I spent my two shifts this weekend happily ensconced in B Ward with my wailers. They vacillate between best friends and mortal enemies at the drop of a rattle. But in between, they play and snuggle and crawl around the ward with their little casts banging against the beds and walls. And I love them.Saturday started like any other. Iron and vitamins all around. Assessments and vitals and over to A Ward to steal some supplies. While talking with the charge nurse, I overheard that President Sirleaf's son was coming to the ship and would be stopping by B Ward. This didn't register until several minutes later when I was standing there shaking his hand, introducing him to all the patients and walking him through the process for surgical correction of club feet. At which point I realized who it was I was talking to and said the first thing that came into my mind.
Your mom is an amazing woman.Smooth, Wilks. Really smooth. I just said your mom to the son of the president of Liberia. But he agreed with my assessment. Yes, she really is. And she put this on my calendar for me today. Told me, 'Don't forget! You have to go to the ship to visit!' Just another example of how surreal life on board this ship can be.
I also met Alfred on Saturday. He said he would like me to tell his story. Alfred suffers from Proteus syndrome, an extremely rare disorder (rare in the sense that the chances of being born with it are literally about one in a million) that causes overgrowth of skin and bones. You might be familiar with Proteus syndrome in relation to the 'Elephant Man' John Merrick, a circus sideshow in the late nineteenth century. There are only about a hundred or so cases worldwide, and Alfred is one of them. His right femur has been growing too fast, along with the toes on that foot. Two days ago, Alfred had his femur shortened and some of the growths taken off his foot. On Sunday, he went to church on the ward and he gave testimony.My name Alfred. Praise God. Before I came here, I was having a problem in my leg. Now I had a operation and the doctors they fix it. I want to thank God. I want to thank Mercy Ships. I want to thank my nurse here.After church, the doctors came to see Alfred, and they removed the dressing from around his thigh. He was disconcerted by the swelling in his leg, more than a little concerned that it was so big. As far as he could tell, the doctors hadn't really fixed the thing after all; it was still so different from the other one. We told him that it was alright, that the swelling would go away. He was clearly skeptical.
In standard little-boy fashion, he had to prove this for himself. Starting with his good leg, he used the span of his fingers to measure the distance from hip to knee. Head bent in concentration, he did the same on the other leg. Paused for a long moment. Looked up at me with eyes so full of wonder I almost started to cry.
It's the same.If I live to be a hundred years old, I will carry moments like that with me until the end.
