After Seven Months … A Few Glimpes

Longonot

 

After living in Africa for seven months:

We are experiencing our first rainy season.

My wife would make my barber back home proud.

I have finally started running – a little intimidating on hilly terrain, at 6800 feet, in the homeland of the world’s greatest runners.

Urethroplasties don’t scare me any more thanks to Dr. Jeff Carney.

I have come to realize that meats and vegetables really do taste better without all the pesticides and antibiotics.

I still haven’t gotten used to living in a culture where complaints and sarcasm are as rare as hen’s teeth.

We have a new (four-legged) member of our family.

I have found that a patient’s pain tolerance is culture-dependent.

I’ve been taught that scary-looking sausage flies don’t hurt, but fuzzy caterpillars do.

I appreciate the beauty of simple living.

My obsession with punctuality has disappeared (and my wife is grateful).

I am able to successfully perform surgery with only a headlight.

My wife has learned to make Krispy Kreme-like donuts and wonderful chai (even the Kenyans say so).

I am able to drive comfortably on the “wrong” side of the road, dodging motorcycles, oncoming vehicles, pedestrians, livestock and potholes … but not quite brave enough yet to drive in Nairobi traffic.

I’ve noticed that rich worship happens on dirt floors.

Our family of six shares one bathroom and the world has not come to an end.

I don’t miss all the paperwork that was required to take care of patients in the states.

I am anxiously awaiting my first Kenyan Christmas.

I love sukuma wiki!

I say thank you, thank you to the person who told us to bring a lifetime supply of bandaids for our kids.

I am inspired by the enthusiasm, skill, and spiritual devotion of the trainees at Tenwek Hospital.

I no longer take clean water for granted.

The patient load continues to increase.

My understanding of generosity has been redefined by the Kenyan people.

I expect the unexpected.

The enemy still tries to distract and discourage, but I keep remembering Galatians 6:9.

I am as grateful as ever for the prayers, encouragement and support from our friends and family back home that allow us to continue serving the Lord and His people Kenya.

Blessings,

Paul

A Hard Day

Today has been one of the rainiest days since I arrived at Tenwek. It was raining when I walked to work this morning, raining as I traveled home for lunch, and raining as the day came to a close. And did I mention that it was also raining in between? Fitting weather to match my mood after a tough week.

One of the reasons I love the field of urology is that there are many conditions which are very well treated, bringing about significant improvements in quality of life. In addition, most patients recover completely without major complications. But most medical specialties at one time or another have to deal with some difficult, incurable diseases. Urology is no different.

Today, for the second time this week, I crossed paths with a patient suffering from a very unfortunate illness. These two almost identical cases left me with a heavy heart from not having the answer to my own question of “why?” Both of these patients were young Kenyan men in their early fourties. Both had initially presented to outside medical facilities with pain in the side of the abdomen. As with many patients at Tenwek, both of them had come to this referral center for a second opinion, hoping for a more encouraging prognosis than they had been given previously. Sadly, both of them had unresectable, incurable, cancerous growths in the kidney.

Metastatic, inoperative diseases are not new to me. In my young career as I urologist, even before practicing in Kenya, I have cared for patients with disseminated cancers of almost every urologic type. The disease processes are not so different here. The circumstances are.

In the states, most patients are able to find exceptional care and seemingly unlimited resources within a short drive. And for patients who deem the closest facilities unsuitable (which would epitomize the term “relative”), there are a number of internationally renown centers that specialize in cancer management. Services for patients with metastatic cancer include hospice centers, access to the latest chemotherapeutic drugs and high-tech radiation therapies, free enrollment into clinical trials testing novel treatments, and myriad analgesic medications to ensure pain-free disease progression. Not so here.

To its credit, I will say that Tenwek Hospital does a wonderful job involving chaplains and hospice personnel in the care of terminally ill patients. And I really don’t think that there are many, if any, places in Kenya where patients can get the degree of surgical care that is provided here. But as a whole, palliative options for patients with metastatic cancers are limited.

So back to my patient today. A young man and his brother had made the four hour trip from Nairobi to the western highlands with a glimmer of hope. Before introducing me to these two gentlemen, my resident (PAACS general surgery trainee) sat me down to review the patient’s CT scan. What I had originally heard was that the patient simply had a tumor of the kidney, which I felt confident could be resected. But as we scrolled through the images, I saw the cancer in his lung and spine. Unresectable.

My medical tool box seemed so feeble compared to what I had known in the states – no chemotherapy to discuss, no contact information to provide on hospice centers, no clinical trials in which to enroll the patient, no specialized pain clinic to refer the patient to when his spinal tumor becomes symptomatic. Just a sinking feeling from being the one to extinguish his flame of hope.

Parenthetically, urologists in training in the states learn very early in residency about the “too late triad” (Google it if you’re interested). The “triad” portion of this phrase describes three symptoms that can accompany patients with kidney cancers: flank pain, blood in the urine, and a palpable abdominal mass. The “too late” part implies that if a patient presents with these three findings, it is almost always too late to provide a cure.

“How can anything good come out of this visit?” I thought to myself as I concluded my explanation of his disease and its prognosis. I inquired about his family, his social support, and his faith. The encouraging news was that he was a follower of Christ. The discouraging news was that he had a wife and young children who would soon learn the details of his prognosis.

I did the only thing that I know to do in a moment like this. I asked if I could pray for him. It’s difficult to describe the humility and deep dependence on the Lord that are felt when the eternal intersects the temporal in this way. I certainly don’t deserve to be part of such an encounter, but whatever His reasons, the Lord has given me these opportunities.

Asking God to do the communicating, I put my hand on his shoulder and began to pray. During my pauses, as I waited for the resident to translate to the patient in Swahili, I began to discern the subtle sniffles. Seeing tears on a Kenyan face is a very rare occurrence, and in this moment I realized that my patient was broken. Perhaps it was discouragement from his prognosis. Perhaps is was fear of the unknown symptoms yet to come. Perhaps it was the weight of having to convey the news to his wife and children. “Lord,” I thought, “in a people who are already broken from so many other challenges in life, why more breaking?” My hope is that his tears were overflowing emotion from knowing that “the Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I reflected back on our encounter, where for a few minutes time seemed to stand still, and the Lord reminded me of Tenwek’s motto … “We treat, Jesus heals.” My patient will be healed. Not because he underwent extensive surgery and not because I could offer him some new chemotherapeutic agent. Rather, he will be healed because he knows Jesus. Whether on this side of eternity or the other, a cure lies ahead. Satan may hand us the “too late triad.” And to that I say Satan, here’s the “never too late triad” – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

As a doctor on the mission field, it helps to remind myself that when the dust settles at the end of the day or at the end of a life, Jesus heals those who have put their faith in him. Please pray that as we direct our efforts toward curing earthly diseases, we will always remind patients of the hope that can be found in the one who offers eternal healing, and that those who do not yet know the Healer will know Him soon and know Him well.

Blessings,

Paul