Update: Stillbirth, Wounds

Awende came in a day or so back. In fact, she came in the morning after I wrote the blog about her. I was so glad to see her and so thankful she was well, I could barely contain my joy! I checked on the healing of her tear and I'm glad to say all is healing nicely. No fistula! No incontinence! Alleluia!

Her parents greeted me joyfully, and were relieved to hear she would recover well. It was a time of celebration. What a glorious answer to prayer!

Also, the young lady with the facial wound is healing, but it's not healing right. Would you please continue to pray that the sutures would hold, and she would one day be able to smile? She is coming diligently for wound dressing, but she is sad. Pray for her to know our Living Hope! Thanks.

The hole.

(Warning: story contains pictures that are graphic and disturbing. Caution.)

When I first glanced her direction, I couldn’t help doing a double-take. Resisting the urge to stare, I quickly itemized the concerns in my head.

Swollen face. Oozing sore. Bandages covered in dirt. Obvious pain. Sadness.

“What was wrong?” I wondered to myself, but I didn’t press it. She was Dennis’ patient. I had enough to do that morning. So, I finished consulting with Dennis about a prenatal concern (which was my reason for barging in on his consultation in the first place), and got back to my belly measuring. Dennis returned to the sullen and swollen patient before him.

I thought nothing more of her, until I needed another consult about an hour or so later. But this time, I found Dennis in the wound care room.

He warned me before coming in: “Prepare yourself Stephanie. I don’t want you to get sick.” That just piqued my curiosity more. What was he doing in there?

Even though, blood, pus, and fluids don’t bother me at all, once inside, I was glad for the word of caution. What I saw made me stare in horror-tinged curiosity.

The right half of a girl’s face lay open and exposed. It was the girl from the consultation room, but this time, the bandages were off and the wound was debraided.

Half of her lips and almost all of her right cheek were gone. White, pristine teeth sparkled through, and I watched in fascination as she ran her tongue casually across them. It was something out of a horror film.

She was so young and beautiful; how did this happen?

The story went that she had an abscess in her cheek which was lanced and drained by someone in the village. That was only 3 days before. In that short time, the infection took over, eating its way through her face until all that remained was teeth.

Hard to believe and even harder to look at, I watched Dennis put in the first suture. Drawing the would-be lips together to form the inside of her mouth, he steadily worked to give her some tiny resemblance of normalcy.

I couldn’t stay and watch, even though I would have happily done so-- I had too many prenatals waiting for me. So, I left him and Margaret to the work they do best, and went back to work.

I happened to come in just as he finished. Naively, I had expected her wound to be closed. But when I saw the raw, fleshy, gaping hole, it finally dawned on me-- she had no skin left to suture.

Pray for her. She’s in a lot of pain. Dennis mentioned her needing a skin graft. She’ll be coming for daily wound dressings. Thanks.

To cut or not to cut?

Earlier this week, a man came in to get his finger chopped off... or so, he thought.

His right index was inflated to twice the size, and the skin surrounding it burst and peeled with infection. The tip of his bone, exposed and possibly gangrenous, smelled foul and caused him outrageous pain. It had been progressively getting worse. Wouldn’t I cut it off for him so he could go back to work?

As I cleaned his wound, I asked him how he got such a terrible infection.

-- “My wife bit me,” he announced grumpily. 
-- “What did you do to your wife to make her want to bite you?” I asked as the corners of my mouth twitched upward.
-- “She ran off for two days, leaving the small kid at home. When she came back I had to beat her,” he explained, “I had no choice.” He was asking for my sympathy but all I could do was laugh.
-- “And she bit you hard, huh?” He nodded and I laughed harder.
-- “It’s not good to have such young wives anymore,” he complained,  “they don’t let you beat them properly when you need to.”
-- Laughing outright and shaking my head, I chided, “You know, the Bible tells husbands to love their wives like God loves His church. You should not beat her anymore. It’s not good.”

My lecture fell on deaf ears because he chuckled at the thought. Imagine that! Puewff... You can’t stop beating your wives! How else will they obey you?

He was laughing at me for suggesting such nonsense, and I was laughing at him for having such a silly (but serious) infection.

It wasn’t long before the wound was cleaned, so I gave him antibiotics and sent him home. He would have to wait a few days to get his wish; there would be no amputations on command at our clinic (according to Dennis).

This week, he came once or twice for wound care, and I’m told it looked better; but he may have given up on our optimism and went elsewhere for his amputation, as I haven’t seen him in the last 3 days. Ha ha.

It’s the first time for me in two respects:
    It’s the first time someone has asked me to cut off their finger and...
    It’s the first time I’ve seen the benefit of having very young wives.

I guess if you are married of to a man too feeble to beat you, that can’t be too bad. Right?

Burning for revenge....

A few days ago, a woman brought in a baby that had been badly burned (over 20% of her face and body). We had to completely sedate the child to even clean the wounds. It was hard to hear... let alone watch. The little girl was obviously in a lot of pain.

The next day another child showed up in a terrible state. He had scalding burns all down his neck and shoulder. This is unusual. We normally don’t see so many burns. How strange.

Only later did I learn that the two burn victims are neighbors. The young girl was playing at the neighbors house. She was either pushed by another child or fell into a vat of boiling water. The mother of the child was irate. She blamed the neighbor for the accident, saying it was her responsibility to watch the child.

So while the neighbor was at the clinic checking on the little girl. The mother went to her neighbor’s house and intentionally pushed that woman’s child into the fire -- thus the second victim.

I can understand being angry but ... to push a small child into the fire? To scar him for life? That... I cannot understand. I just can’t.

So every day since, we have had two warring families waiting in line to get their babies’ burns treated. The tension is so thick you can taste it.

Pray for forgiveness and reconciliation, healing and love.

8 1/2 Fingers.... left.

One of the men working on the new clinic got his hand caught in the brick-making machine today. And in a matter of seconds, he lost two finger tips on his left hand. The ring and middle  finger are missing from the first phalanges. The bones were exposed, flesh torn open and raw. The pinky was crushed but the bone remained intact.

Fortunately we have an emergency room doctor here on a short-term missions trip. His name is Dave. Originally, he wanted to transport him. He said the bones needed to be removed and skin drawn over to be properly sown together. However, it wasn’t going to happen so he did the next best thing. He sutured him up.

Here’s the thing. The man missing his digits never made a noise of pain. Not even a squeak. He didn’t hiss, cringe, moan or otherwise indicate he was in pain. I know part of it’s cultural but.... come on!! You’re missing part of your hand! It’s okay to cry! But he didn’t.

The only noise I heard him make was only after the bandages were firmly in place. I showed him a picture or two of what his hand looked like. Only then did he make a noise of compassion.

Oh, Sudan!

I’m told it’ll take 2 weeks to heal, assuming no infection sets in. However, it’ll be months before he can use his hand again.

Broken and beautiful.

Last week during one of the basketball outreaches, a young girl came out to play. She is beautiful and has a smile that takes you by storm. My best guess would be she’s about 8 years old. She’s more fair skinned than some of the other girls in town and I was told her mother was of Arabic descent.

When they realized that Sabet (from Sabet’s Clinic -as the IDAT clinic is referred to by the locals) was there, they brought this girl to him. She lifted up her sleeve to show a bone sticking out of her shoulder -- pus filled and exposed.

They explained that two years ago she fell from a tree. The bone broke and came through. They couldn’t afford to fix it, so they did nothing. She lived and it started to heal a bit. And slowly, she regained some use of her arm.

He told her to come to the clinic the next day for a dressing. She came. And every other day, she returns. We cannot reset it without x-rays and are looking into taking her to Kenya to be treated. In the meantime, we see her regularly.

Yesterday, I saw her napkin keeping her place on the bench. It was so dainty and fun, I had to take a picture. She is all girl... needlework and nail polish!