Apparently, the extra time needed to do this well was more than my pea-brain could handle. I simply had to neglect this blog for awhile, in order to keep my writing flowing elsewhere. I found myself writing a weekly garden column over the summer, typing my mother's memoir, and squeezing out time for my novel whenever I could, so nothing really lost "writing-wise." Happy about that, and it's good to be busy - as they say.
Finally, organization is starting to prevail, and I see that I really can handle more than I thought possible. Thus, I'm starting to blog again and it feels pretty darn good. I won't stress if no one visits for awhile (I've neglected you!), but I do hope to chat with some of you eventually. I've neglected updates to my friend's amazing Africa experience too on the Africa Mercy, a hospital ship that sails up and down the African coast with a team of doctors and nurses. I missed her return to Africa in August and share her August and September emails below. (More to come later and then I'll be more up to date).
Before I say adieu, CONGRATULATIONS
to ELIZABETH VARADAN!! She has a new
children's book out and I just love the cover.
Be sure to check it out!
Have missed you all!
Sharon
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2018-08-20, "Off to a Great Start"
After the customary 36-hour journey without sleep, I arrived in Conakry, Guinea last night to return to Mercy Ships for another seven months of being the scheduling nurse for the eye team. I must say, it was harder to leave home this time because my sister and I just got moved and settled into her house in Philadelphia, and I was getting really, really comfortable there. I was so focused on the move and settling in, it was hard to generate my usual enthusiasm for coming back to Mercy Ships.
No problem. About the time I got on the plane, my thoughts flew ahead of me, and the flame rekindled. Walking up the gangway was a thrill, a sense of being home (my second home). So many people have stopped to welcome me back—I feel loved in this community (in my other one, too!).
It’s a good thing I got a good night’s sleep last night. I, and many others, put in a thirteen-hour workday today. We held a mass screening event, screening for all the different surgeries that we do during the field service. Over six thousand people were screened, and about a quarter of those came to the eye team to be screened for cataract surgery. Of those, we scheduled over 300 adults and 15 children to come back for a full eye examination and possible surgery.
It’s hard to put into words the joy, the thrill, of being part of such an event. It tears at your heart to see so many people with medical problems, so desperate to snatch this opportunity for surgery that they nearly rioted outside the gates. We actually had to delay starting for a couple of hours while the police and our security forces worked to calm and organize the crowd. We didn’t dare open the gates; people would have gotten trampled. Eventually, we staged an end run—we opened a gate at the end of the line, where people were quieter. “The first will be last…” Anyway, it all worked out, and we were able to see everyone who came to be seen. You can hardly blame them for their frenzy—their options for health care are so limited, so a chance for a surgical slot with Mercy Ships is priceless. And being part of that priceless gift is the thrill of a lifetime for me. Oh, yeah. That’s why I’m addicted to this ministry!
If you are unenthusiastic about being on this newsletter list for yet another round of Mercy Ships stories, just let me know. It’ll probably be much like previous years, and I won’t be offended if you’ve heard enough already. But if you’re game, lets go for another ride together.
Blessings, Marilyn
2018-09-28, "House of cards"
As you remember, the advance container with the tents for the dock went on an extended world cruise, only arriving here in mid-September. Until then, we held our eye clinic in the room on the ship where we normally care for patients on the day of surgery. Meanwhile, the new tent, the one newly purchased for the eye clinic, had arrived and was used for the screening team. When the other three tents arrived, we were put in one of those and the screening team kept the new tent. It was a sensible arrangement.
Life in the tent has been fine, very convenient. If a day crew doesn’t show up for the Day of Surgery room, we can send one of the clinic people as a substitute. If we need something unusual, we can go get it. If I get tired, I can rest in my bunk for half an hour at lunchtime. If, as happened today, one of our post-op patients has a seizure in the clinic, we can fetch a doctor, do labs, get medications from pharmacy, and generally deal with the problem.
A few nights ago, we had quite the rainstorm. The new tent, already defective and leaking, collapsed completely. Since it was 2:00 am, no one was in the tent, so no one was injured. Not only that, none of the equipment inside was damaged. The tent has been declared unsafe, however, so the screening team had to move out. Everyone who had been working in four tents now had to crowd into three.
Now they have decided that that arrangement isn’t working so well, so they have decided to relocate the eye clinic to somewhere north of here an0d give our tent space to the other teams. In about a week, we will have to move again and set up the clinic for the third time. Then we’ll have to call a bunch of patients to tell them of the new location—hopefully we’ll be able to reach them and they will be able to find us. The clinic site is a substantial drive away from the ship, so we won’t be back for lunch, and the days are likely to be long and the commute tedious. If patients have post-op complications, I suppose someone will have to drive them to the ship, leaving us short-handed in the clinic. If we need something we don’t have handy…too bad. It is not an ideal situation, that’s for sure, and I, for one, am not happy about it.
Last year, when they were tentatively planning to locate the clinic far away from the ship, I decided that I would not come under those circumstances. When they bought a tent for us to be on the dock, I was elated. But now, I’m here, and now they are going to do just that, move us far away from the ship. I suppose I’ll adapt, but for today, I am grumpy about it. It does feel like the poor eye team lives in a house of cards, never secure in our accommodations, always the first to be kicked to the curb. Harumph.
--
Marilyn
As you remember, the advance container with the tents for the dock went on an extended world cruise, only arriving here in mid-September. Until then, we held our eye clinic in the room on the ship where we normally care for patients on the day of surgery. Meanwhile, the new tent, the one newly purchased for the eye clinic, had arrived and was used for the screening team. When the other three tents arrived, we were put in one of those and the screening team kept the new tent. It was a sensible arrangement.
Life in the tent has been fine, very convenient. If a day crew doesn’t show up for the Day of Surgery room, we can send one of the clinic people as a substitute. If we need something unusual, we can go get it. If I get tired, I can rest in my bunk for half an hour at lunchtime. If, as happened today, one of our post-op patients has a seizure in the clinic, we can fetch a doctor, do labs, get medications from pharmacy, and generally deal with the problem.
A few nights ago, we had quite the rainstorm. The new tent, already defective and leaking, collapsed completely. Since it was 2:00 am, no one was in the tent, so no one was injured. Not only that, none of the equipment inside was damaged. The tent has been declared unsafe, however, so the screening team had to move out. Everyone who had been working in four tents now had to crowd into three.
Now they have decided that that arrangement isn’t working so well, so they have decided to relocate the eye clinic to somewhere north of here an0d give our tent space to the other teams. In about a week, we will have to move again and set up the clinic for the third time. Then we’ll have to call a bunch of patients to tell them of the new location—hopefully we’ll be able to reach them and they will be able to find us. The clinic site is a substantial drive away from the ship, so we won’t be back for lunch, and the days are likely to be long and the commute tedious. If patients have post-op complications, I suppose someone will have to drive them to the ship, leaving us short-handed in the clinic. If we need something we don’t have handy…too bad. It is not an ideal situation, that’s for sure, and I, for one, am not happy about it.
Last year, when they were tentatively planning to locate the clinic far away from the ship, I decided that I would not come under those circumstances. When they bought a tent for us to be on the dock, I was elated. But now, I’m here, and now they are going to do just that, move us far away from the ship. I suppose I’ll adapt, but for today, I am grumpy about it. It does feel like the poor eye team lives in a house of cards, never secure in our accommodations, always the first to be kicked to the curb. Harumph.
--
Marilyn