The Little Things

Last night I was tired.  When I reached my comfy bed, I was ready.  But the sleep didn’t come as fast as I would have liked.  I couldn’t get the images out of my head from yesterday.  One of those nights when your body is tired, but your mind won’t stop.  Yesterday was a bit crazy.  I couldn’t bring my medical bag because we had to bring other bags with us.  It felt pretty weird to be separate from that backpack, we have been attached (literally) since I got here.  The boys were supposed to bring it before I had to go to the slums, but since a monster rainstorm hit back at the house; they were unable to meet up with us.  I felt pretty unarmed as we walked into the little school house where I always see the worst wounds and fevers.

We were there for about 10 minutes when I heard “nurse, we need you.”  Sometimes that phrase is scary, I’m not gonna lie.  A small boy had just walked in carrying his little sister.  She was probably around 4 or 5 and weighed a fragile 20-25 lbs.   Of course all of this is guessing seeing as how she didn’t know how old she was, I had no scale, and she was very quiet.  Her brother was giving me info about what happened, but it didn’t register until I looked down at her little foot.  Her right foot had been severely burned by a boiling pot of water that spilt on her 2 days before.  It covered the whole surface of the top side of her foot, it was black in some areas, while pink and exposed in others.  I asked her name, and told her mine.  Her name is Mikaleta.

I don’t have a lot of experience with burns, but I knew that it had to be cleaned because the last thing her body could take was infection.  There is no running water or sources near where we work in the slums of Kisenyi, so I took one of our water bottles and began to pour it over her foot, trying to get the dirt off around the burn before I loosely wrapped it .  I felt very useless with my supplies and technique that’s for sure.  I looked up and the brother was watching my every move and he just said- “you are a good nurse.”  I laughed and told him I wished I was better, and then I asked for his name.  He replied- “you don’t remember me?”  My heart sank as it usually does when these kids realize I can’t remember their names.  Then he showed me his healed finger that I had stitched up about 3 weeks ago, and I remembered very quickly.  “Nicholas!”   I was excited to actually see a healed wound and to see that his face was in much less pain this time. 

I asked more about their story from the translator, and he told me about how the mother of the little girl was a street child herself and she wouldn’t come around here due to embarrassment.  I’m not even sure if Nicholas was related to the little girl.  If a girl is homeless a few things can happen- she will get raped on the street, or she will resort to selling her body to survive.  I can’t be sure of this story, but those are some of the common ones I have heard. 

Once I was done dressing it I told Nicholas that it was his job to make sure this dressing stayed clean until Friday afternoon when I could make it back to Kisenyi slums again.  He was delighted to take part in this little one’s treatment, he shook my hand, and I said “I’m counting on you Dr. Nick.”  The smile he gave me washed away the pain in the pit of my stomach.  He turned around, Mikaleta hopped on his back, and they were off. 

I prayed over her foot, I asked God to heal it completely whether it be through the motions he gives my hands or by some other miracle.   I walked away yesterday thinking about how the small things are what really counts.  I thought about that smile Nicholas has, I thought about the smile Mikaleta had as she was being carried away on Dr. Nick’s back, I thought about how maybe when her young mother saw the dressing her heart may be put at some ease. 

God does big things, but I can’t help but think about all the small beautiful things He works out that stick out in my mind.  Sometimes I get caught up in thinking about all the BIG things God has planned for my life here- like starting an NGO with homes for street children, free medical care, counseling, the whole sha-bang.  While all those big dreams rock, and I pray in faith that God will provide, it was the little things that got me today. 

My prayer for you as you read this is not that you walk away and feel helpless.  My prayer is that you feel that much more equipped.  That God reminds you that the smallest acts of kindness can change the course of a life.  That you may not be able to change the world, but you can change a world, and in the end, that’s everything isn’t it? 

Pray for Nick, Pray for Mikaleta, pray for the world.  Pray for the thousands of children that are losing hope in the streets, pray for those being restored in loving homes, pray for your next-door neighbor.  Pray for those little moments that God is working out in your life today.  It all counts. 

Thank you for your prayers.  I can feel them, our team can feel them, and so can these kids.   

Nurse Kate

My team laughs because it seems we have all acquired new names since arriving in Uganda.  The kids have the hardest time saying Mallory's name, so she is usually Maria or Mary.  They don't have the name Katie here, so I have been abbreviated to just Kate. Or, Nurse.  I feel convicted this early AM that I haven't been writting enough about the medical side of things here.  I think that my lack of this is mainly due to long days, so many things to say, and my weak brain not being able to get it all out.  But, God has really slammed it on my heart that you need to know.  And, though it takes a lot for me to cry or get upset during medical each day, my heart needs to pour out.  In the most famous words of my mom, Janice Carroll Cartwright- "If you don't cry every now and then, you'll pee your pants."  And let's face it, I don't want to pee my pants, especially in a country with lack of public restroom availability.

With my last post I told you me and Mallory are combining blogs because we think it to be easier, and we need to help each other get out thoughts sometimes, so you can find that link in my last post.  So it looks like the Field is going to be more dedicated to my nursing experiences.  So here it goes.  :)

I remember the first day of setting up my little make-shift clinic in the open field on Buganda rd.  I hung my med bag on a branch so it wouldn't get muddy (darn rainy season), used the available tree stump as my exam chair/table and got to work.  A lot of the kids recognized me as the nurse from last time in late December.  The line escalated pretty fast from a few to around 25-30 kids circled around me.

Since the first day, things have changed a bit.  I now have a fancy fold out table (about 10x8), and even a small bench to sit on.  I have also implemented orange cones around my tree stump to function as the "waiting room," and our lovely friend/translator helps put name tags on the boys so I can know who has been seen, and who hasn't (still working on good documentation of course...haha.)

There are some things that have stayed the same however.  I am without a doubt the most Lugandan challenged person on our team.  Maybe it's the TN accent I'm really not sure, but the language here is something that is going to take more work than what I have been putting in.  Some phrases that I have found especially helpful to memorize in Lugandan (I have put them in order of importance):
1) NO!
2) Don't touch that!
3) Show me your wound.
4)  What's your name?
5) This is going to sting a bit...
6) Can you try to keep this clean and dry until I see you again?
7) Wait your turn.
8)  I'm sorry.
9)  Does that hurt?
10)  Do you have a cough?

There are definitely more to learn, and even these I butcher terribly and Maria (our translator) laughs at me and then really says it.  Each day I see more and more old wounds, for some I have seen improvement, and for others...Well, we are working on it.  The biggest issue is dirty living conditions, because even if it is washed and cleaned well, as soon as I can get the dressing on they head back to the streets where there is no lack of dirt, clouds of exhaust, and trash.  For every infected wound there is a child with a horrible cough and fever.  Which could be a lot of things couldn't it? For some we have taken to a clinic to be tested for malaria (which is always positive-not sure if that is really positive or just bad testing), for others they just have the flu, and for others I fear worse.  I have my supply of Tylenol and cool, wet rags, and prayer, and as of yet that is my treatment.  Sometimes, there are children that are seriously ill from sniffing the ever-popular oil on rags.  They do this because it is available to them at very cheap prices (about 1/2 a morning of collecting scrap metal can get them enough money to buy a supply), not to mention marijuana is cheap and available here.  Sure, some of the kids could use what little money they make to buy food, but for some they aren't interested in living that much longer.  Last Sunday afternoon, a small boy was vomiting green bile, and shaking.  This is the one of the first times I thought a patient was going to die right there in front of me.  I just prayed over and over that this wouldn't be he last resting place.  This small plot of land in front of a burning trash heap.  We found out he was just on too many chemicals, and we re-hydrated him and found a cool place for him to rest.  Within hours he was better. Unfortunately, the next week we found him high again.

For every discouraging thing that happens there are always many more miracles to outnumber it.  Like the street boy that helps me with medical because he wants to be a doctor some day, or the kids that run into my arms as soon as we get into the slums, or the 14 year old street boy that prays with the passion of the apostles  we read about.

So, to rap up- I know there are more things to be done, more efficient ways to take care of these kids, and more knowledge to soak up.   Each day I ask God for His Spirit to guide me, because He is the only One that can.  For the first time I am learning what it means to "fully rely on God."  It's challenging and refreshing.  It's like each day I'm becoming who God intended me to be.

So, if you are keeping up with us, thanks.  Thanks for praying.  I pray that the stories of these kids ignite something inside of each of you. Because, once that happens there is no stopping it.

I'm bad at bloggin'

So...it turns out that I am no good at keeping up with a good, constant blog.  Me and my best bud Mallory decided that since we are in this adventure together, we share lot's of the same thoughts, and we are both pretty sure this ain't our last rodeo together, we would just have a blog together.  So, this one promises to be better (hopefully), with shared thoughts, and more funny stories as well.  Cause let's face it, life in a 3rd world country has a lot more to it than hungry orphans; it entails sketchy boda boda men, awkward language barriers, and lack of public restrooms.  Enjoy!  Share with your friends so we can do this Kingdom work together.

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