Amidst sitting and reading, working on computer-related projects and digging in the yard, I put a rib out of place yesterday. I headed to the chiropractor who did magic, but the ultimate was when I got a phone call today, "Doug has an opening at 11:00. Can you go see him?"
Doug belongs to a friend of mine. As in, he's Gina's husband. But he's also the most incredible massage therapist. No foo-foo massage there! He must've spent 80% of the time only working on the problem area in my back. He's very professional, and though I first thought it would be odd to go for a professional massage from a friend's husband, I didn't feel uncomfortable for a moment.
All of this to say that if you live in the greater Cedar Rapids area and you need some muscles worked on, Doug's the man!
You can find him at Avalon (behind the Spring House) on Center Point Road. Ask for Doug Merrill.
Apparently he does chair massages at a number of schools in the area, too.
I head out tomorrow morning for ... Alaska! I am visiting friends who live close to Denali. I thought I'd stop by briefly on my way to class in Seattle, but they explained they're way out of the way, that I'd have to come longer. And I can bring a friend. So tomorrow morning, Danette and I are heading out for vacation in the Thules. That's the mountains where they are. We'll be at their place for 10 days, then I head to Seattle for 2 weeks' class. Then 2 more weeks in the Midwest, and then I head back to Kenya. My time here is running out...
If I have access to the Internet, I'll upload photos from our trip. If you don't hear from me till June, I don't have Internet access. :)
Ah, can't wait to go and enjoy the beauty of Alaska!! It's way late. Got to sleep. Till later. :)
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Carbon monoxide poisoning
In some ways, it sounds worse than it is. But then again, you've got to remember that it literally can kill you. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Apparantly, Danette and I have both had it recently. Since her room's on the second floor of her home, she probably has had it worse than I. (My room's on the first floor, plus I've only visited here for a short while!)
Though Danette has CO-detectors in her home, they didn't get triggered. Problem is, they're mounted close to the floor, plugged in at outlets. (Where are yours??) CO travels upward. The problem with the incorrect placement of detectors has since been fixed. As has the furnace that was the culprit.
We praise God that a bird got stuck in the furnace this week, causing it to quit working. In the process of solving the furnace problem, the CO-problem was detected. It's pretty crazy seeing the chimney guys walking into the basement wearing gas masks, though...
We're OK now. Though I joke around and blame all kinds of things on CO-poisoning (Forgot to pick up something at the store? Gained a couple of pounds? Mixed whites and colors?), I know it could've been fatal. And hence, I'm infinitely thankful for the events that led to detecting the problem.
Though Danette has CO-detectors in her home, they didn't get triggered. Problem is, they're mounted close to the floor, plugged in at outlets. (Where are yours??) CO travels upward. The problem with the incorrect placement of detectors has since been fixed. As has the furnace that was the culprit.
We praise God that a bird got stuck in the furnace this week, causing it to quit working. In the process of solving the furnace problem, the CO-problem was detected. It's pretty crazy seeing the chimney guys walking into the basement wearing gas masks, though...
We're OK now. Though I joke around and blame all kinds of things on CO-poisoning (Forgot to pick up something at the store? Gained a couple of pounds? Mixed whites and colors?), I know it could've been fatal. And hence, I'm infinitely thankful for the events that led to detecting the problem.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much."
Juli, Allison and I went to see Hannah again today.
I asked if I can take photos. She was happy to let me photograph her as she visited with Juli, Allison and her other daughters. "Other" daughters, because she calls us her daughters, too. Even though she has 7 of her own.
Hannah's health has deteriorated since I had last seen her 5 days ago. Her speech is getting more slurred. The tumor seems to be showing up below her left eye, too. She is obviously having a lot of pain.
Yet she continues to rejoice in Jesus. She broke out in worship songs a few times again during our visit. When I gave her a box of soy milk to try, hoping that it would be easier for her body to digest, she held it with both hands, lifted it up, and said a prayer of thanksgiving to God for his provision.
We left when it was clear that Hannah needed to rest. But as we paused outside in the garden and visited with the family, we heard her voice from her room, "Thank you. Thank you very much..." and saw her skinny hand waiving at us. Nancy explained how they appreciate the visits. We do, too. It's a joy to go and spend some time with her and her family, pray together, worship God together...
I'll be going back early next week to take photos of their entire family. I look forward to doing that.
In the meantime, please join me in praying for a miracle for Hannah!
(Click on the photo to see more pictures from today's visit.)
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Learning from Hannah
Hannah was sitting on her bed in her 8' x 10' mud-walled room, some clothes bundled up behind her for support. The wooden shutter was pushed all the way the let in as much sunshine as one can get through a little hole in the wall. And today, it seemed like the sun was shining brightly outside and inside.
As I rubbed her feet, it was just skin and bones. As is the rest of her body, really. Her knees stand out like huge balls compared the the bony leg on either side. Yet, the most amazing joy filled the room.
She's hardly older than I am, this mother of four. "My mother used to be a very hard worker," her second-born, Nancy, told me as we walked to my car later. "She really struggled to put us through school. But my sister and I had just completed Form 4 (12th grade) when things got bad..."
Nancy's eyes welled up with tears. "Some days, I don't know if I can make it. I have asked God many times, why could I finish Form 4 and now I am stuck at home? He could heal my mother, and then I could continue with my life."
Nancy and her sister takes such good care of their mother. Nowhere on her body is there any sign of skin breakdown. Her hair is combed. Her sheets are clean. She is clean.
"Look!" Hannah had told me soon after I got seated at the foot of her bed. "It's so clean!" She reached her bony hand out and I admired it. It's not like they knew we were coming. We simply showed up at their house this morning in order to drop off some more meds. And good body moisturizer.
And chicken livers. Hannah had told us on Sunday that she's been craving chicken livers. A lot. As we handed her the bag with some papayas and the frozen chicken livers, she held it up in the air, thanking God sincerely for his provision.
At times, it's hard to make out what she says.
At first, it was hard to look at her.
But in the two visits I've paid to her home, Hannah has found a place in my heart. Today, she wanted to sing worship songs. "She really has a song in her heart," Nancy explained. Hannah started singing her favorite Luya chorus, and her daughter joined in. The other children and their father came to stand in the small doorway, next to the roosting chicken. They joined the singing.
Juli shared some thoughts from John 14 and 15 as everyone listened. We prayed Psalm 23 together in multiple languages, with Hannah sticking her bony arm into the air saying her only English phrase over and over. "Thank you. Thank you very much."
"God is so good, my daughters," she told us in Kiswahili. "He has done a good thing..."
I had to fight back the tears, amazed at this woman's faith.
When you look at her, you won't think she has anything to praise God for. But as Juli started another chorus and our colleague Phoebe continued leading song after song, the room was filled with the most amazing, spontaneous worship.
"I have not felt God's presence so strongly in a long time," Phoebe commented later.
It is true. God dwells in that room. He is the one who carries Hannah, the one who encourages her husband and the children. If one thing - no, two things - are evident, is that they love God, and that they love Hannah.
With this family, I honestly am believing that God will heal Hannah! Even though the odds are stacked against her.
Hannah has a huge tumor in her face. It showed up three years ago, and at this stage, it is inoperable. The tumor has destroyed much of the bone on the left side of her face. Her left eye, in fact, sort of sits on the side of her head. Her nose is deformed because of the tumor, so it's hard for her to breathe. It's also hard to swallow since the tumor is pushing into her mouth cavity. Some of her teeth have fallen out.
But today, Hannah was eating. Slowly. But she was eating. The meds we had taken on Sunday was helping. Yet she seemed more concerned about what we might be eating. "Are you having chai, my daughter?" she asked me. "Good!"
And she was singing. Hard as it was for her to sing, she sang. "It has been a while since I've sung," she said. "But God has put a song back in my heart."
Later, her husband poked his head back in the door. "I have a verse for you girls. You can read it at home. I believe it is for you. Go and read Hosea 2:19-20."
As we left, the family asked that we please come back. We will. Perhaps to encourage Hannah and Nancy. Perhaps to be encouraged by this family's faith.
What a gift it is to see God work in the lives of people like Hannah, and the Sifunas, and the countless others around me. What a gift to walk this journey with God. My God. My husband.
As I rubbed her feet, it was just skin and bones. As is the rest of her body, really. Her knees stand out like huge balls compared the the bony leg on either side. Yet, the most amazing joy filled the room.
She's hardly older than I am, this mother of four. "My mother used to be a very hard worker," her second-born, Nancy, told me as we walked to my car later. "She really struggled to put us through school. But my sister and I had just completed Form 4 (12th grade) when things got bad..."
Nancy's eyes welled up with tears. "Some days, I don't know if I can make it. I have asked God many times, why could I finish Form 4 and now I am stuck at home? He could heal my mother, and then I could continue with my life."
Nancy and her sister takes such good care of their mother. Nowhere on her body is there any sign of skin breakdown. Her hair is combed. Her sheets are clean. She is clean.
"Look!" Hannah had told me soon after I got seated at the foot of her bed. "It's so clean!" She reached her bony hand out and I admired it. It's not like they knew we were coming. We simply showed up at their house this morning in order to drop off some more meds. And good body moisturizer.
And chicken livers. Hannah had told us on Sunday that she's been craving chicken livers. A lot. As we handed her the bag with some papayas and the frozen chicken livers, she held it up in the air, thanking God sincerely for his provision.
At times, it's hard to make out what she says.
At first, it was hard to look at her.
But in the two visits I've paid to her home, Hannah has found a place in my heart. Today, she wanted to sing worship songs. "She really has a song in her heart," Nancy explained. Hannah started singing her favorite Luya chorus, and her daughter joined in. The other children and their father came to stand in the small doorway, next to the roosting chicken. They joined the singing.
Juli shared some thoughts from John 14 and 15 as everyone listened. We prayed Psalm 23 together in multiple languages, with Hannah sticking her bony arm into the air saying her only English phrase over and over. "Thank you. Thank you very much."
"God is so good, my daughters," she told us in Kiswahili. "He has done a good thing..."
I had to fight back the tears, amazed at this woman's faith.
When you look at her, you won't think she has anything to praise God for. But as Juli started another chorus and our colleague Phoebe continued leading song after song, the room was filled with the most amazing, spontaneous worship.
"I have not felt God's presence so strongly in a long time," Phoebe commented later.
It is true. God dwells in that room. He is the one who carries Hannah, the one who encourages her husband and the children. If one thing - no, two things - are evident, is that they love God, and that they love Hannah.
With this family, I honestly am believing that God will heal Hannah! Even though the odds are stacked against her.
Hannah has a huge tumor in her face. It showed up three years ago, and at this stage, it is inoperable. The tumor has destroyed much of the bone on the left side of her face. Her left eye, in fact, sort of sits on the side of her head. Her nose is deformed because of the tumor, so it's hard for her to breathe. It's also hard to swallow since the tumor is pushing into her mouth cavity. Some of her teeth have fallen out.
But today, Hannah was eating. Slowly. But she was eating. The meds we had taken on Sunday was helping. Yet she seemed more concerned about what we might be eating. "Are you having chai, my daughter?" she asked me. "Good!"
And she was singing. Hard as it was for her to sing, she sang. "It has been a while since I've sung," she said. "But God has put a song back in my heart."
Later, her husband poked his head back in the door. "I have a verse for you girls. You can read it at home. I believe it is for you. Go and read Hosea 2:19-20."
As we left, the family asked that we please come back. We will. Perhaps to encourage Hannah and Nancy. Perhaps to be encouraged by this family's faith.
What a gift it is to see God work in the lives of people like Hannah, and the Sifunas, and the countless others around me. What a gift to walk this journey with God. My God. My husband.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
One hundred percent
. . . jigger-free kids!
After 5 weeks of working on them, tediously removing one egg sac after another, I am thankful to report that as of today, the children have no jiggers. None. Nada. Nyet. Or none that we could see, at least.
It feels like a miracle. From day 1, I prayed asking God to heal them - their little bodies, but also their hearts, minds and souls. Every time I'd walk down the road, I'd say, "God, I know you can heal them in an instant!"
"You're wanting a microwave solution," I sensed God's answer. "But I'm into basking. I want you to marinate them in my love. This way, they'll learn more, as will you."
And so, day after day after day, week after week, I went, sometimes with friends, often alone. Always expecting to see what God has done.
And he did indeed do a great work.
He put a smile back on their faces.
He helped them gain weight.
He gave them a chance to start learning how to write.
He taught the girls not to run away when they didn't do their chores, but instead, to do the tasks to help run their household.
He brought the family to church the past few weeks without us even asking.
He even brought the children to VBS the past few days.
And he healed their bodies of jiggers.
Today, as I stepped into one VBS class to take some pictures, my heart warmed up as I saw Jepkemboi and Kiprop repeating Psalm 3:3 after the teacher. "You, O Lord, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high." Though the kids don't speak English yet, they imitated the sounds in English. (The assistant did translate for the kids who didn't understand, so they do know what they were saying.)
After VBS, as Ruth, Mary and I were once again working in tandem to rid the kids of their last egg sacs, I asked Ruth if the kids understand yet who Jesus is. We pray with them every time, talking to Jesus. We praise Jesus for every egg sac that comes out. We sometimes even sing songs about Jesus while we're working on them. Who do they think this Jesus is? "They don't know yet," Ruth replied. "But time has come to explain to them. They will understand."
I believe they will. They will understand in a way you or I may never understand God's love.
In fact, I sometimes wonder if working with this family is the sole reason God has brought me to Kenya. So that they may know how much Jesus cares.
Some of you have been asking about schooling options for the kids. In the next few weeks, we'll be having a meeting with the dad to find out what his plans are. Will they be staying in this area, or returning to Luo country? If they plan to stay, we'll look at options for school as well as for care for the younger boys while their sisters are in school. I'll keep you posted.
For now, thanks for continuing this journey with us.
After 5 weeks of working on them, tediously removing one egg sac after another, I am thankful to report that as of today, the children have no jiggers. None. Nada. Nyet. Or none that we could see, at least.
It feels like a miracle. From day 1, I prayed asking God to heal them - their little bodies, but also their hearts, minds and souls. Every time I'd walk down the road, I'd say, "God, I know you can heal them in an instant!"
"You're wanting a microwave solution," I sensed God's answer. "But I'm into basking. I want you to marinate them in my love. This way, they'll learn more, as will you."
And so, day after day after day, week after week, I went, sometimes with friends, often alone. Always expecting to see what God has done.
And he did indeed do a great work.
He put a smile back on their faces.
He helped them gain weight.
He gave them a chance to start learning how to write.
He taught the girls not to run away when they didn't do their chores, but instead, to do the tasks to help run their household.
He brought the family to church the past few weeks without us even asking.
He even brought the children to VBS the past few days.
And he healed their bodies of jiggers.
Today, as I stepped into one VBS class to take some pictures, my heart warmed up as I saw Jepkemboi and Kiprop repeating Psalm 3:3 after the teacher. "You, O Lord, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high." Though the kids don't speak English yet, they imitated the sounds in English. (The assistant did translate for the kids who didn't understand, so they do know what they were saying.)
After VBS, as Ruth, Mary and I were once again working in tandem to rid the kids of their last egg sacs, I asked Ruth if the kids understand yet who Jesus is. We pray with them every time, talking to Jesus. We praise Jesus for every egg sac that comes out. We sometimes even sing songs about Jesus while we're working on them. Who do they think this Jesus is? "They don't know yet," Ruth replied. "But time has come to explain to them. They will understand."
I believe they will. They will understand in a way you or I may never understand God's love.
In fact, I sometimes wonder if working with this family is the sole reason God has brought me to Kenya. So that they may know how much Jesus cares.
Some of you have been asking about schooling options for the kids. In the next few weeks, we'll be having a meeting with the dad to find out what his plans are. Will they be staying in this area, or returning to Luo country? If they plan to stay, we'll look at options for school as well as for care for the younger boys while their sisters are in school. I'll keep you posted.
For now, thanks for continuing this journey with us.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
On digging out sand flea egg sacks . . . and almost being robbed!
The day started full of promise! A great time with God. Wonderful breakfast with a good friend. And then we headed out to see our little friends down the road. Armed with Dettol, needles, Triple Anti-bacterial ointment, soap, and a huge portion of courage, my friends and I headed out to see what we can do to help the little ones.
As I rounded the corner into their maize (corn) field, little Jepkemboi came running and through her arms around me. It melted my heart! This is the same little one whom I could hardly get to smile last week!
Laura, Mary, Ruth and I settled in for the task before us. Laura had my camera, so she was able to take some photos of the process. (You can see some of the pictures on my Flickr page.) We had only removed 13 egg sacks from the little ones' hands and feet when I couldn't deal with it any more. The kids were in a lot of pain!
Tomorrow, I'll be taking them to a pediatrician who will refer us to a surgeon. The pediatrician said they'd be able to remove them surgically (with local anesthesia). I counted and estimate that each of the three youngest kids have between 80 and 90 lesions! And even while we were sitting there, we killed at least five or so sand fleas (jiggers) that were trying to dig into the little ones' skins. These fleas are very, very small. There's a picture on Flickr of one of them on Kiprop's hand.
I've been careful, using gloves the whole time. However, it would be easy for one of those fleas to dig into your skin even while you're just sitting there, working. Something has to be done about the fleas in the garden and in the house.
So, after dropping off Laura at the airport, I went to the Agro-Vet store to buy poison to spray in the yard. Since I hadn't had time to burn a DVD for Laura with pictures of her time in Kenya, I took my computer to the airport with me. And though I never leave it in the car, I decided to leave my computer bag while I run into the bakery to buy bread. After all, you couldn't see the bag under the bag with poison.
Or so I thought.
After getting bread, I stopped at a street vendor to buy another pair of shoes for the kids. But the guy gave me a ridiculous price when I asked about a pair of used kids' shoes, so I wasn't even going to barter! I just laughed, turned away, and started walking to my car.
The car was parked at least a good 50 meters (around 50 yards) from where I was right then, and I yelled, "NOOOOO!!!!" as I dashed down the road.
EVERYONE stared. Even the guy. He dropped my computer like it was about to explode and ran for his life. Literally. (In Kenya, mob justice is still practiced, and it's acceptable. If he ran with my bag, he'd be slowed down. If other guys caught him, they could literally stone him or kill him with sticks!)
In the few seconds it took me to get to my car, a crowd had gathered, asking if I'm OK, if the guy had gotten away with anything, if I had left the car open.
I was pretty shaken up, not sure for a moment if I was safe even in the crowd... "I'm OK. He didn't get anything. He busted the door lock." As I drove off, still shaking, people were staring. Some were saying how sorry they were. One guy said, "Praise God he didn't take anything." Praise Him indeed!
The corner of my computer is busted from being dropped from about 3 feet high, but it works fine. Nothing broke. Except for the lock to my car. The guy must've busted it with a screw driver.
Until I can get the lock replaced, I'd have to unlock the driver's door from the passenger side. But think about it: If the guy had busted the passenger lock (the side where the bag was, after all), I would not have seen him get out of my car! He'd have been protected by the vehicle itself!
So, as I head to bed tonight, it's with such a mixture of feelings.
Hope for our little friends down the road.
Relief that my computer didn't get stolen.
Frustration that my car door is busted.
Joy for having had friends around for the past two weeks (first Karen, then Laura).
Sadness for being back to a place where much of my journey is walked alone.
But the journey does continue. For now, Flannel simply has to endure listening to my stories.
Flannel, and you.
To read more about tungiasis, the condition my little neighbors have, visit this site.
As I rounded the corner into their maize (corn) field, little Jepkemboi came running and through her arms around me. It melted my heart! This is the same little one whom I could hardly get to smile last week!
Laura, Mary, Ruth and I settled in for the task before us. Laura had my camera, so she was able to take some photos of the process. (You can see some of the pictures on my Flickr page.) We had only removed 13 egg sacks from the little ones' hands and feet when I couldn't deal with it any more. The kids were in a lot of pain!Tomorrow, I'll be taking them to a pediatrician who will refer us to a surgeon. The pediatrician said they'd be able to remove them surgically (with local anesthesia). I counted and estimate that each of the three youngest kids have between 80 and 90 lesions! And even while we were sitting there, we killed at least five or so sand fleas (jiggers) that were trying to dig into the little ones' skins. These fleas are very, very small. There's a picture on Flickr of one of them on Kiprop's hand.
I've been careful, using gloves the whole time. However, it would be easy for one of those fleas to dig into your skin even while you're just sitting there, working. Something has to be done about the fleas in the garden and in the house.
So, after dropping off Laura at the airport, I went to the Agro-Vet store to buy poison to spray in the yard. Since I hadn't had time to burn a DVD for Laura with pictures of her time in Kenya, I took my computer to the airport with me. And though I never leave it in the car, I decided to leave my computer bag while I run into the bakery to buy bread. After all, you couldn't see the bag under the bag with poison.
Or so I thought.
After getting bread, I stopped at a street vendor to buy another pair of shoes for the kids. But the guy gave me a ridiculous price when I asked about a pair of used kids' shoes, so I wasn't even going to barter! I just laughed, turned away, and started walking to my car.
My car's higher than the average vehicle on the street, and when I looked down the road to where it was parked, I saw a man getting out of my car . . . with my computer bag in his hands!
The car was parked at least a good 50 meters (around 50 yards) from where I was right then, and I yelled, "NOOOOO!!!!" as I dashed down the road.
EVERYONE stared. Even the guy. He dropped my computer like it was about to explode and ran for his life. Literally. (In Kenya, mob justice is still practiced, and it's acceptable. If he ran with my bag, he'd be slowed down. If other guys caught him, they could literally stone him or kill him with sticks!)
In the few seconds it took me to get to my car, a crowd had gathered, asking if I'm OK, if the guy had gotten away with anything, if I had left the car open.
I was pretty shaken up, not sure for a moment if I was safe even in the crowd... "I'm OK. He didn't get anything. He busted the door lock." As I drove off, still shaking, people were staring. Some were saying how sorry they were. One guy said, "Praise God he didn't take anything." Praise Him indeed!
The corner of my computer is busted from being dropped from about 3 feet high, but it works fine. Nothing broke. Except for the lock to my car. The guy must've busted it with a screw driver.
Until I can get the lock replaced, I'd have to unlock the driver's door from the passenger side. But think about it: If the guy had busted the passenger lock (the side where the bag was, after all), I would not have seen him get out of my car! He'd have been protected by the vehicle itself!
So, as I head to bed tonight, it's with such a mixture of feelings.
Hope for our little friends down the road.
Relief that my computer didn't get stolen.
Frustration that my car door is busted.
Joy for having had friends around for the past two weeks (first Karen, then Laura).
Sadness for being back to a place where much of my journey is walked alone.
But the journey does continue. For now, Flannel simply has to endure listening to my stories.
Flannel, and you.
To read more about tungiasis, the condition my little neighbors have, visit this site.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Not for the fainthearted
I've been reading an article on the CDC Web site, thanks to a comment on my earlier posting. And judging by the pictures and descriptions, it seems that this is precisely what the children down the road have: sand fleas, or jigger fleas. The condition is known as Tungiasis.
I looked at the pictures, and they look exactly like what the kids have! An excerpt from the article says, "The female jigger flea penetrates into the skin of its host, undergoes a peculiar hypertrophy, expels several hundred eggs for a period of <3 weeks, and eventually dies. ... Within 10 days, the flea increases its volume by a factor of approximately 2,000, finally reaching the size of a pea. Through its hindquarters, which serve for breathing, defecating, and expulsing eggs, the flea remains in contact with the air, leaving a sore (240–500 mm) in the skin; the sore is an entry point for pathogenic microorganisms. The preferred localization for jiggers is the periungual region of the toes, but lesions may occur on any part of the body."
So, tomorrow morning, Laura and I will go with Ruth to carefully remove more of the sand fleas from the children's fingers and toes and inspect their little bodies for other infections. I realized that what I thought were rocks embedded into the young boys' feet may in fact be stage 2 lesions, as the flea's egg sack is growing.
The challenge with removing the egg sack is that one can easily break the sack and release the hundreds of eggs right into the sore! So it's a tedious process, and a VERY painful one at that. I'll take some candy for the kids to chew on to distract them. We'll also bathe the little ones again.
Please pray for the little ones for continued healing! I saw the girls today, and they look a big perkier. But there's still a long journey ahead.
Please also pray for us who are going to help, for protection from the very flies that are attacking the little ones. And for continued wisdom and discernment in dealing with the issues at hand - issues far deeper than egg sacks burrowed under their finger nails...
I looked at the pictures, and they look exactly like what the kids have! An excerpt from the article says, "The female jigger flea penetrates into the skin of its host, undergoes a peculiar hypertrophy, expels several hundred eggs for a period of <3 weeks, and eventually dies. ... Within 10 days, the flea increases its volume by a factor of approximately 2,000, finally reaching the size of a pea. Through its hindquarters, which serve for breathing, defecating, and expulsing eggs, the flea remains in contact with the air, leaving a sore (240–500 mm) in the skin; the sore is an entry point for pathogenic microorganisms. The preferred localization for jiggers is the periungual region of the toes, but lesions may occur on any part of the body."
So, tomorrow morning, Laura and I will go with Ruth to carefully remove more of the sand fleas from the children's fingers and toes and inspect their little bodies for other infections. I realized that what I thought were rocks embedded into the young boys' feet may in fact be stage 2 lesions, as the flea's egg sack is growing.
The challenge with removing the egg sack is that one can easily break the sack and release the hundreds of eggs right into the sore! So it's a tedious process, and a VERY painful one at that. I'll take some candy for the kids to chew on to distract them. We'll also bathe the little ones again.
Please pray for the little ones for continued healing! I saw the girls today, and they look a big perkier. But there's still a long journey ahead.
Please also pray for us who are going to help, for protection from the very flies that are attacking the little ones. And for continued wisdom and discernment in dealing with the issues at hand - issues far deeper than egg sacks burrowed under their finger nails...
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
I miss my Land Rover . . . and more
As I drove the team home after a long day of ministry in Kipkaren and a moving time of fellowship at a colleague's house, I dreaded getting stuck. It had rained much of today, and we were in the rear-wheel-drive Nissan minivan. It's one of the worst vehicles to drive through the thick mud. On top of the challenge of the rear of the vehicle fishtailing every time you accelerate, the van is not nearly far enough from the ground to make it through the deep mud tracks, so you bottom out more than you'd like to!
All that to say that we did NOT get stuck, which was nothing short of a miracle. I cannot wait to get my Land Rover back tomorrow! It's been in automobile intensive care for a few weeks. Feels like months. Tomorrow, I get to pick it up from ICU and drive it to Nairobi.
I'm taking Karen to Nairobi. We'll meet my friend Laura (missionary in Mozambique) at the airport tomorrow night. We'll have a 4th of July celebration dinner at a restaurant in town, and on the 5th I'll take both girls around Nairobi to see the Giraffe Center, the elephant orphanage, and more. Then Karen flies home, and Laura and I will go on a short safari to celebrate her 40th birthday. And to rest.
This time away couldn't have come at a better time for me. I've been both haunted and driven by thoughts of my new friends. As much as their faces keep coming to my mind, I know things are already better for them.
Several of you responded yesterday, saying you'd like to help. Starting this morning, the kids have received a quart of milk. They'll continue getting milk every day. And every afternoon, they'll get porridge delivered to their home. In order to fight the infection in their hands and feet, we've got to get their immune systems stronger. They've got to eat.
I packed a bunch of bananas as I headed out with the team this morning, determined to check in on the kids. But we ran into Jepkemboi on the side of the road, so we gave her the bananas. She gave a little smile. She had milk stains on her face. It made me smile.
We got them socks today, plus underwear and deworming meds. And a blanket for their dad. Though I wish I could just shake him, I believe God is telling us to love this man, to allow him to see God's love, and that the love will be what turns his heart.
Next week, Ruth and I will take the children to a pediatrician so they can get antibiotics. It'll probably be the first time ever these kids have ridden in a car. They will have been in public transportation before, but never a private vehicle.
The journey continues.
I am thoroughly aware of how blessed I am. Muddy roads despite.
All that to say that we did NOT get stuck, which was nothing short of a miracle. I cannot wait to get my Land Rover back tomorrow! It's been in automobile intensive care for a few weeks. Feels like months. Tomorrow, I get to pick it up from ICU and drive it to Nairobi.
I'm taking Karen to Nairobi. We'll meet my friend Laura (missionary in Mozambique) at the airport tomorrow night. We'll have a 4th of July celebration dinner at a restaurant in town, and on the 5th I'll take both girls around Nairobi to see the Giraffe Center, the elephant orphanage, and more. Then Karen flies home, and Laura and I will go on a short safari to celebrate her 40th birthday. And to rest.
This time away couldn't have come at a better time for me. I've been both haunted and driven by thoughts of my new friends. As much as their faces keep coming to my mind, I know things are already better for them.
Several of you responded yesterday, saying you'd like to help. Starting this morning, the kids have received a quart of milk. They'll continue getting milk every day. And every afternoon, they'll get porridge delivered to their home. In order to fight the infection in their hands and feet, we've got to get their immune systems stronger. They've got to eat.
I packed a bunch of bananas as I headed out with the team this morning, determined to check in on the kids. But we ran into Jepkemboi on the side of the road, so we gave her the bananas. She gave a little smile. She had milk stains on her face. It made me smile.
We got them socks today, plus underwear and deworming meds. And a blanket for their dad. Though I wish I could just shake him, I believe God is telling us to love this man, to allow him to see God's love, and that the love will be what turns his heart.
Next week, Ruth and I will take the children to a pediatrician so they can get antibiotics. It'll probably be the first time ever these kids have ridden in a car. They will have been in public transportation before, but never a private vehicle.
The journey continues.
I am thoroughly aware of how blessed I am. Muddy roads despite.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Adele's Update | July 2007
As I walked into my home earlier this afternoon, I broke down crying, my heart aching in a way I have never before experienced. …
This morning, I met four children whose little faces are now etched in my mind. I had heard of them last week when someone mentioned in passing that there are two girls living in a little hut in the cornfields, and they take care of their baby brother.
On Wednesday, I sent food to them, and I ran into the two girls on the side of the road on Saturday. This morning, I went to their home with two friends. We took a mattress and bedding, and told them we’d be back in the afternoon. We wanted permission from their father to bathe them. Here’s their story, some of it told by the oldest girl, some related by their neighbors, some by the father.
Kiprop, Nancy Jepkemboi, Joanna Jemutai and Kiparono
Maybe a year ago, shortly after the birth of Kiprono, their young mother left. What exactly the story is behind this, we won’t know. The dad says the mom is a prostitute. I don’t know. But she left her three oldest children (Joanna Jemutai, a very small 9, Nancy Jepkemboi, maybe 6, Kiprop, 4?) in the care of their father. He says he went to fetch the baby a few months ago, when he found out that the mom was drinking with the baby tied to her back, and that the baby was starving.
But now their dad is hardly ever home. He works in the area, weeding people’s fields. Colleagues who live next door say the man doesn’t come home till late at night, and when he does come home, he’s usually drunk.
I’ve seen the girls on the side of the road a few times recently, carrying water. I always waved and smiled, and on Saturday, I had a Kenyan colleague with me, so I stopped and visited a little. As I headed home, I knew I had to do something! I shared with Ruth, a Kenyan friend, and she immediately said that when I go, she’d go with me. She’s been praying, asking God to show her if there are neighbors who she is to serve.
Yesterday, Karen (a friend visiting from the US for a few days) and I bought a mattress, some sheets, and a blanket. This morning, Ruth, Karen and I walked just 10 minutes or so down the road to visit the girls and take them the bedding. We knew they’d also need a bath, but wanted to ask the dad first if we could do that later this week.
When we walked up to their home, I called, “Hodi?” (“Can I come in?”)
A little voice answered from within, “Karibu!” (“Welcome!”) and the door of the wooden hut swung open. Joanna’s little face lit up as she saw me, and she flung her arms around my waist. She had remembered me from our meeting on Saturday. But more importantly, her smile said, “You remembered ME!”
The smell of urine hung heavily in the small room and around little Kiprop, whom I lifted onto my lap. The children don’t speak any English, and Ruth started visiting with them in Nandi (a dialect of Kalenjin). As she related their story to Karen and I, I couldn’t fight the tears. It’s impossible not to be moved by their story.
We told the children we’d be back in the afternoon, and as we walked home, I asked Ruth, “How is it possible that they’ve been our neighbors, and we’ve never known of them? How many times have I driven past their house with a car full of food, not knowing that they’ve not eaten for days?”
But now we know. We know their names and their faces. And more importantly, they are sleeping in a clean, warm bed tonight for the first time in years. And the children themselves are clean for the first time since their mother left. Getting them clean, though, is what caused me to break down crying today…
We did go back this afternoon, taking with us a tub of warm water, soap, Q-tips, Triple Antibiotic Ointment, Band-Aids, tootbrushes and toothpaste, and towels. We found their father, Silas, at home. Ruth explained to him that we were caring neighbors, and we visited for a while. He told her the story of their mother leaving and said yes, we can give the children a bath. (When Ruth’s husband Philip came later, he visited with Silas while the dad was chopping wood. He encouraged him that even though he lost his wife, he should take care of the children as not to lose them, too. Philip shared with him that though life seems hopeless, there is hope in Christ. Philip will go back to visit more with Silas, and he’ll help him rebuild the floor of the house as it’s below ground level, causing the wooden hut to flood every time there is rain.)
While Philip was visiting with the dad, Ruth, Karen and I bathed the little ones. One by one, we placed them on a wooden stool and bathed them in warm water. And as we started washing their little hands and feet, I could do nothing but pray for God to restore them. If I didn’t pray, I would have broken down there and then and sobbed.
Their little fingers were black with parasites eating away at the tissue. And so were their little feet. I could not get myself to look at the soles of their feet, but felt every little pebble embedded into the necrotic tissue. I cut their nails, but some were so infected that I couldn’t come near them or they’d start crying. The four-year-old was brave, however. Even as we cleaned out an oozing boil on his leg, he hardly flinched. But later, as I rubbed his body in coconut oil and dressed him in clean clothes, he lay his little head back against me, hungry for some motherly love…
When we were done, we asked the father if we could put the mattress, sheets and blanket on the bed. He agreed, hesitating at first. But Ruth explained that we would like to do that so we could send a picture to the friends who bought the mattress. (In fact, I know she said it to make sure the mattress gets on their bed, not his.) As I removed the layers of rags from their bed, I gagged. Three children have been sharing this bed, and in the seven months they’ve lived there, I doubt the urine-drenched rags have ever been taken outside.
Philip ran home to get some socks and shoes for the children, and as we waited, I sang songs to them and then took out a little bottle of bubbles from my pocket. It seemed so little, but the kids had never seen anything like it, and even little Jepkemboi who had hardly smiled all day broke into a smile as she tried to catch the bubbles floating by…
As we bid the family farewell, I had a sense of hope. These children will know that Jesus loves them! I believe they’ll get to go to school someday, too. For now, they’ll come to Sunday school. In fact, Jemutai had already come this past Sunday because Philip had walked by them on the road earlier in the week. She had asked him, “Will you take us to the wazungus (the white people)?” He said she’s welcome to come to our place on Sundays. And so she came. I believe her family will get to know Christ through her!
So, what am I to do next? I’ve asked Mama Chiri (a neighbor) to take them a quart of milk every morning. Ruth and I will visit them at least weekly and check up on their wounds. We’ll bathe the little ones, and Philip will keep reaching out to Silas through friendship. And we'll take them food from time to time.
1 John 3:16-17 has been on my mind since I first heard of these children. As I shared with the visiting team and our Kenyan colleagues tonight, several of us were crying. “Show us how to love, Jesus! May we not miss the opportunities around us to show your love.”
Thank you for touching my little neighbors’ lives today through being part of this journey.
(In the last photo, next to me is Jepkemboi, then Kiprop, Kiprono, Jemutai and Ruth.)
This morning, I met four children whose little faces are now etched in my mind. I had heard of them last week when someone mentioned in passing that there are two girls living in a little hut in the cornfields, and they take care of their baby brother.
On Wednesday, I sent food to them, and I ran into the two girls on the side of the road on Saturday. This morning, I went to their home with two friends. We took a mattress and bedding, and told them we’d be back in the afternoon. We wanted permission from their father to bathe them. Here’s their story, some of it told by the oldest girl, some related by their neighbors, some by the father.
Kiprop, Nancy Jepkemboi, Joanna Jemutai and KiparonoBut now their dad is hardly ever home. He works in the area, weeding people’s fields. Colleagues who live next door say the man doesn’t come home till late at night, and when he does come home, he’s usually drunk.
I’ve seen the girls on the side of the road a few times recently, carrying water. I always waved and smiled, and on Saturday, I had a Kenyan colleague with me, so I stopped and visited a little. As I headed home, I knew I had to do something! I shared with Ruth, a Kenyan friend, and she immediately said that when I go, she’d go with me. She’s been praying, asking God to show her if there are neighbors who she is to serve.
Yesterday, Karen (a friend visiting from the US for a few days) and I bought a mattress, some sheets, and a blanket. This morning, Ruth, Karen and I walked just 10 minutes or so down the road to visit the girls and take them the bedding. We knew they’d also need a bath, but wanted to ask the dad first if we could do that later this week.
When we walked up to their home, I called, “Hodi?” (“Can I come in?”)
A little voice answered from within, “Karibu!” (“Welcome!”) and the door of the wooden hut swung open. Joanna’s little face lit up as she saw me, and she flung her arms around my waist. She had remembered me from our meeting on Saturday. But more importantly, her smile said, “You remembered ME!”
The smell of urine hung heavily in the small room and around little Kiprop, whom I lifted onto my lap. The children don’t speak any English, and Ruth started visiting with them in Nandi (a dialect of Kalenjin). As she related their story to Karen and I, I couldn’t fight the tears. It’s impossible not to be moved by their story.
We told the children we’d be back in the afternoon, and as we walked home, I asked Ruth, “How is it possible that they’ve been our neighbors, and we’ve never known of them? How many times have I driven past their house with a car full of food, not knowing that they’ve not eaten for days?”But now we know. We know their names and their faces. And more importantly, they are sleeping in a clean, warm bed tonight for the first time in years. And the children themselves are clean for the first time since their mother left. Getting them clean, though, is what caused me to break down crying today…
We did go back this afternoon, taking with us a tub of warm water, soap, Q-tips, Triple Antibiotic Ointment, Band-Aids, tootbrushes and toothpaste, and towels. We found their father, Silas, at home. Ruth explained to him that we were caring neighbors, and we visited for a while. He told her the story of their mother leaving and said yes, we can give the children a bath. (When Ruth’s husband Philip came later, he visited with Silas while the dad was chopping wood. He encouraged him that even though he lost his wife, he should take care of the children as not to lose them, too. Philip shared with him that though life seems hopeless, there is hope in Christ. Philip will go back to visit more with Silas, and he’ll help him rebuild the floor of the house as it’s below ground level, causing the wooden hut to flood every time there is rain.)
While Philip was visiting with the dad, Ruth, Karen and I bathed the little ones. One by one, we placed them on a wooden stool and bathed them in warm water. And as we started washing their little hands and feet, I could do nothing but pray for God to restore them. If I didn’t pray, I would have broken down there and then and sobbed.Their little fingers were black with parasites eating away at the tissue. And so were their little feet. I could not get myself to look at the soles of their feet, but felt every little pebble embedded into the necrotic tissue. I cut their nails, but some were so infected that I couldn’t come near them or they’d start crying. The four-year-old was brave, however. Even as we cleaned out an oozing boil on his leg, he hardly flinched. But later, as I rubbed his body in coconut oil and dressed him in clean clothes, he lay his little head back against me, hungry for some motherly love…
When we were done, we asked the father if we could put the mattress, sheets and blanket on the bed. He agreed, hesitating at first. But Ruth explained that we would like to do that so we could send a picture to the friends who bought the mattress. (In fact, I know she said it to make sure the mattress gets on their bed, not his.) As I removed the layers of rags from their bed, I gagged. Three children have been sharing this bed, and in the seven months they’ve lived there, I doubt the urine-drenched rags have ever been taken outside.
Philip ran home to get some socks and shoes for the children, and as we waited, I sang songs to them and then took out a little bottle of bubbles from my pocket. It seemed so little, but the kids had never seen anything like it, and even little Jepkemboi who had hardly smiled all day broke into a smile as she tried to catch the bubbles floating by…As we bid the family farewell, I had a sense of hope. These children will know that Jesus loves them! I believe they’ll get to go to school someday, too. For now, they’ll come to Sunday school. In fact, Jemutai had already come this past Sunday because Philip had walked by them on the road earlier in the week. She had asked him, “Will you take us to the wazungus (the white people)?” He said she’s welcome to come to our place on Sundays. And so she came. I believe her family will get to know Christ through her!
So, what am I to do next? I’ve asked Mama Chiri (a neighbor) to take them a quart of milk every morning. Ruth and I will visit them at least weekly and check up on their wounds. We’ll bathe the little ones, and Philip will keep reaching out to Silas through friendship. And we'll take them food from time to time.1 John 3:16-17 has been on my mind since I first heard of these children. As I shared with the visiting team and our Kenyan colleagues tonight, several of us were crying. “Show us how to love, Jesus! May we not miss the opportunities around us to show your love.”
Thank you for touching my little neighbors’ lives today through being part of this journey.
(In the last photo, next to me is Jepkemboi, then Kiprop, Kiprono, Jemutai and Ruth.)
Friday, June 22, 2007
Little Mom, Big Heart
Earlier this week, I had the honor of meeting a mother and son with smiles that etched itself in my heart. "Come on a home visit with me," Juli invited me on Wednesday morning. "You'd love to meet my new friends."On our way, Juli filled me in on the story. The mom, known to us only as Mama Daniel, had brought her son to our clinic in January. Both of them are little people, and the 5-year-old Daniel had problems with his spine. Our clinic staff referred him to the AIM hospital in Kijabe, the best hospital in the area for him to get surgery. "I always leave clinics crying," the mom explained to us. "But when I left your clinic, for the first time, I wasn't crying. I had hope." And so, last month, Daniel received corrective spinal surgery.
Last Sunday, this young mother had walked the 8 miles or so to church and has shared her heart at that time. Standing up in front of the congregation, hardly visible to anyone in the back, Mama Daniel shared how she had come to thank God for the surgery her son had received. She explained that she never went to church "because I always thought church can only be for tall people. But now I know that I can come here."
"What would you have me learn from this family, Lord," I wondered as I drove, pulling over to the side of the road a few times, asking for directions. Time and again, we'd be pointed to the next junction and told to ask there again. Everyone knew about this family, and my heart ached thinking about the challenges they face in a culture that is less than friendly to anyone with a handicap. And to make things worse, as Luyas, they hold tight to superstition.
In fact, the first thing I noticed about Daniel's baby brother is the string around his hips. I asked about it later, wondering if it has the same meaning as in Mozambique: a sign that the mother has taken the child to a witchdoctor for prayers of protection. I was told no, it's a wish for him to have big buttocks. (!)
Back to Daniel and his mom, though. The body cast, stretching from his hips all the way to his arms, may be limiting his movement, but it's not curbing his smile. Not even for a moment. I asked if I could take pictures, and the mom agreed with a smile as big as that of her son's. We asked about their family, about Daniel's health, about life. Every time, the 4-foot-mom answered with a big smile, "Mzuri sana." (Everything's very well.) Yet we weren't offered chai, certainly not because we weren't welcome, but more likely because the family had none to offer visitors.
As we went into their mud hut to pray for Daniel, his mom, and his little brother Darius, the mom removed the floral shirt her smiling son was wearing so we could see the cast. She asked that we also pray for her mother, who was traveling. Immediately after the prayer, Daniel said he'd like to see the car we came in. He's just like any other little boy, I thought. I hope he gets a chance someday to drive his own car. But in this culture, chances are slim.As we walked to the car, little Daniel's bare buttocks stuck out under his shirt as he walked hand-in-hand with Juli. He was smiling from ear to ear, excited about having had his own visitors for the day.
May he know you, Lord, I prayed. May he know the God who delights in him. And may he show others someday what it means to be a giant in God's army, his small stature despite.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)