I will post these few pictures and attempt a few brief explanations, but this is a painful post and one that my mind tries to push away.
According to a private blog by an anonymous poster, "In this government-run hospital lie the sickest and poorest children from all corners of the Philippines. Many of them are terminally ill and await a slow and often painful passing. Many of them die due to the lack of medicine costing less than $20... The drama and suffering in the NCH is beyond description. Unimaginable is also the parents pain. Many of them stay close to their children in the rooms, sleeping on plastic chairs night after night, on the floor or not at all, watching their children die before their eyes...
Care at the hospital is free, but parents must pay for the medicine. And if no money is available, then no medicine is administered.
There aren't many pictures of this day because it almost felt disrespectful to take them.
I didn't take a picture of the man who angrily told me yes, I could pray for his tiny baby girl with the sweet smile who looked as if she would not last but a few more days with cancer. He glared at me, and as I turned to leave I saw him bend to kiss her as the tears fell from his eyes onto her face.
I didn't take a picture of the several grossly deformed children suffering from hydrocephalus--their heads so misshapen and huge it made me almost nauseated to look...the ones who could have a brand-new life with the medical procedures available to us, but who will have no life at all because they were born in the wrong circumstances.
I couldn't take a picture of the stifling, suffocating heat that rose in waves as we walked from ward to ward.
I couldn't take a picture of the smell of death that surrounded us regardless of the masks we wore.
I couldn't take a picture of the depth of the pain in the eyes of the children...and the parents...and the caregivers.
I am still processing the depth of the experience.
I'm finding it hard to blithely breeze back into my familiar surroundings and just chalk it up to an expansion of my world view.
I feel so helpless. Is Matthew 25:35 my response? A one-time pat and prayer? What about tomorrow? And next week? What about those in America? What does He require?
God help me...
The sick little girl may never play with the frisbee... but her mom will try to create a soothing breeze to bring her a small comfort... |
Smiles. Just because it's a relief to know that somebody cares. |
Love and care has no language barrier. Warm touches and tears are universal. |
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The room labels scream. |
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Each name represents a suffering child, and a despairing parent. |
Her mother's heart is so filled with pain. Not one, but two of her precious children-- in the same bed--tearing her heart in two. Prayer...our love...the Father's love... |
The gift of a treat and a diaper or two. How I wish we could package an effective treatment in those pretty little bags... |
From the outside in. The world looks a lot different from the outside in. We can walk away...back to our comfortable rooms...back to our privileged lives. |
© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock