unfinished business

I'm sorry for the long silence. Truth is, I'm in a weird place right now. I've been sicker than I really realized over the past few weeks, and I'm just now coming out of the fog enough to realize how much has passed me by. Maybe it'll be better once I'm well and not so worn out, but I'm overwhelmed by the sense that things are just unfinished here.

I mean, they're not really unfinished. There's nothing left to do; the wards are closed. The last patients went home on Friday, Eddie and Kwelywoh to the MSF hospital for further care. Dr. Gary reported to me today that Kwelywoh's CSF drain is working well and that the swelling between his eyes is gone; he might not need any further surgery. Back on the ship, the hospital is silent and mostly dark, wards piled with mattresses and bed frames and supply carts all lashed together and tied down to bolts in the floor, ready for the sail.

But I missed all that. I wasn't there to kiss Eddie's little face before he headed out the door, and I wasn't there to feel the gentle weight of Kwelywoh's body as he leaned up against my legs, beaming up at me in one last search for stickers. I couldn't even help with the cleaning and packing up, since the thought of dust and chemical fumes was enough to send my lungs into a full-scale revolt against the rest of my body.

There were parties, celebrations for all the translators and disciplers and the myriad other dayworkers who have served alongside us during this outreach. The ship was full of friends, dressed in their finest, and I couldn't find the energy to greet them all, or to say my farewells. They've all left now, gone back to their homes for the last time and I didn't get a chance to tell them I loved them.

I'm sad and I'm frustrated and it kind of feels like I got cheated. I've been here since the beginning. I made it through screening day, I helped open up the wards and welcomed the very first patients. I cared for three of the little boys who went to Jesus over the past months. I have seen so many patients come back for multiple surgeries, greeting me like an old friend as they're re-admitted.

And now, now that it's all over and done with, I feel like I missed the end, and that's not good. I'm not sure how to leave this country when it feels like my chance to say goodbye passed me somewhere last week while I slept through yet another day. I hate feeling like this, but I'm not sure I have the chance to change it; we sail before Sunday.

I just wish it didn't all seem so unfinished.