To Feel or Not to Feel

Today my heart was challenged with a choice that is never easy, and as I have learned over my years of nursing, never is going to be easy. I had to make the choice of allowing my heart to feel pain or not.

Today, our team visited a young mother of a 17 month old little girl who has been suffering with hydrocephalus – a medical problem in which there is too much fluid within the cranial cavity. I met this mother and her child a couple weeks ago at the clinic and the instant that I saw her little girl, my heart began breaking. She shared with me that her girl had been born a bit early, but was healthy for the first 3 months and my mind thought about my little niece and how precious she was to those around her at that age. I thought about the relationship that must have been created between this mother and her child over the past 17 months.........

The mother shared that she noticed the childs’ head start to get bigger after an infection and despite taking the child to the hospital numerous times and asking for help, there was no help to be found. A mothers’ love is a marvel on so many levels and I saw an even deeper aspect of that in this mothers eyes as she gently showed me her girl. As I began to examine her little angel, I felt the weight of the child’s head that could no longer be supported by her neck. I was met with the harsh reality that the child was going blind in both eyes and that her hearing was failing. I noticed that her reflexes were very sensitive and as I felt her soft hair, my fingers found a large soft spot on her skull that should have been closed months ago. I could see that this child was scared, as she was limited in her ability to know what was happening, and I so wanted to reach out and hold that child tightly so that she didn’t feel the fear that her body was showing. As her little fingers gripped mine, I felt the life and the spirit that was still living in this failing body and my heart broke. Again, I thought about my little niece Hope calling out her mothers name and running to her, and I knew that this child would never do that. I thought about the joy we felt when Hope took her first step, spoke her first word, and I knew that this woman would never see her daughter do those things. I thought about when Hope has been scared, and how her mother goes to her quickly so that she doesn’t feel that…… As I glanced at the mother, I saw love, a deep love for her daughter despite the extra care that was required. Not one word came out of her mouth about how sore her back must be from carrying her daughter around, or how hard she has to work each day. She didn’t mention the many kilometer walk she had made to bring her daughter to the clinic, or how tired she must be, she just wanted help for her little girl. I sighed deeply and prayer for strength because I knew that there was nothing medically that we could offer to this family.

Today as we walked into the little community where this family lived I saw the mother quickly getting chairs and setting out mats for us the familiar challenge came to my heart. I had to choose whether or not I allowed myself to feel the emotions that would come with this visit. My first thought was to become numb, to not allow it to permeate to my heart, to not think about what I would be feeling if this was my daughter, or my family. That would be easy, it wouldn’t require much investment on my part, and I could be as sensitive as I could and then just leave and forget. But again, the motto of the mission here, and the challenge to all of us of loving God and loving His people resounded in my mind and I knew that I couldn’t do that.

Early in my nursing career I made a promise to myself that when it got to the point where death was no longer hard, when I could see dying children and it didn’t affect me, when I stopped feeling, that I would stop nursing. That is because for me, nursing has always involved my heart, had always involved trying to imagine the pain that the people I am caring for are feeling. So as I sat on the mat and looked at the mother holding her dying child, I allowed the waves of pain to come and it took my breath away. As I spoke the stabbing words of no treatment available, no medications that can make this better, I saw the mother accept the destiny of her child in her own way and I choked back the tears. It felt like poison coming out of my mouth. If the weight of a dying child wasn’t enough, I learned that this young mother was alone most of the week as her husband worked away, and I tried to imagine carrying for a dying child and doing it alone. Even though this mother didn’t show much outward emotion, I knew that she was feeling grief that I couldn’t fathom. I imagined her crying in her hut at night, or feeling the anger and the confusion that many of us would. I thought again to my little niece and I knew that if her little life were in danger, that I would do anything within my power to change that, and I saw the exhaustion in this mothers eyes knowing that she was struggling with that and many other things. As she continued to breast feed her child, I saw the connection between them despite the many barriers, and I encouraged her that she was doing a good job. She shared that the child had already started to have seizures, and as I heard the complications that were happening, I prayed for mercy. It is a difficult prayer for many reasons because part of my heart believes that God can do miracles and that this child could be healed. But the other part of my heart also knows that God’s sovereignty doesn’t always involve what our minds think is best, and so I prayed that this life of this child would not suffer endlessly. I prayed for strength for the mother, that again I couldn’t fathom, and I prayed that God would not allow this mother to feel alone or for her child to feel the fear that I saw.

None of us that visited that family left the same; we were all impacted in one way or the other. But for me, the biggest impact came while we were leaving. If I had just been told that my child was going to die, and that there was nothing that could be done, I am sure that it would be so difficult to talk or to move or even breathe. I wouldn’t be thinking of anything except my child, and I certainly wouldn’t be thinking about the people who had just told me that news. But, as we left and I looked back, I saw the mother coming after us. She had strapped her child to her back, and she was walking us to our vehicle to thank us for the visit. She was honoring us and showing us her gratitude…….. I don’t know how to describe how that made me feel, but the tears came then and continue to as I think about it even now. What strength, what ability to continue with life despite the tidal wave of grief that had come, what endurance and ability to think about others instead of herself. It is hard for me to understand. I don’t know the time and date that the child will die, but I do know that as we left God stayed, that He will be present in that hut and beside that mother. I know that His arms are around her, and that He is calling that angel home where she will no longer be afraid, where she will run and sing, and feel joy. I know that God will continue to carry that family and many others here in Africa, and despite my struggle, the pain in my heart, the confusion in my thoughts, my spirit felt peace. To feel or not to feel continue to be a challenge, but for now, with the strength that I am being given each day, I am choosing to feel, to love those around me, to care, and to continue doing that. My prayers are with that family and will continue to be there for much time to come.

Suzanne