Another day

The baby with jejunal atresia died last night. It was sad, but she was in her mother's arms which is worth something. Her tiny body just couldn't handle the surgery. One of the nurses told me that often mothers here wait a couple weeks after their babies are born to name them, as so many die within infancy. The constant deaths are getting to me a little bit. So many young eyes I've had to close in the last couple weeks, so many silent chests I've had to confirm. On the adult side there is so much AIDS and tuberculosis, on the children's side so much foregone organ failure. The men and women are skeletons of their former selves, the children are big bellies with tiny malnourished extremities. The sadness comes in waves. On the one hand I am beginning to expect death, beginning to expect it as a part of life here. But on the other hand, I am fighting the urge to get used to it, to accept it. It is a lot to process.

But to remember the Rudolfs, the triplets, the cerebral malarias back from the dead- that is our saving Grace.

I spent most of the day in bed with a stomach bug- maybe it was something I ate or something I caught from the kids.I tell myself to be as tough as an African child, but I can't help craving gingerale and my own bed back home. After all, who can be as tough as an African child?

The hospital I'm working in used to be called Hansen's Disease Hospital (Leprosy Colony), but has since expanded to include anything and everything. There is a small store at the entrance of the hospital affectionately known as the Leper Store which consists entirely of hand-stitched goods crafted by people with Leprosy. Bought some small items there yesterday for my sisters and mom, as well as Jonas' sisters and mom, I think it is worth as much as the story behind it. I bought my father a woven bookmark to use in his missalette, a small bag for myself.

Tonight the fever will break and tomorrow I will head back to Bamenda. The rollercoaster will continue, as there is still so much to learn and understand.