Profound Awe in Moments of Weakness

During another bustling day at the hospital, Philip, our occupational therapist, grabbed me in-between rounds and asked if I could come see a patient of his. Philip is a kind, gentle soul who is dedicated to his trade so I knew it must be important.

When we arrived at the room I was greeted by a mother with her 6-month-old son. They had traveled two hours for their appointment and spent almost a week's wages to make the trip.

The boy had obvious signs of cerebral palsy. As the mother held him I noticed his head limped gently on her chest and his arm muscles were clearly underdeveloped from lack of use. From that first moment I was struck by her dedication. A boy with this degree of cerebral palsy would not have been alive without a tremendous amount of resources and dedication given to them by his mother. 

I asked how I could help and they told me he was having daily seizures. They were on a cheap, easily accessible anti-epileptic medication and I recommend a different medication that I purchased from Nairobi. I let her know that we could try it out, and if she promised to come back every month, that I would refill their supply.

A month later she returned to the hospital and told me the seizures had stopped completely on the new medication and thanked me for my help. We plugged her in with our nutrition program which also started the boy on nutritional supplements to increase his weight. Every month the mother returned for the medication, meetings with Philip, and continued consultation with our nutritionist. Every month I marveled at the mother’s incredible dedication to her son. 

Just after his first birthday the mother brought him in for his medication refill and reported he had a viral infection. We checked his vital signs and noticed his oxygen levels were low and admitted him to the hospital. During the admission, his frail body became sicker and sicker, and his heart suddenly stopped.

I remember getting the call and feeling like the breath had left my lungs.

I threw on my coat and ran up to the hospital in the dark. When I arrived at the bedside the nurses were breathing for the patient. Although the nurses had heroically restarted his heart, unfortunately, he was not breathing on his own. We prayed that his body would start breathing again, but after an hour there was no sign of respirations. I knew the prognosis, he was dying, and there was nothing I could do.

Taking a deep breath, forcing myself to look at the mother, my heart sank as I said, “I am so sorry, we have done everything we can, but your son is dying.”

As I do with most mothers, I offered for her to hold her son while he passed. Most times mothers decline.

But this time the mother just nodded her head, pushed the nurse breathing for her child away, picked up her son, cradled his head in the crook of her neck, and wept, repeating his name over and over.

In this moment of such tragedy and brokenness, something very profound happened.

I looked up and saw all three nurses huddled around the bed, all with tears spilling down their faces beholding this mother’s love for her child.

For a few moments we sat there, taking it all in. What a horrific situation, but what an absolutely beautiful thing to witness and enter into. As we sat there watching this precious child take his last breaths in the arms of his loving and heartbroken mother, our hearts broke too. 

When I arrived at Kapsowar, having children die on our ward was a regular occasion. Nurses would often spend as little time at the bedside of a sick child as possible as a mechanism to protect themselves from the pain of witnessing another child die. Over the past several years our mortality rate has dropped and there has been a softening to the suffering of others.

These nurses that day did not run away, and for several holy minutes, they sat in the brokenness with the family. 

When people ask what “progress” is being made at the hospital I often tell them about things like the new equipment or treatments we are instituting or what sustainable projects we are working on. However, this story truly highlights what I feel are the most important ways in which God is moving in Kapsowar. People’s lives are being changed as they embody Christ to one another and to our patients.

This is the most meaningful “progress” that we have the privilege to be a small part of.

Please pray that we would continue to be a community that embodies love and gentleness to our patients and each other. For above all else, it is by our love that we want to be known.