Hannah, part 2

goodbye at the airport

Passports?….check

Vaccination cards?…check

US Dollars?….check

Kenya Shillings?…check

Tanzania Shillings?…check

ATM card?….check

Contact information of doctors in Kenya?…check

Advice from doctor friends in the US and Africa?…check

Airline and bus travel information?…check

A ride to the airport?…check

Lodging contacts in Kenya?….check

Insurance information?…check

Several changes of clothes?…check

Did we pack enough for a few days but in small enough bags that we can tote them around on crammed public busses?….check

Are we sure there are no suitable options available for treating an eye injury here in our area?…yes

Okay, now that we have compiled all of the information and advice it is clear we need to go to Kenya and see a certified eye doctor to get Hannah's eye checked out.  

The decision to take Hannah to Nairobi Kenya was laden with many details not normally associated with an injury in America or the west for that matter.  As Americans, we generally have access to qualified and competent medical care within a reasonable distance from our home.  Of course there are special cases and specialists spread throughout the country but for normal cases, most of us can find an Urgent Care center or ER somewhere within an hour or 2 drive.  The blessing of such care can also cause us to look away from the Great Physician and try our "luck" with what is seen, first.  I am not saying that we as Americans don’t have faith.  I am saying that I struggled with leaning on "the things that are seen" first and then when time permitted, I would look to the Lord.  I have been challenged by this experience with Hannah (and many others during our past few years here in Africa) by the fact that our first response in these situations should be prayer.  It is easy to pray first when there are no options available but takes a lot of discipline to pause in the midst of trauma and pray when there are options readily available.  We want to DO something.  So I have to admit, I think we actually have it easier out here in the bush. :)  Those of us who have access to medical care, clean water, power, good roads, systems of law and order, probably have a harder time remembering who holds it all together in the moments of urgency than many others in places like this.  I know I did when I was there and quickly revert to it when I return.  Add to that mix, our tendency to be self sufficient and independent, and we have a worldly belief system that wants to draw us away from leaning on our Creator first and only then using the resources He has provided us to solve our given dilemmas.

We want to Praise our Lord for His provision for us in this trip to Kenya.  It is not our right to be able to get on a plane and see one of the best eye doctors in the country of Kenya the next day.  It is a luxury and a blessing that humbles me.  The total cost of the trip was less than a typical trip to the ER in the US and most of that cost was in the one way plane trip to get us there in a hurry.  But regardless of that, it still was something so far beyond what any of our neighbors here could ever afford for such an issue.  For some reason, we have the means and we don’t want to take that lightly.  We are grateful for His provision.  We also want to Praise Him that the damage to Hannah's eye was not more severe and should heal completely within the week.  The doctor was very confident of that and we are at peace with his prognosis and treatment.

We know it was the hand of God and we would like to thank those of you who were and are praying for Hannah.  It has been such a blessing to receive the hordes of emails saying that you are praying for her and reminding us to trust in the Lord.  We rest in the fact that God has our best in mind and in the good times and hard, we trust Him.  These are temporal bodies with eternal spirits.  We rejoice in the knowledge that He is preparing for us a place, and pray that we can be used to encourage others to choose His priceless gift of forgiveness and life. 

Thank you for your support and encouragement!

unexpected date! :)

Blessings…dave

Hannah

Dave called this morning to tell me that the doctor in Nairobi, a specialist, had seen Hannah and said everything would be fine.  Three types of meds, three times a day, give it a week, it will be back to normal.

Wow.  Relief?  For sure.

Glad she has both eyes to see this amazing world?  You better believe it!

Thankful for good medical care and access to great doctors when those around us have so little and suffer so much?  Yes, humbly.

Wanting our roots to go down deeper for the next time?  Absolutely.

Thank you so much for your prayers for Hannah.  We are so grateful to our great God who gives and takes life, and has in His hand all of us for however long He chooses.

Megan, last night, "Dear Jesus, please heal Hannah.  And help people to know that it is YOU who heals people, not just doctors."

Amen.

June 24

When we were in Kenya a couple of weeks ago, Lindy and I headed to a tea farm.  The trip there was field after field of beautiful, dark green tea bushes.  One was not so bright green--it was brown actually, and looked like it was dying.  Must have been from too much pesticide or something,  I thought.  

When we were given the tour and info about tea, the owner told us about that dead field.  "A couple of years ago, the owner's son decided to help his dad along with his tea business, so he installed drip irrigation in the entire field."  Little did he know that his quick solution would actually be the death of the field.  Because the plants received water from the top of the soil, shallow, they didn't send their tap roots down deep for times of drought.  Instead of helping that plant grow strong, when the drought came, there wasn't enough water to keep the irrigation going and the plants dried up.  

We just said goodbye to Hannah and Dave, as they headed to Nairobi for a good ophthalmologist.  Hannah is one of the strongest girls I know, and I have never seen her in pain like I did yesterday.  What I didn't realize until this morning was that she already knew 

she couldn't see when she came into the house, "Dad, I hurt my eye."  

She had been using a dremmel tool, the sander on, to sand a metal ring. 

 A little tiny attachment, a small ring.  

the tiny sander attachment, bent

Hannah, the girl who always wears her safety glasses, thinking it really isn't consequential this time.  The tool spinning off-balance, Hannah reached for the off switch and the ring spun out into the corner of her eye from only a very short distance away.  She kept her eyes closed, felt for the switch, made her way inside, stood at the doorway, white as a sheet.

After ice and meds and rest, two hours later, I sat in front of her face, just eight inches away.  "OK, Hannah, what does it look like?"  

"It's all dark green except for some red."  

"My face is all dark green?"

"Mom, I can't see your face or ANYTHING."  

And then calls and more calls and what seemed like hundreds of people reaching out, trying to help.  

And Hannah, careful firstborn, wondering why she hadn't used her safety glasses.  The almost-four-year-old walking around it all, singing "How Great is Our God," nice and loud (or was it an angel?!).

And all of us thinking about the sovereignty of God--surely His grace and goodness and omniscience covers accidents and mistakes, doesn't it?  Because if it doesn't, it isn't really sovereign, is it?  And we can still trust Him, can't we, when we're not perfect?  

Surely we can believe that nothing comes to us second-hand, but simply through His good hands.

And, we pray that we, like that good tea, would send out our tap roots down deep into His Word and Himself, so that during this time of drought, we'll still be bearing fruit, like Psalm 1.  And that we would all grow stronger as we learn to trust.

 

And we pray that this would be a time for Hannah to grow deeper with her God, and see His care for her, 

whether or not that means that He heals her completely. 

 And that Dave and I would be her example of trust in His care and goodness.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose...

What then, shall we say in response to this?  If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare His own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things? (Rom. 8:28, 31-32)  

Whether that means healing or grace for what is ahead.

Last night before bed, Hannah was able to see a little bit.  By the time we sent her off today, it was about the same, but dark all around the edges.  As I write, they are headed to the hospital.  Thanks for all of your prayers.  We know that God is with us and that He is able!

Sick of Clinics?

We like to help people with medical issues without becoming the local village clinic.  A rather ambiguous line separates the two,  but we ask for wisdom and do what we can.  So when Habi showed me his wrapped up finger on Sunday, saying he got it caught in a bike chain, I just told him that if he needed help with it he could come to my house later.  And he did—four DAYS later, when he took the bandage off and showed me his finger, practically cut off at the top and desperately needing stitches five days ago. L  As I was headed to town the next day, I picked him up at his secondary school on the way and dropped him off at the clinic where they promised to treat him with everything he needed, and I would pay for it when I came back.  “But we have no tetanus,” which is what I really wanted. 

When we arrived back four hours later (don’t feel too sorry—four hours is the typical wait here anyways), Habi had a little piece of guaze wrapped around his finger, and “I haven’t had anything done to my finger because they said you have to pay first.”  The doctor said stitches were impossible at this point, so I ended up cleaning up and dressing his finger back at the house, wondering why I had towed him to the clinic in the first place!  On the way home we stopped by the government clinic, which isn’t exactly the first place you want to step foot, but also had the tetanus shot we needed.  “Oh yes, we have it,” declared the young men at the decrepit desk in the middle of a dirty concrete room surrounded by concrete benches.  “Just a minute,” as he saunters (I am convinced this is the one speed required by the African Hippocratic Oath) to get a needle, which he produces from a back room without its wrapping.  “Is that a new needle,” I inquire, suspicious.  He assures me that it is, and I debate the other equally vague line between pushing the matter in a country with less-than-desirable health care and not wanting to be the bossy American,  an unfavorable occupation.   Either this was a different kind needle, or it was painfully dulled from use, but it pushed his skin all the way down into a crater before it finally broke through. 

After this (me, unimpressed),  Mr. Government Clinic proceeded to collect a rusty pair of scissors, found a little medical box with flaps, cut one flap off, meticulously cut the edges to make a square, then turned it over, wrote Habi’s name on it, with T-1, T-2, all the way to T-5, evidently our desired destination.  “OK, he comes back after four weeks for second shot.”  He needs to come back three more times after that for shots too?  “Not always necessary.  Even if he comes back for next shot only, that’s good.” 

 

Monday the vet came and “fixed” our dog right on our back porch.  Which doesn’t count as people medical needs, but definitely added to our knowledge in the anatomy and physiology department.

 

Dave and I visited our friends the Misungwis the next day.  They had sent sweet potatoes our way, and we had heard that they weren’t feeling well.  “We know you love us because you visit,” he says, “you can’t love someone and just sit in your house, thinking by yourself.”   Little does he know how I crave just sitting in my house, thinking, sometimes.  We come from different cultures, he and I.  He was struggling with asthma and we called dad and picked up something in town.  “My mouth is KILLING me,” says his wife, “my tooth is in SO much pain.”  We encouraged her to go to the dentist.  “No, then they pull my tooth and my whole HEAD hurts.  It will go away soon—it always goes away eventually.”  And as always with this dear mama, “We can trust God!  He knows whether we will be healthy or not!” 

Yesterday Milka and I took eight of her kids and Lauren in to a doctor to get 1. immunizations and 2. a couple of them checked out.  WE stopped at our trusty Bring-Your-Own-Needle Government clinic first and a different lady assured me they had all the immunizations available.  But alas, after we had all entered and prepared ourselves, she wouldn’t give the kids their shots because they were too old.  It doesn’t matter if they haven’t had them, just “wait until they are 15.  That will be good.”  Really?  She was insistent that she could not give them any because of their age.  “What will I write on my paper that I have to fill out?” 

We headed to another clinic where we found, at 9:30 in the morning, 40 people waiting to register and another 150 already waiting.  There was an American team of docs there with an eye specialist, and people were flocking to see him.  After much debate, we decided to head into Hindu Union, a fairly reputable clinic in town.  Thankfully there was only a small wait and we saw an amiable Sri Lankan doctor.  She listened to the lungs of Milka’s three that are coughing (a REALLY good sign), then asked questions about Lauren, who has been having lots of stomach pain  and listened to her lungs as well (which would have been another good sign if she had proceeded on to exam other parts of the body that were hurting).  We trudged to the lab, a sign announcing, “We will not accept matchbox stool samples any longer.”  As far as we knew, they were the instigator of the matchbox stool samples themselves (and if you need more clarification, we might have to talk later, for I digress….).  Our doctor had ordered all kinds of tests for all of them, and when we finally got the results back after lunch, she told us that all four girls had UTI’s and Lauren had malaria and one of Milka’s girls that had a cough really had typhoid.  Sometimes visitors are impressed by these diagnoses, but fail to realize that virtually EVERYONE who enters a clinic here has 1. UTI, 2. Malaria, and 3. Typhoid.  They prescribed all kinds of medicine, including Tylenol for the Coughers, three times a day for five days.  “What is this for?” I ask.  “For pain!”  “They aren’t in any pain,” I protest.  She proceeds, confident: “They have an infection, so they WILL BE in pain.” 

We returned home, called my dad across the ocean, read through the handy medical books, and chalked it up to another reason that we self-medicate all the time. 

I'm getting to a point in here somewhere!

Eliza, who helps Milka in her house, felt sick last week.  She went next door to Alicia’s, sat on her step and was crying as she waited for a ride home.  Neema, a sweet, sweet woman who does a variety of things around here, came out on the porch, asked what was wrong and IMMEDIATELY laid her hands on Eliza, praying for God’s protection and healing, God’s wisdom and care for Eliza.  Alicia told me later and we were both so humbled at Neema’s example to us, reminded to pray.  “Of course you pray!  Always!”  Says Neema, matter-of-factly.  “many times it is all we have!” 

I remembered with Habi, as we dressed his finger, to PRAY for him, recognizing that God is the One who heals.  We pray as we remember Mr. Misungwi at night, that he would be able to sleep.  I remembered yesterday with an interesting diagnosis, and I am remembering today as we pray for the sick, that we don’t trust in medicine or doctors or the newest cure, we trust in Jesus Christ, the Healer of bodies and souls. :)