Weeks passed and Betty and her sister Safiatou came every day without fail to see us in outpatients. It didn't take long for every person in our department to fall in love with Betty. Although she was timid and ashamed during the first few dressing changes, we soon grew to know and love the real Betty that was hiding behind the massive ugly tumor and the shame that came with it. Betty latched onto me quickly and became very comfortable with me changing her bandages. We had a lot of fun on her visits, as I would play my African music from Sierra Leone, dance around and attempt to speak Krio. It made my heart so happy to see her smile and watch her sister laugh, even if that meant I had to dance around to the lyrics that I could barely remember. Betty and Safi grew to be more than "patient" and "caregiver"...they became our dear friends. The hope still lit up their eyes as they prayed and hoped that we would remove the tumor and be able to celebrate the new Betty together. I pictured what Betty would look like after she had her surgery. I prayed that her biopsy results would come back negative and that we would be able to do the surgery soon.
But the tumor began to grow rapidly and along with that, the fears of all of us began to rise. From one week to the next, the number of supplies that I needed for each dressing change was mulitplying quickly. Betty and her sister noticed it too and the look of hope in their eyes began to diminish. Biopsy results can take up to four weeks to come back here and the waiting time felt like an eternity. The agony of the waiting was almost as hard for all of the nurses as it was for Betty and her sister. But seeing how fast it was growing, I began to prepare myself for the worst. Betty was losing hope as well. We began talking about her three children one day and she fought hard to hold back the tears. Her husband had died two years beforehand and her youngest child was only five years old. "Please God, don't let her die," I begged silently. What would her children do without their beloved mother? Her youngest was so little that she would probably only retain a few faint memories of her mother if she died. I could tell that Betty was thinking about her children. Her tears began to roll down her cheeks and I did my best to hold back my own as they welled up in my eyes. I had to step out of the room before I broke down. "Please God, I know you can heal. Don't let Betty die."
A few days later, our team leader came back with a stack of new pathology results. "Betty's results are back and it's not good," she told me sadly. I started blankly at the piece of paper in front of me and read the awful word "adenocarcinoma." Her tumor was cancerous and they would not be able to operate. Betty had already left for the day and we were heading injto the weekend, so we wouldn't be able to tell her until Monday when our hospital chaplaincy team could meet with her. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said a silent prayer for God to prepare Betty's heart for the news that would follow.
Monday came and there was a sadness in the air. We told our translators the news that morning and they were struck with grief over this woman that we had prayed for together for God to heal. The moment Betty stepped in the door for her dressing change, I think she knew something was wrong. We all tried to smile, but the translators didn't want to come near to Betty because it was just too hard for them to face her and hide their own emotions. After her dressing change had been done, she and her sister went inside to meet with Clementine, our hospital chaplain. They were inside for a very long time and when they came back out, I was inside for an appointment and didn't get to see them before they got into the shuttle to go back to the Hope Center where they were staying. I was disappointed I had missed them and couldn't hug them and wipe their tears, but said a prayer for them and saved my hugs for the next day.
Betty and Safi walked into Outpatients the following day, heads hung low and sadness in their eyes. There were few words to say, just hugs to give. I began preparing the supplies for Betty's dressing change and Safiatou broke down in tears. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her and we cried together. I know that it's important to hold everything together at times as a nurse, but in that moment, I just needed to be a friend and share her tears. The tears I had been holding back began to pour out and we sat and cried together. I told her I was so sorry for the bad news and that I knew how scary it was to face losing a family member, that it was ok to cry, and that we loved them both. After a few minutes, I hugged her again and encouraged her to be strong for her sister. She wiped her tears and we began to do Betty's dressing change together. I wanted to give them a little more time to just process everything, but I had already been asked to begin the teaching process with Safiatou so that she and Betty would be ready to go back to Sierra Leone a few days later. As I explained what Safi needed to do, she mustered all the strength that she had and focused intently on performing Betty's dressing change as best as she could. She did a great job and I told that that we were now going to call her "Dr. Safiatou" and she responded with half a smile. We shared more hugs and the two of them headed back to the Hope Center.
The following day, we finished all of the teaching with Safiatou and Betty, gave them the huge box of supplies that they would use for the dressing changes at home, and gathered around them to say one last prayer. When I opened my eyes, Betty's tears were rolling down her cheeks. I brushed a tear away and thought of God's promise to wipe away all of our tears in heaven. I don't know when Betty will go home to be with Jesus, but I know she'll be in His arms soon. And when she gets there, she won't have an ugly tumor on her chin anymore....just a beautiful smile on her face and a heart full of joy...because when she enters into heaven with Jesus, she will experience the ultimate healing of the wholeness of His love.
Betty and Safiatou with our outpatients team
I often find myself overwhelmed by the suffering and pain I see around me in Africa. I ask God why he allows the pain, the suffering, and poverty. My heart aches over knowing that a woman like Betty would have a good chance at life if she had been diagnosed in my own country instead of a poverty-striken West African country where the resources of chemotherapy and radiation are not readily available. I question why God doesn't miraculously heal her for the sake of her three little children and her loving sister. But, the truth is, no matter how many times I ask why, I know that I will never fully understand until I get to heaven. Maybe God's plan of healing is not for Betty's tumor to be removed, but for the full healing and restoration of entering into heaven with Him, a place where no suffering and disease can exist. Even though I may not understand, I cling to the truth that God is good and that He does what is best for His children. So, I leave Betty in His hands and rest in knowing that she is headed to a better place.
The truth is, we live in a broken world, tainted by sin and evil. The truth is, people still die every day from treatable diseases all over the world. The truth is, life isn't always fair and even if I volunteer in Africa for the rest of my life, I won't be able to save everyone. The truth is, I don't have all the answers and I can't carry all the burdens I encounter. If I try to, I will be crushed under the weight of it all and unable to move forward and make a difference in the lives of those who I can help. So I have been reminded this week by the One who called me here that I can give my burdens to Him and allow Him to carry them for me. He is the only One who is strong enough to carry them anyway.
I'm not sure what God's purpose was in bringing Betty to us, but I am grateful to have known such a beautiful, strong, amazing woman. Even though she couldn't have her surgery, I know that the last month spent with her was not wasted. I feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to walk with her through a difficult part of her journey, to love her, and to help her experience a deeper emotional healing through the love of Christ. I look forward to the day that I see her in heaven and we can dance together in the presence of our loving Saviour.
I hold onto this hope and the promise that He brings
There will be a place with no more suffering
There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears
There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more
We'll see Jesus face to face
But until that day, we'll hold onto You always
~Jeremy Camp~
