I walked the dogs this morning and left Grandma asleep. When I returned she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t in Joe’s room. She wasn’t on the porch. So I began to panic and consider stories for plausible deniability to cover up the monster that I am… until I found her peacefully asleep in my bed: clothes changed, covered in a blanket she had brought with her. There was no walker in sight, however, so who’s the monster now?

Cry laughing again,
Anne
October 21, 2022

Out of the ER fire but back in a frying pan of my own design. It seems so easy to forget that God’s got this. I couldn’t see it through my fatigue and struggle but as I regain my strength, there He is, all along, as always.
When I was in Zanzibar and my mom had some struggles at my home that caused my brother to fly out to help, I could only see myself and my miscalculations. I was afraid of what, I felt, was my own failure and afraid to face what I felt would be my family’s disappointment. My self focus made me unwilling to face the situation yet when I returned home, my fears were not realized. God was in all of it, making a way that I could not conceive of because I wasn’t looking in the right place, or more accurately, in the right Face.

And here it is again. I so intensely want to honor my Mama’s lifelong wishes especially now that she is so diminished yet my own physical strain mixes up my focus as it did in Zanzibar. It is only as rest returns, as I get out of my own way, that I can see. God’s got this. Of course He does.

As He promised Habbakuk, He also promises me.
“Look at the nations and watch—
and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told.
Habbakuk 1:5

Amazed at being fearfully and wonderfully made especially when I am so frying pan prone,

Frying Pan Anne
10/19/22

My 91 year old Mama has been really wobbly this past week and has fallen numerous times despite being required to use her walker. Mostly, she has sustained skin tears on her elbows though a fall two days ago led to significant pain to her right ribs. Last night, she fell again, cutting the back of her head. It bought her a trip to the same ER that I had just vacated a few weeks ago.

I’ve just spent the night with her in that ER. Her initial care went fairly quickly when we did get evaluated. Her head scan was normal. Her head laceration stapled but multiple rib fractures and decreased kidney function put the kibosh on going home. We’ve waited all night to be admitted to a room.

In the meantime, her confusion has ramped up to a comically cosmic level. The repetitive questions linger only momentarily in the air before we revisit them. Every few minutes her mind resets and she’s ready once again to get up and move on. She can’t understand why we aren’t leaving; why it is taking so long; why nobody is coming in to tell us what is happening: Where are we? Why are we? Which one of us is sick? Her irritation with me and, mine with her, circles around us as we both descend further into sleep deprivation.

Then there’s her IV. Its flow is dependent on a straight arm yet she has an almost pathological need to clasp her hands together across her belly. This breaks up our confusing question parade every few minutes by the less than musical bleep of the IV pump and the compelling repositioning of her bent arm. “Why does she need to keep it straight?” She adds to our endless queries. When she does fall asleep, she wakes herself up talking in her sleep.

To add to the circus, the IV fluid causes us to rise every half hour to use the bedside commode. A commode that has been jerry rigged so that the basin beneath it does not fit properly. This, in due time, causes it to fall to the floor splattering its contents hither and yon. Really!? The IV also serves to prove the ‘poor kidney function’ theory null and void, pun intended.

When at last she rests, I put my head down on the side rail to close my own eyes. A second later, she wakes up and says with surprise, “Oh are we in the same place? I must have slept through the whole night!”

The side rail on which I have hung my head is shaking with my cry laughing as we start the revolving questions, yet again.

It has only been 12 hours. How much longer could it possibly be?

Fearfully and wonderfully made,
Anne in the ER
October 17, 2022

So I had a heart ultrasound today. The lovely young tech had to do the exam over my sore ribs and pneumonia ‘backed’ up by the flank pain, as if I was in arbitration and she needed to bring us all together as one…
It was uncomfortable but right in the middle I started to sing, in my head, a song from church…only with altered lyrics. (Disclaimer: no disrespect intended)

Up from the ashes ultrasound will arrive
Comfort is defeated, the image is alive
Push a little harder
In the presence of my doctor’s order
Push a little harder
Harder than I know I should
Push a little harder
My weapon is my ultrasound probe
Push a little harder
Until my patient starts to fight me with me

I’m gonna push in the middle of the test
Harder and harder,
you’re gonna hear my patients roar.
Push a little harder….

At least I’m expanding my use of ridiculous, I may be feeling better.

Smiling,
Ridiculous Anne
9/24/22
(Real lyrics@https://g.co/kgs/GVFQSH)

“Oh for God’s sake” I said to myself upon hearing that my kidney infection had evolved into blood and urosepsis and pneumonia with a side cervical neck strain. (Kidney, blood and lung infections)

“This just keeps on getting better and better”, I snarked to myself in dismay but then smiled when I realized that it was actually quite accurate. 

“For the joy set before Him, He endured.” I’m still repeating that and it’s starting to come together. It’s like the joy of Genesis 50:20 when Joseph tells his brothers who wanted to kill him:

"You intended to harm me, but 
God intended it for good
 to accomplish what is now being done,
 the saving of many lives."
Genesis 50:20 

For God’s sake, for His glory, for the revealing of how much He cares for me in my ridiculous mushrooming cloud of distress so that others might see… Yes, He could step in and take it all away but maybe His plans are bigger than that.

For the joy set before Him, He endured… 

Our song on Sunday put it this way: 

The Lamb
by Elevation Worship

You did not suffer for nothing
When You shed your blood
Every drop was on purpose
What amazing love

And as You knelt in the garden
Was I on Your mind?
What was the joy set before You?
Was my heart Your prize? 

And may the Lamb receive His reward in me
And may the Lamb receive all the glory

…That is, may God’s presence and care in my trouble be seen and known by all who look. God is good, ALL the time.

For God’s sake, indeed.

Amen,. Ridiculous Anne 9/23/22

I was in the ER recently with kidney stone-like pain. I was not, shall we say, impressed with my earthly care. I was impressed, however, with my heavenly care which, by the way, included a penny that fell from my pajama pocket and rolled across the ER floor…In God, we trust…

(Who has a penny in their pajama pocket? Anyway…)

In the face of the unrelenting pain, my body rocked back and forth in a futile, ever moving motion, my elbows pushed deep into my sitting thighs, my body hunched over as I gripped my head with my hands, eyes slammed shut. Trying to calm my sharp, rapid breathing, I attempted to remember to breathe deep and slow but to no avail as moments later those thoughts were lost again in the cycle of my misery.  The pain had an overarching, repetitive insistency that continued, in various positions for hours.

I was grateful for my mask that recycled my CO2 and kept my hyperventilating self in partial check  but, most importantly, for the one thought that cycled with it, echoing from my Pastor’s Sunday sermon from Heb 12:2.

“For the joy set before Him,

 He endured the cross”

Heb 12:2

I repeated it within the constancy of the pain. Now please do not misunderstand me, I’m not some superhuman Christian, although I do know Him, who can reason all this out in the face of ridiculous pain. I simply grabbed on to that which was offered and focused on it, eyes slammed shut, until I could see again. And this is what I saw.

For the joy, blessings, rightness that would come from His pain, He endured. He endured so I could endure. He could, so I can. He did so I will. I clung to these words. Holding them, claiming them as tightly as I gripped my head. 

The Word of God, like a tether anchored in my past drawn through to my future, a steady hand grip through the turbulence of my now.

The power of God’s Word pulling me through to safety. 

For the joy…for the joy…

Amen,

Ridiculous Anne. 9/20/22

We are treated to a Saturday excursion on Prison Island off the Zanzibar coast. “No prisoners were ever housed on the island and instead it became a quarantine station for yellow fever cases. The station was only occupied for around half of the year and the rest of the time it was a popular holiday destination.” Hmmm…

The starfish story comes to life as Joe brings me a live starfish, stiff in the sand, he tosses it back into the crystal blue-turquoise waters. It made a difference to that one, I think. The sea breezes are strong and persistent, mimicking the constancy of the waves as the tide comes in.

Tiny birds peek out from the ramparts of the prison courtyard walls. Their cheerful melody belies the painful history of this place. The chains in the bar attest to a different, distant past.

The enormous trees bark and call with the loud song of the peacock. Other peacocks in all their finery parade in a line as couples. The air is filled with the smell of fallen leaves and the fresh sea breeze.

This is also the home to an Aldabra giant tortoises sanctuary,  which is, of course, dotted with tortoises, giant and small. The youngest is newborn and tiny, the oldest, enormous @60 years. They meet us at the door, blocking the path, and eagerly take the cabbage leaves we are given and offer. 

Mikel climbs on the back of one with joy shining from his face. The bearer pays no mind as he enjoys his brunch. They slowly, though effectively, lumber among us like moving boulders while others bask in mud baths and snacks below the bridge. There is a nursery where tiny palm size little ones crawl among the watermelon bites in a center bin. Bigger babies are in a larger enclosure surrounding the small bin. They dine on cabbage leaves.

Joe asks Mikel, “Do you want to learn to swim?” Mikel answers with a vigorous “Yes!” And heads for the water. Joe calls him back.”First lesson,” he says and he lies down in the sand. He calls Mikel back from the waters edge insisting he lay down beside him where they make sand angels to practice a swimmer’s arm movements in the water. Returning to the turbulent water, Joe holds M’s body and has him practice the sand angel movements. They are soon distracted and throw rocks into the waves. Sitting together, they wish for a boogie board.

Eclipsed by beauty,

Z-Anne-zibar
Saturday, September 10, 2022

It is pouring rain this morning. It makes patterns on the ocean surface. A lone man swims in the pebbled waters. His strong arms in rhythmic succession moving his body seamlessly across the coolness. He is swimming towards the distant rainbow where the sea meets the sky. 

There is a motorcyclist that passes by with an umbrella attached to his bike. It has an attachment to cover the rear. It would be completely useless in a sideways slanting monsoon back home.

Today I feel stronger, more alert and find I am eager for the challenges that come with long patient lines. The antibiotics must be turning me around.

Joe is in his second day of running his own assignment: nutrition. He and his interpreter greet every patient, obtain a height and weight and calculate a ‘Z Score’ which tells us the degree of malnutrition in each child. He works diligently, always with his cheering squad of children at the window behind him. When the work is done, he will join them on the other side, much to everyone’s delight.

Pascal, my interpreter, has vanished. Charles has taken his place. Charles is a well dressed Tanzanian in a suit. He tells me he is the chairman of an overseeing church organization whose name I don’t catch. He carries himself with confidence and a sense of importance. For a moment I am flush with a sense of inadequacy but it quickly passes as I realize God has hand picked him for me and me for him. He tells me later that he thinks I must be a good nurse because I’m always busy helping others and moving back and forth a lot and, indeed, I have been in constant motion.

We begin by seeing our interpreters and support staff but this quickly evolves into something else.

Kelly gives me my own line for those she wants seen on the sly, that is out of the main queue. In this line, I also put Dr. Salma’s patients who are waiting for blood sugar tests which I have been doing for her. In between, I am consulting with Pat, Dr. Vic and Dr. Ahmad while giving shots for pharmacy and even doing tests on my own patients. Apparently, being pulled hither and yon gives the air of good nursing and this makes me laugh suspiciously.

The cool breeze from the window helps to give me a moment to refocus on my priorities but I am abruptly interrupted by a raucous runaway cow-drawn cart that rushes across the playground. I catch only a glimpse as it flashes past. It is not long, however, before it comes trotting reasonably back with its human commander back in the lead with no apparent injuries!

On this final day of clinic, I think of this school’s motto:

Coming together is
a Beginning
Keeping together is
a Progress
Working together is
a Success

In the beginning, we came together as random Developing Workers team members. We joined with other workers from different countries in two different clinics and made progress as we cared for the communities. In working together, we became a family, God’s family, to many who have never seen Him. And in this, we find a success that will last for eternity.

Grateful,

Z-Anne-zibar Friday, September 9, 2022

The water is golden today, smooth as glass as the sun peaks over the shipping yard. Philip and I used to imagine roller blading on heaven’s streets of gold. Since Jesus walked on water, why not rollerblade?

I have had low back pain all week. Chocked it up to jet lag and tried to stretch the muscles  with no effect. Today I did one of the urine tests that I have been doing on so many patients. It turns out, I am not the complete weakling I thought I was, instead, I have a possible kidney infection … nothing a good antibiotic won’t pummel!

Today is a day of pairs. First, one of our CSI volunteers, whom we call heroes, is a young darling who brings her elderly mother-in-law to me. Hand in hand they slowly come, the young beauty leading the older one. She leans in close over her seated MIL and explains with a tender smile that she has come to translate for my translator who will translate for me because her MIL does not speak Swahili. I cannot keep from smiling at the sweetness of this duo and though Mama is shy at first, I manage to coax a smile from her as well. 

Second, a young man brings in his grandfather . The older man cannot see well which is evident by his slow, shuffling walk. The younger one leads him gently by the hand. He is dressed in a long white tunic and wears a yellow box hat, a kufi, on his head. His face is wrinkled and dark, his eyes cloudy but his smile is undeniable. It is such a precious sight.

Towards the end of the day, I am blessed by a small one dressed in a fine twirly dress with a sweater tied around her waist. She is holding the hand of her friend in an equally twirly dress. When she turns around I see that she has an empty water bottle tucked inside the sweater. It is her baby that she is carrying just like the African Mamas do. I am delighted by this exquisite sweetness and light.  

Maybe it is the kidney infection making me more susceptible to my emotions but I am wordless and tearful. There are many difficult things here but this tips the scales to the bright side.There is something so right about the nurturing bonds of community.

Grateful,                                                     Z-Anne-zibar                                                     Thursday, September 8, 2022

I start the day recognizing and sitting with the powerlessness of yesterday magnified. Joe has spent last night in the bathroom and he will stay home today with these stomach issues. Sixteen is, after all, an age to get used to😉. I joke to myself but my heart is as diminished as the overcast light of the coming day. The sea is flat though shimmery. I open my Bible seeking to capture a bit of shimmer myself. I open to:

"Be strong in His mighty power"                Ephesians 6:10

My shimmer acquisition lies in the arms and armor of my Savior. I claim His promise of strength in His mighty power and await the return of my shimmer as I trust Him with my day.

People line the length of the school waiting for us as we arrive. The school children are intermingled and wearing blue Adidas sweat pants with marroon t-shirts. Yesterday we had given out 100 numbers to people to return to clinic today. There are more than that here this morning.

I am rising to go to lunch when Kelly calls to me as she hurries out the front door. “Bring a liter of fluid, someone is down outside.” 

Under a tree surrounded by the crowd, I find Dr. Vic, Dr. Ahmed and Kelly hovering over a pale older man who is sitting up and in obvious distress. A chair is retrieved and becomes a makeshift, rather flimsy transport to a small room off the sanctuary.

We suspect he is having a heart attack. He is pale, sweating and breathing crazy fast, while complaining of chest pain. I start an IV to give fluids, and we clamour around him doing various tests and urosepsis becomes part of his diagnosis though we write nothing down. Kelly asks about how to get him to a hospital and we are told that the nearest hospital won’t have what needs…not even oxygen. I think back to a line in the movie The Princess Bride: ” I do not think that means what he thinks it means.” They decide the military hospital will be a better fit.

An  ambulance is called and … then we wait…and wait… two hours later a minivan of sorts rolls up. A young man wearing a khaki military uniform jumps out. After a brisk discussion with Dr. Ahmed, they walk our patient to the van. Dr. A goes with him and begins to rally the facts of the case. I remind him of all, or at least most, of what we did and off they all go. It is a bizarre but bush medicine at its probable best.

I return to my regularly scheduled programming. A concerned young man in a sharp green polo comes to me and he is a talker. Pascal listens but can hardly get a word in edgewise. I laugh to myself and imagine what he could possibly be saying. Every question I ask is answered with a soliloquy.  Today, the providers have been asked to speed up a bit but I lean in and give him the listening ear he so obviously needs.

Shimmering. Z-Anne-zibar Wednesday, September 7,2022