God Equips The Called

                Wednesday morning I set out with the hospice team as usual for the home visits. There were three patients on the agenda: Marage, Yeshiemebet, and Yisharege. Marage first. We trekked up the streets, down the footpaths, and through the bushes to find her home. Up a narrow alley between two houses, we finally arrived. These houses are tucked in! We entered her dark home, barely bigger than the bed she was lying in. Marage was on her side, and so skinny her hip was defined under a thick felt blanket that covered her.

“Marage,” I addressed her. “Dehna nesh?” How are you?

                She did not respond, but lay weak and motionless. Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth was dry. Her blood pressure was too low and her pulse was too fast. One of her neighbors sat by the door, very concerned. “Bezi samint menim megeb albelachem.” She hasn’t eaten or drank anything all week. The lady told us she was concerned that Marage was going to die alone. Her husband left her and their small daughter when she got sick. Her other family lives in the countryside. There is no one here in Addis to help her. The lady told us that the homeowner and other neighbors had carried Marage to the local hospital twice last week. Both times they had been refused admission because there were not enough beds. They gave her a reference to a governmental hospital about fifteen kilometers away, but they had no money for transportation or to pay for her care there. Marage had been in bed ever since. She was severely dehydrated.

“She needs an IV,” I said out loud. The other hospice members – none medical – looked at me. I examined her tiny arms, from which surprisingly popped large veins.

 “I’ll be right back.”

Her home was fairly close to our clinic, a blessing to count. I knew we had a bunch of IV supplies in totes in the back of the clinic. We had planned to donate them to a hospital, because we hadn’t ever needed them before. I dug through the totes, thoughts a merry-go-round in my head. In my last semester of nursing school I did a proctorship in the emergency room under a wonderful nurse named Mary Buth. I told her at the beginning that I wanted to get good at starting IV’s, and she made it her objective to be sure I did. Under her guidance I became quite proficient at it. I had been very comfortable then, but this month marked one year since graduation, and I hadn’t started an IV since school. I also have never decided of my own accord to give an IV, what fluid to give, how much, and how fast!

I AM NOT A REAL DOCTOR!!!! But I was the only one there.

I found what I needed in the clinic and hiked back down the stony path to her house. I arranged my things on the table and gloved up. I looked above her bed for something to hang the IV bag on. Nothing. I don’t know how to say nail in Amharic, so I charaded pounding something into the wall. They understood, and produced a long nail. (I don’t know where all these things come from sometimes.) They pounded the nail into the mud wall, tested the strength and nodded at me. Things pretty much went like clock-work after that. I hung  500 mLs, set the drip rate for an hour and went to the clinic to see patients. After thirty minutes I returned to check her. She looked so much better! Her eyes were not rolling and she told me she felt much better. Her lungs were clear, blood pressure still low, heart rate still high. When that bag finished I hung another 500 mLs. Elsebet, a Strong Hearts nurse tagged me, and returned to take that bag down. She called my phone and said that Marage’s blood pressure was 120/80 (perfect), and she looked great. Praise the Lord! I told Elsebet to leave the IV and I would check her in the morning. The next morning I went to her home and found her eating a cookie by her own hand! She talked with me, very aware. Her blood pressure was low again, so I decided to give her some more fluid. A little later it was back up again and we discontinued the IV.

I thank the Lord for the way He equips me in situations like this one. I honestly do not have confidence in myself a lot of the time. I think of how the Lord knew this day Marage would need an IV, and prepared Mary Buth to teach me to start one. I praise the Lord for Mary. I praise Him for the little things like that nail to pound in the earthen wall. God is faithful. He walks into these dark homes with me, and provides everything I need. We never go alone. Please pray with us as we enter these homes, dark with the absence of Light.

 

 “God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.”   -  Anonymous