My Life as an African Gypsy

Spending time in the Oncology ward has stirred up something in me. Changed me.

In many ways it is good. I have discovered a new found compassion and love within myself, a strength that can only come from the Lord. I normally do not do well around blood, shots, pain, etc. but in there with those ladies, I am okay.

The other day I held a woman's hand as she got a pain injection that puffed up the skin on her arm. It reminded me of the TB shot I had a few months ago where I had to lay down in the office and nearly passed out. (Ridiculous I know, but it is how I am.)

But this time, with her, I was okay.

These women have stolen my heart. In just a few weeks I feel attached. I told Jon, "If this thing works out and we go to Angola soon, I think I will have a hard time leaving them."

One lady is in a lot of pain. She has been there for a year now, had both breasts removed (quite grotesquely, not like would happen in the States, and is still not healed), and one of her arms and hand has swollen so big she cannot use it. They don't know why, and have given up trying to find out. The only reason she is still there is to receive pain injections. She has been left to die. Her 3 children will be left without a mother.

That is one story. There are many. So many.

The Oncology ward is being remodeled, so they are in a "temporary" location. "Temporary" meaning it has already been a year with no end in sight. It is hot. It is dirty. No private rooms... or even semi-private. There is one big room for women, one for the kiddos, and one for the men. They all share a bathroom and washroom. Men, women, children... all of them.

Just imagine being so sick from Chemo. Vomiting. Diarrhea. With people you don't know. Of the opposite gender.

I know God is good. I just do. I trust Him. I trust He has not forgotten these hurting people. I have to.

But what do I say? What do I do? When the lady who has been left to die begins weeping uncontrollably... when I can only hug her head because every other part of her body hurts. I am at a loss. When I pray my words come up short. What do I pray for? Honestly, I think sometimes dying would be better for them. What do I pray?

I don't know.

For now, I will keep going. I will take their faces in my hands and kiss their cheeks. I will have conversations with them about their families, about home. I will hold their hands when they get shots. I will will pray... whatever comes out.