Category: Hospital Ministry

A Jon Post

There it was sitting in a cardboard box marked “Free”… a small fold-in-half checker/chess board. Just the week before I had learned the Mozambican method of playing checkers using bottle caps and a tattered old cardboard box with a checkers board drawn on it in fading ball point pen ink. When I saw the plastic board I immediately thought of the men at the hospital and figured it would be a nice upgrade from their torn cardboard. The actual checker pieces were missing but the nice, bright, glossy squares were more than enough turn my eye, put my hand into the “Free box” and tuck the board under my arm.

I left the garage/home sale (some missionaries were leaving town and were trying to get rid of the things they would not be taking with them) and, upon arriving home, promptly forgot I had the checkers board. It lay dormant under the stairs for weeks until, upon a thorough cleaning of the house, I stumbled upon it again and, not thinking much about it, put it near the door so I would not forget to take it to the hospital with me.

When I arrived with it the next day, most of the men I played checkers with were already outside playing on their makeshift cardboard set. Metal bottle caps hoped across the board and turned upside-down when they finally reached the other end to become little queens.

When they noticed the checkers board under my arm most of them thought it was a strangely patterned Bible (because it folded down the middle to form a book shape). When I held it in my hands and offered it to a boy named Edson (only 13 years-old but surprisingly good at checkers) and the group finally realized what it was, grins broke out all around and the cardboard was swiftly swept away and little metal bottle caps were soon flying across our new (well… used, but new to our group) checkers board.

Today, three months later, I have played countless games (and lost nearly all of them… these guys are GOOD) and seen more smiles than I can remember from across this little piece of plastic. When the hinge broke that held the fold together in the middle, I showed up with my soldering iron and, to thunderous applause, soldered the little pin back inside to hold it together so we could continue playing.

Over a game of checkers I have heard about a lovely wife at home, and what is growing at home on the farm. I have heard men tell me about their fears for their future, and their desire to be healthy. I sat quietly as a boy told me about how afraid he was that he might never play soccer again because his leg may be amputated. I laughed and clapped a man on the back as we joked about how strange my own culture is. I wept quietly as a brother told me about his child he has never met because it was born 6 months ago… and he has been here 8. I have spoken of the love of a Savior, I have spoken of death, life, family, solitude, cancer, angels, demons, war, sacrifice, pain and peace.

What a strange job I have.

I love it.

A Layne Post

I remember the first day Anaya and I visited with her. Cleo was outside, upstairs on the veranda. (Her name is Cleo which sounds like “Clay-o” not “Clee-o”) It was a beautiful day, sunny but not hot. She was completely delightful. She made silly faces and noises at Anaya, which isn’t terribly common around here, and Anaya just ate it up.  We laughed out loud about childbirth, children, and life. She couldn’t believe I didn’t know how to cook fish, and she wrote a recipe down for me. I am so happy to have that; it is on my fridge.

Cleo was beautiful, really beautiful. She was tall and strong. She laughed that she had ‘bochechas’ (chubby cheeks) like Anaya, though it wasn’t true.

She had a 12 year old daughter that was born at 7 months and Cleo had been in the hospital, in labor, for 7 days. My hero. Her daughter needed extra assistance and lived in the hospital for about a month, though she caught up quick and gained weight well. Cleo’s love for her daughter was evident. How proud she was of her progress in school. Cleo loved math and science and found it hard to be away from her daughter, unable to help tutor her.

Anaya grew to love Cleo. I can still imagine those days of Anaya sitting in bed with her, playing with her little elephant toy, while Cleo made a slew of animal noises, all of which greatly impressed me. When Anaya would go to sleep in her sling, Cleo would sing to her. One day Cleo was discouraged; Anaya was quick to cheer her up. Cleo would say that Anaya was her first friend at the hospital. Any day I didn’t bring Anaya, she would tell me I had to bring her soon. Anaya would hang out with her, even when Mommy left. I am not sure there was another person she did so well with. Cleo will always be credited with teaching Anaya to ‘African’ dance. She would say, “Chuqueta, chuqueta,” as  she’d shake Anaya’s little bum, and everyone around couldn’t help but break out into smiles.

I looked forward to seeing her. I missed her when it had been a few days. I felt closer to her than any another previous patient.

I remember Anaya’s last day with her. It was another beautiful day. It was sunny and warmer, but a nice cool breeze was blowing. We sat on the red benches outside. Anaya grabbed Cleo’s face and talked very seriously with her. She hopped on her good leg, and Cleo insisted that Anaya always preferred her bad leg. Anaya showed off her new whining noise, which Cleo thought was too funny. She assured me it would pass quickly and Anaya would find new noises soon. We laughed out loud, as usual, and talked about her home town. Cleo taught me a few phrases in her home language, and we giggled at my attempts to remember. I was convinced she could teach me, and I could learn. I told her I’d bring a notebook the next time.

We talked about how I wanted her to move in with us. She told me she had been having a difficult time sleeping and needed morphine to calm the pains in her leg. Because of that, she would have a hard time living away from the hospital. She was convinced she would get better, and I assured her as soon as she improved some, I wanted her to move in. I didn’t care if our room out back was ready, she was welcome in my guest room.

She was starting treatment the next day, and if the tumor and swelling in her leg didn’t improve, they would start her on a new type of treatment and re-start her 6 month time frame. We were hoping for the best. It would be her second reset. That is a long time.

The next day was my day in Dermatology; however, I usually pass by Oncology just to say, “Hi,” while I don’t have Anaya. Cleo had been wanting to see a picture of Anaya as a newborn, so I brought a whole book; I thought it may be distracting while on treatment. While visiting with the last patient in Dermatology, my friend Alice showed up. She told me Cleo was bad. I knew Chemo would be hard, but it seemed worse than usual. I wrapped things up quickly with the girl I was talking with and rushed into Cleo’s room. Her Mom was there with her. I thank the Lord for that opportunity. It was hot; she was sweaty. I had 1 hour before I needed to leave, so there I knelt. I held her hand, fanned her with a piece of paper I found in my purse. We cried out to God together. She wiped her nose, and when she saw the blood “Meu Deus” escaped from her lips. I knew it wasn’t a good sign. I couldn’t hold the tears. She gave me a half grin and told me her leg would go down.

We never looked at Anaya’s pictures;  she was too uncomfortable, I never even offered. I would take it the next day and we’d see how it was going.

On the way home I wept. Ugly, gasping sobs, as I begged God, “Not now. Not this one. Heal this one. Let it be the first. Please.” That night in my bed with my air conditioner on, I could only think of her, and how I wanted her to be in that kind of comfort.

Early the next morning, while playing with Anaya, Jon came in. I should know by now. Maybe I did and didn’t want to believe. I said things like, “Why are you up?” “Go back to bed!” “I’m fine!” He came and put his arm around me and I knew. A text message had come with the news. Cleo died. Her mom and aunt were with her.

It was stunning. Fast. Devestating.

That was a hard day for me. Actually, it is still raw.

I’ve been to the hospital once since.

I miss my friend…