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One of my favorite things about working maternity is that you never know what will walk through the door. One quiet night in the maternity, an emergency suddenly arrived and before we knew it, a premature baby was born at 31 weeks. Two days later, another premature baby was born at 29 weeks. The two little babies were placed in our crude NICU, and they have been steadily growing up together side by side in their separate incubators like really good, friendly neighbors. Between all the feedings, changes, and medications, we nurses have grown quite fond of these kiddos and their mommas. In fact, since babies here don’t get named until later on, we affectionately call them baby Ashli and baby Megan, named after their two favorite nurses.  The day after the babies were born, their families started asking if they could go home. It was explained to them that they would be spending several weeks minimum in the hospital, but despite the repetitive explanations, they kept asking. Like ...

I anticipated an interesting response this time when I asked another missionary nurse how her day was. I had slept all day since I was between night shifts, but she had gone out during the day to observe what goes on during the Muslim holiday known as Tabaski.  “I feel like I’ve had two different days all in one today,” she said as she ate dinner and I sipped coffee before going into work that night.  “First I had a normal day. I woke up, made coffee, and chatted with Megan in our pajamas. Then I took my bike outside just to cruise around and see what everyone else was doing. Big cows were tied up everywhere, others were already slaughtered. I dodged the blood running in streams through the streets. A little boy was walking towards a goat with a machete, and I didn’t stop to watch although I knew what was about to happen. It felt like a totally different day.”  It’s the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a modern day Passover.  Here in this Muslim town,...

We had two full days off in a row, and we certainly made the most of it. We also didn’t sleep very much of it. The first night, we had a girls sleepover for Megan’s birthday party, which included a whole lot of pizza, funfetti cake (I know what you’re thinking, and no, we can’t get that here. It was sent with love all the way from America!) karaoke, games, foot massages, a movie, and a crazy amount of coffee the next morning. It was a classic girls’ sleepover that has probably never been done so good in all of West Africa.  I needed two more cups of coffee and a one hour nap to get me through the rest of the day, which involved preparing for party part two that night, this time for an African family that is precious to Megan and I. We brought out all our best party pizazz - beef stroganoff, sweet tea, popcorn for dessert (that’s a totally African thing that I’ve come to appreciate), a wild game of Uno, and a sweet time of worship. Honestly, I think they had just as good of a t...

I kept my eyes glued to the ground, where I placed one foot in front of the other as I climbed the rocky staircase. I noticed how each stone was rugged and natural, yet strategically placed in an organized fashion, and I presumed that someone took quite a bit of time to create this pathway staircase.  I intentionally refused to look up, partly because I might fall on my face if my eyes left the ground, but also mainly because I didn’t want to see how high I was. Not yet. Not until I got to the top.  My heart was pounding in my ears and I was trying not to breathe as hard as my lungs would have liked, but I did not stop even once until I reached the summit.  Then I lifted my eyes. The landscape spread out below me like a soft green wrinkled blanket. The different fields - corn, millet, soy, and cotton - created the patchwork on this quilt that was hemmed in by rolling hills on all sides. Dirt roads and winding footpaths formed the stitches. The clouds made mov...

Malaria season has hit west Africa full force, which means things have been very busy at the hospital. This month, it feels like all I have done is worked and slept. Unfortunately, malaria season also means a lot of loss at the hospital. Malaria, although easily prevented and readily treatable, is a nasty parasite that is also responsible for the most deaths in Togo every year. Why? Because when it hits more vulnerable populations - the very young, the very old, pregnant, and immunocompromised patients - time is of the essence. And so often, by the time we receive these patients, it’s already too late.  There are some things I’ll never understand this side of heaven. We delivered one baby who didn’t breathe at all for forty minutes, and only when we finally decided to stop resuscitating did he take his first breath. A few days later, he went come completely well, a miracle baby. Around the same time, we had three babies who were all born perfectly well and transitioned normall...

When she walked in the door, she held out both hands and offered me a plastic sack full of guinea eggs. I squealed with delight, not because I really love guinea eggs, but because I really love her, and I knew what a significant thing it was for her to bring me a gift, and I wanted her to feel my thankfulness. And I wanted her to be honored.  I set the eggs on my table because what I really wanted to hold in my hands was her baby, who was snuggly attached to her back. She had covered her in a colorful piece of African fabric to protect her from the dust of walking down the road, but now that she had arrived to my house, she removed the cloth and uncovered a sleepy face poking out.  Her mom swung her around to her front, untied her, and placed her in my arms. She opened her eyes, and I started talking to her in my best baby voice. “Hey there! Yeah, we know each other! I was there right after you were born. I’m the mean nurse who kept messing with you and poking you!” H...

While running back and forth between patients, I peeked my head behind her curtain to check on her. “You okay?” I would say with a syringe in one hand and a medicine cup in the other, and she would nod and I would keep running.  After the emergency cesarean section was finished, another hypertensive patient delivered her breech baby and finally got her blood pressure under 200/120. I gave my postpartum patients their medicines a little late, and then finally turned my attention to my patient behind the curtain. I felt almost bad, like I had neglected her all morning, but the honest truth was that she just wasn’t as urgent as the other cases. I went in to hang an antibiotic and apologized.  I brushed hair away from my face and said, “Crazy morning! Sorry I haven’t had time to look at you.” She smiled playfully and said it was okay, that she had seen me running back and forth and understood that other people were more critical than her.  I hung her antibiotic, ...