Well, today's report on Kenneth is almost anti-climactic
after last night's phone call from Danelia...she sounded so upset when she
called me and so this morning was filled with apprehension as we made our way
to Tipitapa to pick Kenneth up to take him to the hospital.
He was running a slight fever when we arrived this morning and
was quiet but he wasn’t nearly as ill as I had been led to believe last night. After a couple of hours, he was back to being
very ornery and more than ready to pester me while I tried to read! So, I took a break and played with him,
pestered him back and kept him supplied with activities to keep him busy.
As the morning wore on, he became very alert and active and
I became more and more tired! We had gotten
up a little after 5:00 this morning since we wanted to get to the hospital
early…but Managua traffic didn't seem to be on the same schedule we were so we
didn't get to there until a little after 8:00 a.m. I was expecting a full house since we arrived
later than normal but there really weren’t that many there yet. That enabled us to get a seat in the front
where there was room for Kenneth’s wheelchair and where we could sit directly
under a ceiling fan. Jim turned it on before
we even sat down as it was already so hot in the waiting room and it wasn’t
even crowded yet.
Kenneth had his blood taken first thing and then we settled
in the stuffy waiting room to wait. I
knew it was going to be a long morning but didn’t realize how long!. Even though there weren't as many patients
this morning as normal, those who were there all seemed to be on the sick end
of their chemo. Stretched across the
rows of 3-seats were all ages of children, each in their own stage of misery…some
were bald; some had facial sores, some were painfully thin with gaunt, pallid
cheeks while others were so bloated from their chemo treatments that they
looked as if they were human balloons; some whimpered, some cried aloud; a few
were interested in the television, most were not. Most just were in their state of endurance. The pediatric oncology waiting room is not
anyone’s favorite place to be.
Every time we visit, there is always at least one child
(besides Kenneth, naturally) who captures my attention. Today, there were several. One was a little girl, about 5 or 6 years of
age who was terrified to go in to the chemo room. She wore a scarf over her head and she was
starting to have that “look” that most of the children there seem to have. It’s indescribable, but it’s
recognizable.
The little girl began crying very loudly to the point she was
almost hysterical as her mother drug her down the aisle, past us and out the
glass waiting room doors and across the hall to the other set of glass doors
which open in to the chemo waiting area.
Still screaming and trying to pull away from her mother, the little pulled
her arm so abruptly that she inadvertently knocked the necessary paperwork out
of her mother's hands. Her mother yelled
at her and slapped her bare shoulder - and slapped it hard. Of course, this hurt the child and her screams
changed from screams of terror to screams of pain. The mother quickly grabbed her daughter’s arm
again, bent down and picked up the dropped papers and then drug the child in to
the chemo waiting room. I was stunned at
the scene that had just played out before me.
I looked around and no one even seemed to be paying any attention to it
all…only Jim, Kenneth and me.
It all happened so quickly…but not so quickly that there
wasn't time for my own stomach to churn and my own tears to start. I bent my head and shut my eyes and began to
pray. I knew the Holy Spirit was
speaking for me because in my flesh, I would have been more than just a little angry
with the mother for her lack of compassion and the harsh, hurtful manner in the
way she handled her daughter. But honestly, my tears were for the mother as much
as they were for the daughter. Her
reaction is not an unusual sight here…some parents are very rough with their
children, whatever their particular trigger might be. I don’t know if this is the way this woman
normally handles tough situations or not…I do know that she must be terrified
to know her daughter is fighting for her life and furious that there’s nothing
she can do to take that fight on herself.
I know that only Jesus can meet the need each one of them has.
In those few brief moments that I prayed, the Spirit in me spoke
to the Father and asked Him to provide comfort for the two unsettled souls across
the hall, to bring His peace to their hearts, to take away their fear and anger,
to make Himself known to both of them so that they would know that they have a
Savior who is mighty to save. When I
opened my eyes, I saw Kenneth watching me intently. He rolled his wheelchair closer to me and
rubbed my arm. His compassion for others
amazes me sometimes and humbles me often.
The whole thing was over with almost as quickly as it started but I have
re-played that scene a hundred times in my own mind today and those mental
re-runs seem to go by much more slowly than they did the first time around.
In retrospect, I wish I would have been closer and I would
have gotten the papers for the lady. I
wish I was fluent in Spanish and wise with my words so I could have calmed the
child and calmed her mother. I wish that
children weren't such convenient punching bags or human pressure-release valves
for their scared and weary parents. And in all of those wishes and more, probably
the one I “wished” for the most today is that cancer was a disease of the long
distant past.
The second person who caught my eye was a very tiny baby,
only weeks old. I’m not sure why he and
his mother were there. I am sure that
his mother carried that same vacant look in her eyes that so many parents of
children there carry. The mother took
him up to be weighed…this takes place in the waiting room in front of
everyone. The nurse writes the weight
down on a scrap of paper and that info is given to the doctor. Kenneth and a few other children there no
longer get weighed. It’s a subtle
distinction that indicates the doctors don’t think that there’s really any
point in it. But the baby got
weighed. The mom was weighed first with
the baby and then the nurse took the baby and weighed the mom again. And after the mother got her little scrap of
paper, she walked like a zombie back to her seat and sat very still. I can’t imagine that a baby so young could
have already been diagnosed with cancer…but then, I can’t imagine why a mother
would come and visit such a place if there wasn’t a need.
I didn’t see the third person who captivated me today. I only heard him/her. Like I said, we sat at the front and had our
backs to the rest of the group so the only time we actually saw faces today,
were during the trips to the restroom or the few times we turned around to see
if the waiting room numbers were growing or dwindling.
There’s always lots of noise in that waiting room…children
crying, mothers talking, nurses and doctors bustling in and out, cell phones
ringing, the t.v. blaring, etc. Today,
there was a child who had a recorder (we called them flute-o-phones when I was
growing up!) and he/she was playing various children’s songs and Christmas
carols! I had to smile at those! Eventually, I became engrossed in my reading
and had basically tuned out all the noise around me, including the flautist, to
the point it was just background noise. But,
not long after the episode with the little girl and her mother, I heard the
most soothing music gently drifting its way up to us. I realized the noise in the waiting room had
diminished considerably and I concentrated on the melody being played. It was “My Heart Will Go On”, the theme song
to the movie, “The Titanic” and it was being played beautifully…on what was
probably a simple, plastic child’s recorder.
The mood shifted in that room for just a few moments and it was as
though a much-needed sense of tranquility settled over everyone there. By the time the song was finished, it was quiet
in the waiting room. That’s not a rare occurrence…that’s
a never occurrence…but today, it was.
Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts, fussy children had gone to
sleep, tired children slept and peace made a brief visit to the pediatric
oncology waiting room. We were so
blessed by the ushering in of that peace.
Now about Kenneth’s update…unfortunately, we didn't get the
doctor I was hoping to get and because there were only two doctors there today
and they arrived 2 ½ hours late for appointments, everyone was rushed in and
out for their appointments. This doctor
is very difficult for me to talk with and today was no exception. He wouldn’t let me finish my sentences and he
wouldn’t answer my questions. He only
told me he wants to start Kenneth back on a low dosage chemo but there isn’t
any of that particular chemo drug in the country and he has no idea when they’ll
get more in. He seemed to think I could
just jump on a plane, fly back to the States, pick some up and come right back
so he can start Kenneth on the regimen.
There is such a misconception here about Americans, their supposed
importance (to whom, I haven’t quite figured out yet!) and their abilities to
get whatever they want with no regard to cost.
This doctor needs a reality check along with about 90% of the country!
He said Kenneth’s blood work came out fine and that he thinks
he just has a slight intestinal bug. He
didn’t feel that there was any kind of infection or anything to be concerned
about but that he thought Kenneth should start the low dosage chemo again. He is the chemo-happy doctor…the other two
say he shouldn’t take it. Grrr! Anyway, his diagnosis and recommendation was
determined by looking at his tongue for 3 seconds and listening to Danelia who
spoke quite casually about a mildly ill little boy who had several bouts of diarrhea
the day before...obviously not the same kid she called me about last night and
not the same kid who was pestering the daylights out of me just a few hours
earlier!
So, once again, I don’t know what to think. I was reminded of the story of the little boy
who cried wolf. I sometimes feel that we
are dealing with a similar situation with Danelia. We have many of these kinds of calls from her
where she is almost crying, saying Kenneth is very, very ill and yet when we
arrive at their house, whether it’s that same day or the next morning, he seems
to be fine. And going to Danelia’s is a
commitment of time and resources since they live over an hour away from us. But even so, Jim and I both agree that we can’t
take the chance of not responding to these types of calls. Kenneth matters.
So tonight, I guess I am adding something else that I am asking
the Father for regarding Kenneth and that is wisdom in these situations. Thank you all for being so faithful to pray
every time I ask. I don’t want to be one
who cries “Wolf” either but neither do I believe your prayers are “wasted”. Kenneth is still with us.
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