Thursday

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Today we travel to the south of town. Clinic is at a remote church up, of course, a steep stairway on the top of the hill: Iglesias del Dios.

There is a brightly painted sanctuary with the ample space for clinic. I am paired today with Johana and she is an excellent interpreter. Yay!

We are seeing kids, their moms and abuelas today. I have a mom who comes to me with her three children. She is hypertensive and was diagnosed with diabetes in January. She was sent home on insulin but with no way to monitor her sugar. As we talk, it becomes obvious that her care is complicated and will require the many different talents of our team.

I do the initial assessment. Trisha takes the opportunity to counsel her about her diet. Dr. Rich takes time to adjust her meds. Kelly finds a way do obtain a glucose monitor for her to use at home. The project coordinator and Eva arrange for it’s delivery. Grayce gives them all vitamins. Doreen, Daniel and Vanessa sort out her meds. Charis shares the Gospel color story with her children. And Johana prays with her.

Like a beautiful song, it’s start is slow and dark. The harmony takes over, adding beauty and depth. As the melody quickens, the song ends in crescendo of hope. It is so good when a plan comes together.

Most of the homes below are small, square or rectangular, brick and wood houses with tin metal roofs. They cover every inch of every side of the multi-level small valley reminding me of the terraced farms of the Mayans that I learned about in grade school.

It gets warm at times but the cooling mountain breezes coming through the open windows revive me at regular intervals. There is lively music wafting on the wind mixed with the sound of far away hammering and car horns in the distance. I smell the wood fires of lunch from the valley below but am told it is not from cooking but from two house fires which both burned to the ground.

The smoke in the air is giving many people trouble breathing. I am called away just as I finish with one patient to attend to a 10 year old in respiratory distress. Her name is Nazareth and she is struggling to breathe. She is not moving a lot of oxygen in and out of her lungs. Dr. Roger asked me to give her a breathing treatment and she starts to cry. I reassure her that there will be no ‘dolore’=pain.

She is pale and unmoving as she works hard to move air and I press on quickly. During the treatment, I softly tickle her ears and face as my mother would do with me when I was sick. I loved those times that it almost made being sick worth it to me. When I pause to check her breath sounds, she reaches for my hand and takes it back to her face. It seems she likes it too.

Her mother is frantic with worry, crying and shaking. Her deep love for her daughter shining in her tears. Eva and I come around her, holding her steady and pray. I remember my own desperation when I accidentally dropped one of my babies on his head. I was a nurse and yet I forgot all my training and was frantic as well. It is, I think, a mother’s birthright to freak out just as it is my honor to steady her in her storm.

Soon Nazareth’s whole body is noticeably relaxing. Her skin is pink and her vital signs are improving. She is able to smile now, to wiggle in the chair and even to talk to me. It is not long before she can wave to the camera and ask for a snack.

She will still need monitoring but her scary breathing is over. Her calming Mama prepares to take her to the hospital. When they leave, they are both smiling and we all breathe a grateful sigh of relief.

~Anne~