Getting Personal

Imagine this as a HELP WANTED ad. “The Mobile Medical Team (sponsored by Ministry of Hope) is seeking fully qualified physicians to work 8 health clinics in the Malawi bush. Responsible for own plane fare, food, lodging, and transport. Must purchase a Malawi medical license (at great expense), donate 2 footlockers of medicine, and help underwrite the cost of clinics where you will be expected to work from dawn to dusk treating as many patients as possible.”

This is the third year that Ministry of Hope Mobile Medical Clinic, under the leadership of Dr. Ken Root, has made a major impact in communities surrounding Lilongwe. This is the second year that the team has made the journey north to Mzuzu and included the Mzuzu Crisis Nursery in its mission.

So why is this year different from all other years? Because it got personal. The two physicians who came to examine the babies and staff at the Mzuzu Nursery have been our friends for over 30 years. After two weeks of seeing hundreds of patients with the rest of the Medical Team, Dr. Paul & Dr. Carolyn Frymoyer stayed on in Mzuzu and brightened our lives for another 10 days. After treating our 17 babies and 26 staff, we had time to walk and talk and laugh and relax together. For us, it was the best medicine of all.

Rainy Season

Rainy season!
Sounds pretty bleak doesn’t it? I think of weeks when “seldom is heard an encouraging word and the skies are not sunny all day.” At times a downpour can be incredibly fierce. If you are sleeping it will awaken you. If you are talking, even on the phone, it will drown you out. If you are driving, it will force you to pull off the road. Then, if you are on a dirt road, when the rain lets up you troubles just begin. These rutty, muddy roads can become so unstable it’s like trying to drive on a sheet of ice. In some places even four-wheel-drive vehicles proceed at their own risk.

Walking is no picnic either. Watch out for the misstep. The misstep occurs on a reasonable path that has a soft spot cleverly disguised as solid appearing mud. You think you are safe to put weight on your foot and then...squish! Your shoe goes in up to the ankle in soft, wet, sticky, oozy mud. It feels as squishy as it looks. Eeeeew!

They say you are not really Malawian until you have fallen in the mud. Count me in! Based on my experience I can say with confidence that it is a lot messier to fall down in mud than snow. And it’s lot harder to clean off. On the other hand, I can also confirm that we are totally washable! It's a good thing. Mud stained pants, clay soaked socks, and
dirt caked boots can be cleaned to look perfectly pristine.

Worst of all is the frightening lightening. Early this rainy season both our copy machine and computer were fried by a stealthy strike that virtually came out of the blue. Worse still are the statistics related to the numbers of Malawians who are struck down and killed in a flash every year.

There is a bright side to rainy season. If it doesn’t come too soon or too late, if it doesn’t end too soon or too late, and if it doesn’t come too often or too seldom rainy season is the key to a good harvest. Not only that, after months of dry season; when the dirt roads are turned into dust bowls, the hillsides have become brown, and the air is full of smoke from brush fires; guess what I look forward to? Yes—rainy season! Rainy season brings green hillsides, lush grass, beautiful flowers, and relief from the choking dust of dry season.

But enough already. Rainy season in Mzuzu is slowly winding down. To be honest, I am glad to see it go.

Womb Mates

When the first phone request came, the Crisis Nursery was full to capacity. “We have a set of two week old twins whose mother died last week. The family has 7 other children and is having trouble coping. Can you take them?” inquired the social worker from a village some three hours south. “We are full right now but will see what we can do.” was our honest but evasive response. Pushing beyond our limit of 15 babies has several ramifications. It requires hiring more nannies, purchasing more formula, and adapting to more crowded conditions. It also sets a precedent that our limit is not really a limit.

So the first tact was to review the progress of our current babies to see who, if anyone, might be eligible for early discharge. Out of 15 little ones, only one seemed like a possibility—“Albert”.

Albert is 11 months old, plump, healthy, and happy. Although he is not walking he motors around quite well. If the home situation was suitable he could definitely be discharged to help make room for the twins. So the nurse and administrative assistant set off to his village to do a home assessment. What they found was discouraging. Nine other siblings are living at the home, Albert would make 10. The gogo (grandmother) did not feel up to the task of taking him in. The aunt showed little interest in caring for another child. There was inadequate food in the house and Albert’s father was nowhere to be found. We decided that Albert should not be discharged at this time.

The next phone request was more urgent. “The babies are still ok but the family is really struggling. When can you help us?” Three days later the matron, nurse and administrative assistant drove the 200 kilometers (half on dirt roads) to the village. What they found was encouraging. The month old twins—Isabelle and Thandi—were tiny but healthy enough. The family had somehow managed to purchase a tin of Lactogin I formula and was bottle feeding the babies.

The former womb mates are now crib mates in what is usually reserved for the Nursery sick room. They are 3 months old. In a few months we will have a couple of other babies ready for discharge. Then we can return to our comfortable limit of 15. In the meantime, there is no limit to the joy of watching Isabell & Thandi begin to thrive.

What to Do

What to do?

What can I do

when doing doesn’t do it?

How can I become

when I am most unbecoming?

Could it be my true being

is not in my doing?

or even in my becoming?

Maybe best I can do

is become human

by being

Ever in YOUR Presence.

by Paul Heller