a mama who clutched her small boy, her lips finding, then gently kissing his silky, soft, brown hand.

Broken myself, I walked towards my friend Liz at the nurses station. She handed me a piece of paper on which a poem of appreciation from a patient was written (I'll share the whole thing when I have more energy to sit here and type). It was exactly what I needed to read it right at that moment. I nearly fell apart a few minutes too early when I read the following line;

Some in this life are born to pass and some are born in life to live, yet these angels are born to preserve humanity...Your labor in the Lord shall not be in vain. For every life you touch and every soul you save. For every bone you mend and weary face you straight. The lord of life and light will light your path and guide your life.

Life isn't easy, you probably have figured that much out yourself.
Life, living, is about real moments. Moments that rock your world, leave you weak in the knees, with tears on your face, completely poured out.
Life is about holding a hand, smiling at a baby, letting yourself melt into a hug, looking someone in the eye out of sincere honesty even if you have nothing good to say, and showing emotion.
Tonight, at the end of my day, life was about crying so hard I had trouble catching my breath. It was prayers through those tears for Lily and Clement, little Pania and Aimee.

Over a year ago, I was here in Benin and God answered a very specific request I had to help open my heart, show me how to love. The morning after that prayer, someone shared Deuteronomy 30:6;

"The Lord your God will circumcise your hearts and the hearts of your descendants, so that you may love him with all your heart and with all your soul, and live"

Here I am, a year later, living in Africa, soaking up every moment that entails. Some days find me gasping for breath through sobs, but most find my heart smiling. Everyday however, finds me saying this;

Thank you, God. Thank you for this life.