A Bit Fine: Part 1

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

The last three weeks have been difficult, exhausting, stretching, heavy, joyful, enlightening and worrisome.

At 4:30 in the afternoon on Wednesday, January 12, the fourth day of referendum voting, I was balancing on a seesaw with six pre-schoolers when a horde of kids went running from the soccer field to the clinic.  Milton Juma, a 10-year-old boy, had fallen 30 feet from a mango tree when a branch broke underneath him and he landed squarely on his face and chest.  Immediately his face began to swell and sweat covered his body as blood flowed from his ears, nose and mouth.  He was carried to the Harvesters Clinic by one of the teenage boys but we all knew that he would need a doctor, and fast.  My heart sank as I saw the faces of the boys who were playing with him, the boys who told him not to climb so high but to no avail, and I felt hopeless as Milton's brother and two sisters shed tears from shock, fear and pain for their brother.  All I could think was, "it's the dry season, the ground hasn't felt rain in weeks and the dirt is the equivalent of concrete.  Concrete.  How could a small body sustain the impact of a belly-flop onto concrete?"  

Milton - December 2010

The mango tree from which he fell.  The place where the branch broke is circled in red and Nicholas, who is about 5'5", is standing where Milton landed.  

Nurse Brenda and Mr. Morris (the orphanage administrator) quickly put Milton into the back of a Land Cruiser and left for the nearest doctor while the rest of the adults gathered on Pastor Pooshani's porch to pray and discuss options.  We quickly learned that all the doctors here had left because of the referendum.  All of them.  No doctors in town, no doctors in the bush, no doctors for miles.  My worry and fear for Milton quickly turned to hopelessness and desperation.  Concrete.  Earth like concrete on which he'd fallen.  Face first.  No doctors, not one.  Dear God, work a miracle.  

After driving around town for what seemed like hours Milton was finally checked in at the NPA (Norwegian People's Aid) clinic. There were no doctors there and the clinical officer was drunk, but there was an x-ray machine and we learned that maybe the x-ray technician would come in the next morning.  Maybe.  The updates, via Brenda, became worse and feelings of despair crept in like a rising tide.  Dear God, these circumstances feel so hopeless and I put all my trust in You, for there is no one else, only You.  

Milton remained conscious (amazingly) and complained of back pain while the swelling and bleeding continued.  Daylight was fading and the options for treatment became less attainable and more urgent as the words "he's lost a lot of blood... he should be taken to Uganda... if he makes it through the night..." were uttered.  He could be driven to Uganda, but by the time he got to the border it would be dark and the border would be closed so he would have to wait in the car until the next morning when the border reopened, and then drive a full day to the hospital in Kampala.  He could be flown to Uganda, but there are no commercial planes that fly in or out of here after 4:00pm because there are no lights on the runway and no air traffic controllers to guide them.  My feet stuck in the sand and the rising tide creeping up and up and up, slowly and unrelenting.  Dear God, sustain Milton through the night, heal his wounds, lessen his pain, comfort him, give him Your strength, fill him with Your peace, let him not feel the same hopelessness that is drowning me...