Surgery week one Dakar

Greetings from deck 6.
I am currently sitting on deck six reflecting on my week. The sun is shinning through the window next to me, looking out over the dock. Currently the view is of empty tents and an empty dock. Earlier this week the tents were full of our first surgical patients. Mothers and Fathers, daughters and sons, sisters and brothers, all patiently waiting in the heat of Dakar. Waiting with the one thing we desire to bring to all. Waiting with hope. Each one waiting for their turn with the doctors and nurses to find out if they get the final approval for their surgery. Hope fills the air, and we pray it fills their hearts as well. Slowly, throughout the week, one by one the approvals come, filling the surgery schedule one case at a time. And then, their incredibly brave adventure continues.

Each person is brought up the gangway to world they have never known, filled with people they have never met, with the hope that just maybe it really will be true. Maybe, just maybe they really will get FREE surgery and finally be free from that thing that has plagued them. That thing that has made them feel different, rejected, less than, or an outsider even among those who know and love them.

Each person is brought on board, navigating a maze of hallways and stairways and finally admitted to the hospital. Down, down they go into the belly of the ship, to the hospital deck. A new world. So brave. So many people, machines, tests, and doctors. They are met with open arms, smiles, a reassuring touch and kindness. For some it is a first. To not be stared at , but to see others like themselves. New friends made while waiting together in the tent, or on the bus. They are settled in a bed, given good food to eat and told to wait a little more. But then it happens.  Their turn comes.....

They are led, or if they are too small, they are carried down the long passageways to the O.R. door. It must be such a scary moment. It must take such courage and strength to pass through that door. Some do it boldly with a smile on their face, others timidly with a tear on their cheek. With each step, more hope. Could this really be it.

The room is like nothing many have seen before. The large overhead lights, the draped tables, people in gowns and masks. The interpreter in the room becomes their life line.Often the one person in the room who speaks their language. They are laid on a table and reminded what will happen, and then the mask comes down and sleep overtakes them.

When they awake....it is a new world. Sometimes a new battle. A battle of recovery, battles with pain, and battles of disbelief. For hope has paid off. The surgery really did happen. Smiles emerge. burdens are lifted. Hope of a different future rises in their hearts, and in the hearts of those who love them.

This is what it is all about. This makes it all worth it. The hard parts.

Being far from home when hard times come. Being here when you wish you could be there for your friends back home. When friends face loneliness, hurricanes, and even death. It is in those painful moments that I must cling to hope of my own. The hope that it will all be worth it. That lives are changing. That seeds are planted. That God will have his way. That is where I place my hope. In God. In God I will trust.

I will trust him for the patients that have come, and for the many that have not yet arrived. I will trust him for their souls. I will trust that he can use the smallest things. A kind word, a look, a smile or a hug. I will trust that he can help me through the hard days with my own patients. Through the fevers, the vomiting and the stitches. I will trust that when I feel like I am at the end of myself and I don't know if I can take another step, HE will hold onto me. HE has a plan for it all. He loves them all more that I do. He is the author of Hope. And HE alone will finish it all.To Him alone be the glory.