People told me that Nsoko is a desperate area and there is great need here. I have even seen first hand much of the need in this small community. I find myself in this constant struggle and not really knowing what to do in each situation. I have visited each of the 8 carepoints in the area and have held many of the children with bellies so big because they haven’t had a meal to eat in who knows how long, or there are sores all over their bodies from a simple cut that has turned into an infection. Of course I can’t forget about the child that is lying on the ground shivering as the hot sun beats down on his frail body. I’m not saying that each child I hold is malnourished or unloved. Many have families that are doing their best to provide them with basic needs. Yet there is so much injustice everywhere I look and some days I am so overwhelmed and don’t want to think about leaving my room that seems safer than the world around me.
This is the reality. I live at a carepoint with Swazis all around me. While I do not know the living conditions or situations of many of the children that surround me, there are a few that keep breaking my heart. Every night I fall asleep in a full size bed with 3 or 4 blankets if needed and walls that keep the wind from reaching my body and every morning I walk out the door to see an eleven year old wearing clothes meant for a toddler leaving her house made of sticks and mud. Or a nine year old carrying an infant on her back that is more than likely infected with a drug resistant strain of TB. These are the people that have become my family.
Across the street is a young woman named Dudu. She is HIV positive and has multidrug resistant TB. But more than that, she is a mother to a 10-month old son. She is a daughter and a sister. She is a friend and was once an active person whose plans never included her lying on her bed so thin and frail with a virus running rampant through her body. This disease has progressed so much that there isn’t much more that can be done. We have all the medicine given to someone with this strain of TB, which includes 5 different pills taken multiple times a day with a daily injection to accompany. There is no guarantee that these meds will work. And it is almost certain that they will not. Her body can’t fight much more. Do we force feed these many pills to her each day only to deal with the harsh side effects and the pain? Or do we offer her the idea of comfort care, more commonly known as hospice?
This is the think about the Swazi culture. They are very family oriented. They live on homesteads as a community. They don’t take their elderly mother to a nursing home to visit them only on holidays. They live with their elderly parents caring for them to the end, doing everything in their power to keep them alive. They feel guilty with the idea of not giving all the medicines that could potentially save their loved one, even though as an American looking in we know that there is no hope. How do we talk with the family about letting their daughter, their sister and their mother die without feeding her all of these meds?
As I was standing outside Dudu’s house the other night I think it actually hit me. This woman is not much older than me. She has two different viruses running through her body and her family sits by praying that something will change. But as I stood there with a med student, a physician’s assistant and two RNs the words actually came out. “The only thing really left to do is to provide comfort care.” Wow. My world stopped. Moments before I was standing in her room by her bed looking into her still hopeful yet tired eyes.
I talked with Pastor Gift about this dilemma tonight. And his reaction was similar. “Wow. There is really nothing left to do. She is going to die.” What do we do? How do we respond? What do we tell the family? The family that I still see everyday, that call me by name even though I struggle to remember theirs, the family that sits in anticipation for someone to bring any bit of good news to them, the family that still loves their sister and their daughter, and the mother that despite her pain still loves them back.
I hope that you can find some comfort in these verses:
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true:Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory Where, O death, is your sting?”-1 Corinthians 15:54-55
“For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered. No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord”- Romans 8:36-39
I can relate to how you feel sometimes wanting to hide in your room, it’s much easier if you don’t have to see or deal with all the suffering that’s out there. (and it’s so much easier to hide on this side of the world). Thanks for the note, it’s good to hear from you and you are a real encouragement to me! and keep on loving those kids! You’re doing great!