the moon held on today, still bright in the morning sky, not ready to leave the night behind.
i was glad.
last night the sky was so beautiful. so stable. so consistent. a reminder that your day can be hard or bad, but it's just a day. that wide open night sky makes me feel small in a good way, it expands my perspective. there was one star last night that was so bright and so big and high up- it called me back to bethlehem. it reminded me of Christmas.
right now i'm sick of sick. everyone at clinic is sick, my family is sick, my friends and neighbors are sick and even i'm a little sick. today was full of sad stories and lots of remembering to compartmentalize. to do the best i could for each person i saw.
the 15 year old girl with AIDS, on second line therapy with a CD4 count of 37, missing an eye and a cheek from cancer.
"when did that happen?"
"the year my parents died, when i was five."
"did you know you had HIV then?"
"yes"
imagine loosing your parents, your sight, your hope; and gaining a deformity and a place in your aunts house as the only one with HIV, when you're only five.
it's not right is it? it's not fair.
the 30 year old man with AIDS, fever, cough and shortness of breath, on exam and chest x-ray a lung full of fluid or pus, lying on a mat, shallow rapid breaths and heart rate, refusing a ride to the hospital saying he'd wait until tomorrow when his brother would take him. me wondering if he'll even go tomorrow and wondering what good it will do anyway. will they read the referral? will they tap his lung and culture the fluid and make a diagnosis? or will they just slap some antibiotics on him and hope for the best. me wondering if 'doing the best i could do for him' included driving him to the hospital emergency room, waiting with him, talking to the doctor on his behalf, making sure they did what needed to be done. but fearing that i'd be so mad or so sad that it might do more harm than good. me wondering where the boundaries are and where the line is between making a difference and achieving sustainability. because i don't want to burn out. i don't want to become bitter or hopeless. today i just wasn't ready to see mulago (the big city hospital).
on the way, i was given another reminder of that starry night in bethlehem. drawing me back to Christmas time.
a camel walking down the side of the road. and i stopped in the middle of traffic and took this picture. if i hadn't given a friend a ride i wouldn't have seen it. subtle orchestration not an accident. it was saying: don't forget. drawing me back to this season of hope. reminding me of redemption. telling me to hold on. to be patient. to be gentle in my thoughts and my fears and with my expectations. to choose to be joyful.
so i'm remembering the joy and the peace, the hope and the redemption, the love and the gentleness.
i was glad.
last night the sky was so beautiful. so stable. so consistent. a reminder that your day can be hard or bad, but it's just a day. that wide open night sky makes me feel small in a good way, it expands my perspective. there was one star last night that was so bright and so big and high up- it called me back to bethlehem. it reminded me of Christmas.
right now i'm sick of sick. everyone at clinic is sick, my family is sick, my friends and neighbors are sick and even i'm a little sick. today was full of sad stories and lots of remembering to compartmentalize. to do the best i could for each person i saw.
the 15 year old girl with AIDS, on second line therapy with a CD4 count of 37, missing an eye and a cheek from cancer.
"when did that happen?"
"the year my parents died, when i was five."
"did you know you had HIV then?"
"yes"
imagine loosing your parents, your sight, your hope; and gaining a deformity and a place in your aunts house as the only one with HIV, when you're only five.
it's not right is it? it's not fair.
the 30 year old man with AIDS, fever, cough and shortness of breath, on exam and chest x-ray a lung full of fluid or pus, lying on a mat, shallow rapid breaths and heart rate, refusing a ride to the hospital saying he'd wait until tomorrow when his brother would take him. me wondering if he'll even go tomorrow and wondering what good it will do anyway. will they read the referral? will they tap his lung and culture the fluid and make a diagnosis? or will they just slap some antibiotics on him and hope for the best. me wondering if 'doing the best i could do for him' included driving him to the hospital emergency room, waiting with him, talking to the doctor on his behalf, making sure they did what needed to be done. but fearing that i'd be so mad or so sad that it might do more harm than good. me wondering where the boundaries are and where the line is between making a difference and achieving sustainability. because i don't want to burn out. i don't want to become bitter or hopeless. today i just wasn't ready to see mulago (the big city hospital).
on the way, i was given another reminder of that starry night in bethlehem. drawing me back to Christmas time.
so i'm remembering the joy and the peace, the hope and the redemption, the love and the gentleness.
3 comments:
hope you're all soon feeling better! xo
It's easy sometimes to lose hope in the face of so much sadness and need. I'm glad you have your faith to sustain you through the difficult times. Being a person who isn't spiritual, I just have to be content with doing what I can to leave the world slightly better than it otherwise would've been.
thanks for your kind words!
you hang in there too!
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