Worth it

Today marked the second week of fistula camp. By your prayers and “by God’s grace”(that is how the national ward supervisor responds to anything you ask of her) we made it through the first week of camp and will do the same for the week ahead. Since I posted the last blog, we have not run out of diapers! I never made it in the OR, instead I was asked to run the camp on the outside- making sure patients had beds to go to and helping the ward nurses with the extra workload. There are long days, as we screen women for surgery, play “musical beds” with patients, and make-up nursing rosters, but I must say it is all worth it.

Sama, was our first patient of the camp on Monday. She has been here waiting for a month seeing other ladies come and go. Often I would have to encourage her that her day will come soon. I think it was Wednesday night and I was utterly exhausted, but got a call from the ward. I headed over after dinner, to supply diapers and drugs for the nurses. I took a moment to sit with the ladies as they drink their tea and right next to me was Sama- I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes as she was out of bed for the first time after surgery. She held my hand and told me, “My body fine.”

Korea and I

Then there is, Korea and Bintu,- they are not like any other fourteen year-old girls I know. Both married young and have suffered unimaginable treatment- just because they could not deliver a baby a normal way. Bintu suffered through days of labor, being beaten until the stillborn baby was forced out of her body. She came to us in December, leaking urine, and barely could walk. With the help of physical therapy she gained strength and was able to return home to wait for an expert surgeon to do her surgery. That day came this week and what a joy it has been to see her smile everyday as she tells us “I’m dry.” Korea has a similar story of being too young and small to deliver a baby. After the fistula formed, she laid on the ground for months, not moving, because that would cause her to leak urine and stool. She has severe leg contractures preventing her to walk, but she is a “tough cookie” doing her physical therapy while recovering from major surgery this week. I pray one day Korea can walk out of the clinic fully healed.

Throughout the busy day, I love the moments that I have with these ladies. Gbassy hands me her little boy, Murray that I bounce around awhile while she rest. Mariatu grabs my wrist and she teaches me her local languange, Mende. I can always count on Simmity, sitting at the craft tables watching the sunset. I snuggle up next to her for a few minutes to enjoy the view before I head back to my office. I would of never thought I could keep track of 60+women, but now I know each of them by name.

It’s not about how much I work or the numbers of patients we get through this camp, but for each of these women- a chance to be normal again. A chance to live again. They do not have to worry about leaking urine and ruining their clothes. One day, they can go back to the market to be part of society, selling and buying goods. They can take public transport because there is no longer a foul odor following them.  I pray villages and families will accept these ladies as they go home. It’s a long difficult wait and recovery for these women and some may have to endure multiple surgeries- but they will say it is all worth it.