Update on Mercy Ships

As most of you know, I came back home 2 months earlier then expected. Here is a recap of the last couple months. It was a stressful time so some points/timelines may not be completely accurate, but it has helped me process a little of what has all happened by writing it all down.

It was a Friday. We just finished screening around 30 kids. We did assessments, took their bloods, and gave them new dates to be seen by the surgeon. That evening we got called into an emergency meeting, where they proceeded to update us on the seriousness of COVID-19 and the implications of that information. They told us that we would be cancelling all operations until further notice. My heart stopped and I fought back the bubbling panic that was building in me. Those children’s faces started flashing in my mind. What does this mean? How about all those other 500 patients who we assessed and are waiting for surgery? Oh no.. what about that patient? What about that one? I wondered if this was just temporary. In fact, in that moment I tried hard to convince myself that it was. Perhaps there still was a chance we could start again. Surely this is not that serious...

That same evening we met as a screening team and I realized that this is not temporary. We were going to send all our patients home and call everyone else not to come for their appointments. This is what we would be doing for the next few days.  Our leaders implemented a strategy so we could go to the Hope Center tomorrow (a place where we house patients from far away villages during their treatment) and deliver the news.

The next morning we got up and organized paperwork for all our patients. We wanted to give them something, so we copied tests/BW/and gave them a letter explaining why we had to cancel their surgery. We met with our lovely day crew who help translate for us all year, fully aware that they have not been given the news yet. We approached the subject with a sense of dread. We told them what the next few days will be. We told them what they will have to do in just a few hours. They all handled it with such understanding and willingness to help with everything that needed to be done. Naturally, some of them also broke down and wept for their people. I have to say, our day crew are some of the strongest people I know. This is their people. They have already said no to 1000s of them, and I mean 1000s. They have connected with all the patients they have seen, and I am always amazed how much they remember about each person. And now after the tough screening is over and we have said yes to a lucky 5-10% to come to the ship to see us again, we now have to tell them no. Their courage was absolutely inspiring.

That evening we went to the Hope Center. I felt a little sick and again, had an absolute dread of what the evening would bring. Would I be able to do this? How are they going to respond? We drove into the compound and right away were surrounded by the sweet kids we saw that Friday as well as all the other kids from the days before. I had around 5 hanging off of all my limbs and it honestly felt like absolute torture. The plan was to see patients in groups of 3-4 and tell them their surgeries have been cancelled and if they would like to take a bus we arranged for them the next morning back to their villages. If they didn’t take the bus they would still have to leave the hope center, and find their own way home. My first two were women. One had noma on her face, a horrible infection that has made a hole in her face when she was a child, and the other with a mucocele the size of a softball on her eye. I explained the situation, and watched how they responded while Bert (my translator) told them the news. I could see the shock and emotion on their faces. I spent about 30mins explaining why and how heart broken we were to do this to them. I couldn’t help but let a tear fall down my face. But instead of the anger I expected in return, the ladies reached out to comfort me. They said they trust us completely. From the way they have been treated so far, they know we deeply care for them and therefore know that this is best for their health. They said they will be praying for me and hoped that we can continue our work soon. Then they thanked me over and over again. I proceeded with the next patients and was amazed again and again of how they took the news with such grace. Every single one thanked me so much for what I have done for them so far (which was literally nothing but bringing them all the way here and giving them false hope).  
Perhaps one of the most touching stories were that of Modou and Mama Fatou. We have been seeing these two for months. In fact I remember screening Modou for the first time in Thies back in September or October. He was severely underweight for his age and we were trying to get him healthier for surgery. He had a condition called ankylosis, which means locked jaw. He got an infection in his tooth when he was young, which got out of control and caused him not to be able to open his mouth for over 20 years. He was working with our dietician for the last 6 months, pushing himself to eat more and eat every supplement that was recommended to him. We really got to know him as he came and visited every time he had an appointment. This was sometimes twice a week. The week before we cancelled all surgeries, he finally reached his goal weight and was getting surgery that Monday. Mama Fatou was another one. Months and months of working toward getting her thyroid, hypertension, and diabetes under control in order to safely operate on her larger mandibular tumor. She also was just given a date for that week to have surgery. Among many other stories like these two, they took it with such amazing grace and understanding. And in the end also thanked us for everything we have done for them. To understand how huge this is, just imagine living with that for years and years, finally given a once in a lifetime opportunity surgery, quitting your job to travel to the ship, losing all that precious money that they need to survive or having to temporarily stop supporting members of the family, spending everything they have and sometimes borrowing money from their friends and family, to showing up week after week to appointments without fully understanding what is going on and without the guarantee of surgery, to finally be given a date only to have that taken away as well, and to travel back home in the same condition as before you left. In this culture that would be incredibly shaming to return without healing, and often it was thought that you were the cause of your misfortune. They already receive so much shame from their deformity alone, so this just adds so much more harm to their situation. But Modou told us, “even though I didn’t get my surgery, I would have gone through it all again.” Mama Fatou looked in our eyes with such understanding and held our hands and bowed with a smile saying thank you for all we have done for her. They said they felt such love and care from the people of Mercy Ships, and the experience was invaluable to him. Modou is seen below:

It was around 11pm when we finished. However, all of a sudden there was a report about a very sick child in one of the rooms. I saw her a few days ago so I was asked to wait with her and assess her. We checked her oxygen and it was severely low. It was 72% and it’s supposed to be 94-100%. She had a high fever, was vomiting, and was short of breath as well. Of course my mind went right away to COVID-19! We decided it was best to bring her to the ship to be assessed more closely by a doctor. We made her mom sit with her in the back of the truck while we opened the windows, and I sat in the seat in front in order to reduce the risk of exposure. We drove back to the ship. I couldn’t see her well in the back, but her oxygen sometimes dropped to 50% and I would try and switch the oxygen probe to a different finger, or shake and sometimes squeeze her trapezius to make sure she was still responding. I got quite nervous as I couldn’t see her properly. We also have no health history on this patient, and I had no idea what was going on. Not to mention I am NOT a pediatric nurse. We brought her into one of the tents off the ship and took the rest of her vitals, which were thankfully fine. Phew. The doctor came down and assessed her and we gave her some Tylenol. She already was doing so much better and I felt so relieved. But why is her oxygen still so low?? We decided to do an x ray, labs, and ABG gases. It was concluded that she had a congenital heart disease with some type of viral infection. Unfortunately we can’t do much for chronic conditions due to the limitations of the ship. So we wrote her a recommendation letter and told her to follow up, knowing full well they will probably not be able to afford it. We then drove her back to the Hope Center with instructions. We made it back to the ship after 3am that morning, and I was tucked into bed by 4. What a long and emotional day.

Next day we started at 9am again. We made a kind of call center in one of the conference rooms, and started working through the charts. These were the charts of the patients we saw upcountry, and who were scheduled to come see us for further assessment in the next couple months. There were over 500 of them.  Our day crew again showed their courage and strength as they went through each patient one by one. We then got the charts and filed them and sent them that letter of why we had to cancel surgery if they had a mobile device that we could send a PDF file on. Looking through all the files was very difficult. I remember a lot of their stories. Our whole women’s health block was cancelled and that was especially hard to process as those women are especially dear to my heart. This whole process took the next couple days, and that brought us to the end of Monday.

Meanwhile, we were not allowed to go off the ship at all after that initial news. Our day crew lived with us. The same day they gave us the news to stop all operations, the day crew were asked to also stay on the ship and were unable to go home to get anything. We transformed our whole tent into a living area for them as well as used one of the wards on the ship. Again, they stepped up without hesitation and with amazing flexibility as they jumped into any role that was needed. It was so special to live among them. We tried to donate what we could. Shampoo, soap, clothes, anything that could make them more comfortable as they literally had nothing but what they brought that day. They hung out with us, attended all the meetings, and became like regular crew. A lot of the day crew however, were told that we could not take everyone and they could not come back after they left that day. So without warning, there were hundreds of goodbyes that no one was ready for. In fact, there were many I never even got the chance to say goodbye to and never saw again. At the same time, crew were leaving by the double digits every day, adding to the emotion that goodbye’s bring.

After finishing all the phone calls, we had a break on that Tuesday.  I got to rest and then think about what this actually means. Do I go home? The thought of going home made me sick. On top of that, all the flights I looked into were super expensive, very long, and airports were shutting down all over the world. I didn’t want to get stuck. I decided, after talking with my family, that I would stay on the ship. I felt it was the right thing to do and I didn’t want to abandon everyone. The next day I had a day shift on the ward and we helped get our post op patients the supplies, teaching, and follow up in the community they needed so they could get off the ship as soon as possible. It was emotional knowing these were the last patients coming through our ship here in Senegal. It was also hard news to tell them, as a lot of their treatment was not finished. This work had to continue for the next couple weeks until all our patients could safely be discharged to local hospitals. Mercy Ships agreed to pay for all of their future treatments and rehab at the local hospital so that we did not completely abandon them. It was hard not to feel that way however, as you don’t always know what kind of care they are going to receive. That night we had another meeting. Basically they told us that they needed people to go home. The less people there are, the less people to spread the virus to if anyone got it, Also, the less people there are, the bigger chance that another port with a more advanced, equipped health care system, will let us dock in their port. The organization was very worried and wanted to leave ASAP. The reason for this is that if anyone got sick we would have to be quarantined in the hospitals in Senegal. Our ship is also not equipped to care for many COVID critical patients. I then felt convicted that I should leave. It was really just selfish of me to stay as my job on the ship was technically over. And really, the need now was at home.

I booked my flight that same day for 2 days later. I was leaving on the Friday. Exactly one week since we got the initial news. Again, it was so unreal that I would actually have to leave in 2 days and I felt very numb to the emotion. I was supposed to be on the ship for at least 2 months till I took a break to visit my family for 20 days before rejoining again for another year. I couldn’t process that I would have to say goodbye to so many who have become like family to me, in such a short amount of time. Lots of my friends were going to leave with me as well to go back to their countries in the next few days. The next day I worked in the galley and served food to crew to fill in a need, and also packed the rest of the day. That day we also found out that the airport in Senegal was shutting down on Friday night. I checked to see when, as my flight was booked for that very evening, and I couldn’t help feeling hopeful that I didn’t have a choice to go anymore. But I literally had one of the last flights out. Again, emotion bubbled to the surface.  I struggled with the fact that now so many of my friends were staying and I had to go. I almost wished I booked my flight a day later so I could stay.  

Travelling home was a blur and I came home and slipped into a 14-day isolation with a couple friends from the ship. Going from a ship full of friends to isolating with just 2 was challenging, however I am so thankful for having them. We were able to talk through some things, pray together, exercise together, and eat together. After my 14 days I slipped right back into work a few days later. After my first shift I was asked to do a special course to work in ICU/HAU, where I would be trained there to help in case the COVID-19 curve increases and they need more help. I did the course and started working there 2 weeks later. Meanwhile I worked on about 4 different units in the hospital, filling in where they needed extra help. It was quite a whirlwind and challenging to not only get used to a hospital ward again, but also all the different units and specialties.

This whole experience has been quite challenging, and I still find I have not had much emotion towards it. It still doesn’t feel real. In fact, it feels like it was all a dream. It has been almost 2 months already since I have been home and I am thankful for how God has walked along side me in the process. I see a lot of blessing despite the situations I have found myself in.  God is in control. God is good. And for now I have peace. We will see how I feel however, in the next couple months. Haha.

Thank you for all your support and prayers. I will update you when it is safe to go back to the ship and continue the work with Mercy Ships.