Wee Word Wednesday...

So...in order to kind of motivate myself to take more pictures (as the drive to do so has died down after being here for a few months and with being busy at work), I'm starting a new kind of blog post. I stumbled across this magnificent idea that a friend of mine here on the ship, Allison, does for her blogs. She calls them "Wordless Wednesday", where she just posts a picture or a few based on some event during the week.

And, seeing as how I can't seem to get away without saying nothing, I've decided to put a small spin on Allison's idea and call my Wednesday posts, "Wee Word Wednesday". So, I'll do my best to post a picture or two...and a few words. Here's the first of hopefully many...Enjoy!

I finally got mail... :-)

Into God's hands...

It happened today. We lost our first patient, Anicette. Hard to say that it happened, hard to believe that it did. Hard to admit it...because somehow in my head, it doesn't quite match up with the hopes of what I came here to do, in my own little way.

"To bring hope and healing..."

Somehow, death doesn't seem to be the answer to that. How does the loss of life equal hope? How does the absence of breath bring healing? Where is the justice in seeing a little baby not grow up due to possible malnutrition? How is that fair?

I know that I didn't know this patient personally. I know that I didn't care for her. But, you could feel the weightiness of the loss as you walked down the corridor of the hospital. As you opened the doors to the wards, through the hesitant smiles on the lips of others, through the red eyes that told of tears flowing.

I know in my heart, that the Lord has this all to His glory. That there is a plan in mind, and that He had a plan for little baby Ani, however short lived it was. But, sometimes...when I think that perhaps something like this could be prevented, even though they've done everything that they could, those words still ring a little dull in my ears. It is all in God's hands. The best place for it to be, right? And, while I don't question the authority of God, I question why this world has to belong to another so that things like this can happen. There has to be another way, right?

But...it's better in God's hands. So, in God's hands the question of, "what are we supposed to do with this?" goes. Into God's hands, the hearts of those who took care of Anicette and her family go. Into God's hands, their grief and mourning goes...for He comforts them.

Into God's hands, little Ani finds her final place of peace.

The best place for her to be.

Counts...

Today, we did a narcotic count...where we verify the amount our ledger says we have in stock to what we actually physically have in stock.

I found that my math skills are quite lacking...how one gets 3433 less 10 to be 3333, I'll never know...
Once we corrected my little mathematical blunder, things matched up...and we were happy.

Let's hope that I'm better at counting in fives...
(pictured some things used to make pre-packs for the outreach.)

All mixed up...

For the record...I am Hawaiian, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian and Filipino. Yes, it's a mouthful, I know. I don't know how many times I've repeated those six nationalities to others. I've said it so much, that there is an order in which I say it (and apparently, type it, too.) - Hawaiian, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, and Filipino. Yep, they are all accounted for.

No matter where I go - I am mistaken for many other things. In Hawai'i...they know my kind well. I'm a local, but I'm also a 'poi dog', a 'mixed bento', and for you North Americans a 'Heinz 57'. They know...because most of us in Hawai'i would be called the same, too.

In Canada, people have mostly not known where to place me. The Native Americans will look at me and know that I don't belong to them. And those of European decent have only to gaze upon my bronzed skin to know that I don't belong to them, either. In the major city centers, such as Vancouver or Calgary - I am thought to be East Indian. One of my East Indian friends from university once told me that I could look the part...but as soon as I open my mouth, they would know that I don't belong.

Here on the Africa Mercy...yet again, I don't belong. There are very few who look like me. And, living in the mainland, I have slowly gotten used to that fact. I've been asked if I am from Brazil, if I am East Indian, if I hail from somewhere in South America, and asked which one of my parents is African, my mother or father. I simply state that I am a dual citizen, and that I was born and raised in Hawai'i. For some that's enough...for others, it's still a bit confusing.

Sometimes, it's nice to be like me. Since I don't necessarily blend in...some are far to fair, others far to dark...people usually remember who I am. Other cultures are willing to accept me into theirs because I am such a blend. And people are just generally intrigued...who goes from living in Hawai'i to living in Canada...and Calgary of all places?! It's nice to fit in, even if I don't necessarily belong.

Outside these metal walls that have been affectionately referred to as the 'Mercy Box', it's not nice to be like me. I don't belong. My skin is too light, even though it's not white, and I am called Yovo (white person) regardless. Not belonging takes on a different offense here in West Africa. The lighter tone of my skin usually makes me a target to be taken advantage of. Being white (or whitish, I guess, in my case) automatically makes you rich, whether that is a true statement or not.

I understand that my being from North America makes me far richer than some people here in West Africa could ever hope to be. I had a good job (I say had, because I chose to come here and work, and when this is over, Lord only knows where He will take me); I have a career; I was fortunate enough to be educated and graduate from university; I was completely self-reliant; I own two vehicles (a car and a motorcycle). Yes, I am rich. Being here makes me realize that. Being here makes me grateful for the lot that I have been given, the hand that I have to play in life.

But - at the same time...I don't think that it's fair that I get preyed upon because of the color of my skin, the country that I have come from, or the nationalities that created me. Out there - they don't understand - that I pay to work here. To hope to have a chance to bring life changing experiences to the people of this nation. They don't understand - that as much as they sacrifice, we here on the ship have sacrificed, too.

I don't mean to sound bitter...but sometimes, it would be nice to not be treated based on the color of your skin, but rather the kindness in your heart.

It's just a bit hard for me. Because, I understand to some extent why they would try to take advantage of someone who's skin color is different, someone who is not native to the land, someone who doesn't really know the true value of things. I get it. There is a bit of a Robin Hood fancy in me at times. Wanting to take from the rich, to give to the poor.

I see how they live and the lot that they have been handed in life. And my heart breaks. One can't help but come face-to-face with the reality, that sometimes your success in life is in part due to where you come from. How easily, it could've been me in their place. How easily, they in mine. Why one was chosen to hail from Africa and another from North America - I do not know. How to gain equality in all aspects...yet another thing that is beyond me.

And with all these thoughts in my head...much like my heritage...I am feeling all mixed up...

Cause to sing...

And dance. Or at least, clap your hands.

I have finally experienced something that I hear the ward nurses gush about.
When I hear about African dance lessons/dance parties on the wards, spontaneous worship...
Sounds awesome, right?

So, Miriam and I have been testing whether or not a clinical aspect to our job here would be beneficial. Now, many of you might be thinking..."Clinical...as a pharmacist?! What does that mean?!!" Essentially, my job as a pharmacist is to evaluate all medications and any new prescriptions for their safety, effectiveness, appropriateness, and for interactions, etc, etc... Thus, on the wards here at the Oak Foundation Hospital, we have been evaluating the charts and the medications for each patient. Making sure that there aren't any overdoses or underdoses, that there are indications for the medications being prescribed, to make sure that the regimens and doses are appropriate, to ensure that the patient is being treated for things that need to be treated. (See, we do more than count pills! :-P)

As I made my way through each ward, I started to hear music...not a lot...nothing too loud...nothing too extravagant. (You could hear the beginnings of it through the walls in B Ward.) And then, I ended up in A Ward, my last ward to check charts. Here, we have a few of our infant feeding program patients (where they help little babies to get to a healthy weight), some of our orthopedic patients and their caregivers, and a few cleft lip/palate patients and their caretakers.

I opened the door to the beating of drums...followed by a chorus of voices...singing praises of thanks to God. As the beat drummed on, the worship got more extravagant, the singing louder, the people in the ward, a bit livelier. Soon, there were mamas, nurses, day workers, and even some of the kids dancing...all moving to the beat of the drum...all singing at the top of their lungs...all clapping out a rhythm to accompany the drummer. Needless to say...it was AWESOME.

It must've sounded intriguing beyond the doors and the walls of A Ward...because, soon - one door to the ward was open...and people passing in the halls were peeking their heads in to see what was going on. A little while after that...both doors to the ward were open, and people weren't just peeking in...but coming in from the halls and joining in. Some of the patients and the nurses from B Ward came over to join us in worship.

I couldn't help by smile...sway to the beat of the music...clap along. I hopped from bed to bed...trying to find the charts...trying not to interrupt the worship and not to interrupt my work at the same time. Then, there comes a point where you just give in...and I did...and joined in...and I am glad that I did. No, I didn't know all the songs. No, I didn't know what all of them meant. But, yes, I could understand the heart of it.

And...like the title of this blog...it was enough to cause me to sing (we did sing a few songs that I knew, or some that were easy enough for me to pick up),
and dance (although a bit more reserved than the Africans...I still think that they were born with bodies that move in ways that mine can't),
and clap my hands.
Amen.

Cause to smile...

Since I can't share everything with you (it's basically impossible), I do try to share what I can. And, I have decided to share with you things that make my heart happy while here on this ship. Things that I see, and I can't help but smile. Hopefully these little snap shots I share with you will cause you to smile as well...

- walking down the corridor and hearing singing...only to see that the singing is coming from a day crew member (ie a local that we hire to work with us here on the Africa Mercy) who is leading a mama down the hall who just had cataract surgery done. Not only are they just walking back to E Ward...but they are singing and dancing, too.

- sitting in the front room of the pharmacy, and hearing Miriam sing in the backroom...and some times quietly joining in. (We have good tunes in the pharmacy.)

- peeking my head over the half-door of the pharmacy to look down the hallway...only to see patients lined up on the chairs outside of the x-ray room...and knowing that they came here so that we could help them.

- having the little African kids come to the pharmacy for medicine and getting high fives and smiles from them...as well as shy thank yous and blessings from the parents as they leave with their packet of tablets or cream.

- going on to the ward the day after giving blood - and seeing the patient who was the recipient. Also getting a quick update from his nurse on how he's doing - and being able to sit there and say, "my blood is coursing through his veins."

- going to the wards three times a week, and seeing all the people in the beds.

• Smiling and saying, "Bonjour" - and getting smiles and hellos back. These people are amazing - and are usually up and walking the day after the life-changing surgeries that they have had.
• Watching the nurses interact with the patients...and play with the kids.
• Seeing Becca T carry a little one on her back like the mama's do here in Africa. (And this kid LOVED it).

- watching a little baby wake up in recovery (I was there re-stocking the ward) after getting a cleft lip surgery - and seeing the look on his mama's face when she sees him for the first time - his deformity now mended.

- doing clinical rounds on the wards - and watching Miriam being prevented from doing her job because a beautiful baby wanted to be held by her instead. (Oh, and did I mention that this baby was teething and wanted to gum Miriam's finger as well?)

- covering some of the hardships we have in the pharmacy with prayer...only to have our prayers answered in less than an hour. (That also got a high-five today.)

Anyhow...that's just a little glimpse of what happens day to day here. Just a tid-bit of the many things that make me stop and smile - and know that what we are doing here is a good thing. I'm sorry that my words can't adequately describe the scenes that play out before me day in and day out. I can't even show you pictures of what goes on in the hospital to respect patient confidentiality.

But, hopefully, it's enough...

G'night all...

Sitting, waiting...on the sidelines of history

For those of you who may have been concerned with my last post, I must apologize. I realized a little too late that it was a bit short and didn't really explain much. As you may or may not know, the Togo elections have taken place on Thursday. On Wednesday night, our shore level was taken away as a safety precaution, not because we were in any immediate danger. Even though some people feel a bit cooped up having to stay here on the ship or on the dock right next to us, this is a time where we (here on the ship) are to put the nation of Togo first, above our own desires to play and explore on our weekend off. But, if you think about it, that's what we came here to do in the first place...put the people and the nation of Togo above our comfort and desires - so this shouldn't be too hard of a request to oblige by.

I know that I should be telling you about what's going on out there and going on in here...but, I can't seem to find the words to say what I want...or I don't even know what I want to say. Others have blogged about it and said anything that I could say...and probably said it better. If you want, you can find and read them here or check out some of the blogs that I like to read on the right hand side bar.

Please know that all is well and that we are safe and our situation is secure. The markets and businesses of Lomé are quieter than usual, as even the locals are awaiting to see what the reaction from the elections will be. Please continue to keep the people and nation of Togo in your prayers as they walk out dealing with the results of their election.

18:30

Once again, our shore leave has been revoked.
But, this time, not in preparation to sail.
This time, it's for our safety in preparation for Togo's elections.

Everyone...please pray that the people of Togo are allowed to use their voice and choice without fear of any kind of retaliation.
Please join us in praying for a peaceful election process...
From tomorrow, through to the end of announcing the results.

Pharmacists here don't dispense just medicine...

We also dispense blood!

A bit of a different concept than what one would be used to in a hospital back home. All too many times, do I remember refusing a nurse or a physician for certain orders with the response, "You have to contact the blood bank for that."

Well, here on the Africa Mercy...we have a different type of blood bank. The warm, walking, talking kind. Yeppers...our crew is our blood bank. And, unlike what they do at home, the blood is given to the recipient as warm, whole blood. Back home, blood is usually given as packed red cells, after the lab has spun it to separate the red cells from the plasma and platelets. Thanks to our fantastic lab technicians, each patient that comes aboard is blood typed and then cross-matched with the available crew donors, so that if blood is needed, it can be given.

I do believe that the patient we gave blood to today is the first patient to receive blood for this outreach. And, to my luck...he was O positive...just like me. I know that it sounds weird, but I really wanted to give blood if the opportunity arose. I was lucky enough that my iron levels just made the cut off...and my weight wasn't a significant factor like it can be back home. I was healthy and willing and that was more than enough.

It wasn't a horrible experience like most people fear it would be. Did it hurt? Well, of course it hurt (although keep in mind that it wasn't painful per se, more like uncomfortable)...they put a huge needle in my arm and had to wiggle it about to get a good blood flow. Even with the wiggling and precise positioning that had to be held in place by Maggie instead of a stick of tape...bleeding me wasn't the easiest. Lucky for me, Ali came by and did a little dance that made me giggle quite a bit. Apparently, laughing is great for getting the blood flowing. Many thanks to Ali for helping me out with the donation process! Even though I gave blood, I was not the only one to do so for this patient. In total, 5 units, from 5 different people were donated...Miriam being one, too!

Naomi taking Miriam's donation.

Maggie took my donation...it was her first time doing so here. They made me lay down on the bed since this was my first time donating, to help prevent me from possibly passing out.

Ali put stars on our bandages and took this group shot for us. Thanks, Ali!

The final touch to the bandage...Maggie left her mark.

And now for an addendum to my last post. For those of you that may wonder...I am okay. I was in a funk for the better part of the next morning. I realize that in a sense, I was just being a bit of a pouty princess because, despite my efforts, things the previous night didn't work out. I tried to work myself out of my funk, but just couldn't seem to shake it.

Until the patients came, and were waiting ever so patiently outside in the hall for their x-ray or CT scan appointments at the lab next door. Until I stopped and realized why I was here, what I was doing, and that in some small way, I was helping these people. Until I realized, that my minor technical difficulties don't compare to what these people go through...with being outcasts of their society, with the fear of starvation or suffocation a threat because of tumor growth. Until, my problems were put into perspective. This is Africa...and this, in part, is why I am here.