Author Archives: Carroll

Better Medical Care

3 Replies

http://www.livingundertheshadowofhiswings.com/2016/05/the-hospital-decision/

My heart leaped when I saw my two daughters walk into the Guatemalan hospital room. Only God could bring all their plans together. They lived in different states and had jobs, so meeting in Dallas to fly to Guatemala on short notice took some maneuvering. A dear Guatemalan family opened their home and provided the necessary translation and transportation for them. With God’s hand upon me, we flew home, for better medical care, the day after the hospital released me.
I sat on the plane, in a medicated state, breathing refreshing oxygen and sitting with my helpful children. I felt like I had a little bit of heaven right there with me, and I saw the unfolding of my desire to return home. I didn’t realize I would wake up to a reality that would bring another change into my world.

Stacie and I met friends at the airport who hustled us to the emergency room. Dr. Rodriquez, my doctor in Guatemala, suspected I had three blood clots and had me on a blood thinner. That meant I needed continued treatment. I had the medication with me, but the orders were to get to the hospital. He had given me the test results, and armed with copies of the X-rays and CAT scan, I obediently delivered all of these to the medical people in the hospital, only to discover that they meant nothing. These people wanted their own exam results. They didn’t see any clots, and the 88 percent oxygen level didn’t meet the standard 86 percent required for admittance. By this time, I wanted to shout hallelujah and climb into a cozy bed at my daughter’s house.

The next day, I contacted a doctor friend from Arkansas and gave him an update. He commented that clots are easy to define, and with the hundreds of people praying for me, I had seen a miracle in my body. I then checked in with the primary care physician, who gave me more medication and inhalers, noting that I needed appointments with the sinus, lung, and allergy specialists. From there my health turned downward.

Scheduling the medical appointments seemed to take forever, and I couldn’t see the lung specialist for two months. My frantic call to the primary care doctor got me in a month sooner. While waiting in the office of the allergist, my thoughts returned to my care in the Guatemalan hospital. Seeing specialists and testing moved at a faster pace than what I saw happening here.

I remembered the nurse, carrying a tray, came in and checked my blood pressure and pulse. I watched closely as she hung a bag of solution next to the sugar water and inserted the syringe into the IV tube. “What medication is that?” I asked, feeling a coolness as the new liquid entered my body.

“This is the antibiotic azithromycin,” she replied, as she adjusted the drip.

She probably hadn’t made it out of the doorway before I fell back to sleep, only to wake up fifteen minutes later to a horrible burning pain in my hand where the needle lay under layers of tape. I waited ten more minutes and then pressed the help button.

A different nurse rushed in and listened to my description of the burning pain. I asked her what caused the fire in my hand and up the arm. “If the drip is set too fast with an antibiotic, it will feel like it is burning. I will slow it down, and the pain will subside. Call me if it is still hurting you.”

I thanked the nurse and watched the slower drip. Within another fifteen minutes, the pain subsided. It comforted me to know what caused the burning and that the nurse knew what to do about it.

All of the medical people in Guatemala gave me good medical care. I felt peace in the hospital and that the people there held my care as important. In the depths of my fears, the Lord responded to me with His unconditional love.

My ten-minute visits with the doctors here in the States showed me that I was only a statistic to them, and they commented that I had to learn to live with my medical problems. These doctors only had the reports of tests and the few bits of information I could give in the short few minutes with each one. I thought of Dr. Rodriquez in Guatemala and the times he mentioned doing research with my situation. He discussed my health status with the other doctors who got called into my case. Our time in his office usually ended after an hour and included an extensive discussion about the medication possibilities of what might work best.

The Lord patiently showed me something that changed my whole perspective on my health issues. He would take care of me even in a developing country. I had taken the “bull by the horns” thinking that I had to go back to the States for better medical care, only to find that I had the best care in Guatemala City.

The Hospital Decision

4 Replies

Dr. Rodriquez’s words created a lightning strike to my heart. “You will not make it back to Monjas, and you need to check into the hospital immediately.” I could handle the hospital part if I lived in the States, but being in a third-world country brought up major concerns. I knew of stories from missionaries that I based my thoughts upon, and I could hear the warnings in my head, yet it seemed the hospital decision had already been made.

With tears, I looked at Vanessa, who graciously brought me to the City, for any input she had and caught her nods. I had one choice if I wanted to live, and I didn’t want to verbalize it. My mind accelerated in a different direction as the doctor examined me.

One of the hardest times missionaries can face happens when there are physical issues and decisions about medical treatment need to be made. One such unexpected time happened to me after several bouts of sinus infections, pneumonia, and bronchitis. I had coughing episodes that lasted for an hour, leaving me totally wiped out with breathing difficulties. I had found a Guatemalan respiratory specialist who had been trained in New Orleans and spoke perfect English. I assured myself that with the right medication, I would rise up in health and continue my work at James Project of Latin America. This was my plan for this visit, until the doctor popped my bubble with the hospital idea.

On this particular day, I had traveled the three hours for an appointment, thanking the Lord that I did not have to drive. I had a coughing fit before the appointment, where I called upon the Lord to help me breathe. At the doctor’s office, I took a step up the stairs, waited, and then took another step until I made it to his floor. That feat did me in and stirred up more coughing. The doctor could see my true health situation as he evaluated treatment.

During the exam, I described a pain I had behind the ribs under my left breast. Dr. Rodriquez suspected a blood clot as the reason for the pain and said I needed to be on an anticoagulant. After checking out my peak oxygen flow, oxygen level, blood pressure, and pulse, the doctor sternly said I needed to get to the emergency room. He proceeded to list the exams I would need to help with the decision for treatment. There would be X-rays, cat scans, blood tests, nuclear solution testing, and allergy testing. As he listed each test, it furthered my resolve to speak the words in my head as panic gripped my heart.

“I just want to go home,” I whispered. “Please help me get home.”

The doctor’s head jerked around to catch what I said. I continued with my pleading that I wanted to go back to the States. “Can you get me well enough to travel back to Missouri?”

Frowning, the doctor said he could stabilize me in seventy-two hours for travel. Obediently, I entered the hospital and helping hands put me on the portable bed. They placed an oxygen mask snug on my face, and I started breathing air with some substance to it. “Oh my goodness!” I said. “I feel differently breathing real oxygen. I will take it any day over gold and riches. I can’t believe how much better I feel.” Vanessa smiled as she listened to my babbling and watched the attendants prepare me for a hospital room.

God’s soothing presence settled upon me while I laid in the hospital bed. The nurses began to prepare for the many tests needed. Vanessa made stateside phone calls to inform my family of the situation, and within hours, they decided to come and travel with me to the States after the hospital release.

With my fears abated, I realized that God had me covered and sent the help I needed. After making the hospital decision and staying there for three days felt the same as in the States except for a different language that echoed in the halls. I received professional care and responded to the treatment. I proceeded in the lifelong walk of learning to trust in the Lord. He said He would never leave me nor forsake me and that He knew my needs and would act accordingly. I think I mentioned before that I’m a slow learner.

Transition: Part 2

1 Reply

Transition: Part 1

I couldn’t believe it would take persuading our older girls to experience the freedom found in making the transition by living in a house in Monjas. I thought everyone would grab hold of the idea, but instead, we saw a resistance because of fears. We needed to nudge them out of the nest. Lord, please break off the fear that has risen in these girls’ hearts. Help them to feel at peace with these changes in their lives.

We didn’t find a perfect house in our small town, but the one we found would work for the seven girls. I felt comfortable that they would live two blocks from me and be close for any emergencies. Moving day came, and the girls began to feel more relaxed with living in town instead of the country.

198453_1925761872064_1482687191_2200626_1808604_n“Yes, girls, you can go to the tienda, but you need to let the tios (aunt and uncle) know before you leave.” I laughed at the many trips they made to the store without making a purchase, just because they could. Some of the girls took the privileges and ran with them, and others wouldn’t step out the door.

Within two weeks, the complaints began. The tios wanted to control the girls instead of allowing them some free rein. They thought that if the girls made too many bad choices, it would reflect upon them. They falsely believed that without control, their jobs could be lost. The girls resented the iron grip upon them, and signs of rebellion popped up, with disrespect from both sides.

My head spun with what needed to be done to bring balance to this newly formed family. Joanne and I had a long talk with the tios, and we told them that the girls might not always make right decisions. The girls would learn from the consequences that came with those decisions as part of their learning experience.

“When growing up did you make the right decision every time? I sure didn’t, and I learned more from my bad choices than I did from the good ones. You will not be held responsible for such decisions,” Joanne explained.

At our meeting with the girls, we challenged them by asking for one negative and one positive comment about living in Casa Magdalena. It broke my heart to see the tears and hear of the hurts residing inside them. Pride seemed to rule, and nobody can make a person forgive another, but these girls asked to be forgiven for their wrongs.

I thought we would see the tide move in a positive direction, but that did not happen, and we landed on square one again. The tios, with a locked-in mentality of controlling parents, couldn’t let go. Lord, why is this important goal so hard to pull together?

We counseled with the tios and discussed the situation with others for any source of wisdom. We came to the conclusion that we should find another couple who could be counselors for the girls. The Lord had already touched the hearts of a couple, who came to us saying they wanted to work in this position. I wanted them to repeat their words to make sure I heard correctly. The kids already loved this couple as directors and teachers at the school. We said yes, and the transition program took off with only a few adjustments. Casa Magdalena, named after Mary Magdalene in the Bible, became an important component in the plans for the older girls who reside at Shadow of His Wings Orphanage.

Transition: Part 1

1 Reply

As the girls got older, it became apparent that our present program for them needed to change. At eighteen, a girl could walk out the gate if she desired to leave the orphanage. Only a handful of them followed through with this legal right, and the population of older girls continued to grow. These girls needed to transition from children to functioning adults in a country with limited opportunities in every area of life. We faced the responsibility to set the scene for that to happen. Oh, Lord, only you can make it possible.

I couldn’t imagine any of them living on their own because they didn’t even know about budgets, how to pay the electric bill or what it entailed in renting a house. Some of these girls confessed to the fear they felt when allowed to go into Monjas for shopping. No way would they ride a chicken bus after hearing the stories of the violence that took place on the buses. Something had to be done to prepare these girls for the future outside of Shadow’s gates. Still being part of Shadow family, they needed to know about independent living. Time to put our heads together and figure out the best way for this to happen in a developing country. Our experiences in the States did little to help us with a transition program.

At the planning, we discussed what we wanted to see happen in their lives. Many of these girls had limited shopping experiences in the supermarket, and many didn’t know how to count out money. I remembered taking them to HiperPaiz and having them hang onto my arm as if they could be kidnapped at any moment. They lived protective lives in Shadow and needed to experience the outside world but in a safe way. That meant we needed to find a house in Monjas for these girls to live out what they needed to learn.

At nineteen or twenty, the girls didn’t need a parent hovering over them but someone to guide and counsel when needed. We also wanted a male figure in the house for the protection of the girls. The wheels turned, and we developed an outline for the future.

Lord fill us with Your wisdom. We need Your plan. Having raised four children, I could apply what I knew, but we lived in a culture that had obstacles for finding housing and jobs. After much discussion, we piloted the transition program for girls who turned seventeen. The thought excited me that we could continue in the lives of these girls teaching them skills and seeing major differences in lives.

SAM_2566Joanne and I called a meeting to share the idea with the girls seventeen or older. “Girls it is time for you to have a life outside the walls of Shadow and learn how the adult population functions. We are going to move you into a house in Monjas, so you can learn how to shop, how to pay the electric bill, how to budget money, purchase food items, how to cook and many other activities that you will be required to do when you leave the orphanage. You will have an aunt and uncle living with you to help with the many decisions and choices you will be making. They will be there to guide you.”

Surprisingly, I heard groans. “We don’t want to leave our family or our house parents,” said Lil.

“You will still be connected with your family just as the young people in the States do when they leave home. You will come here for visits, go to church services together, come for important occasions, and can have contact by phone when you can’t come for a visit,” assured Joanne.

I saw heads shaking and knew they didn’t want to leave the orphanage because of fear. I thought of the mother eagle who booted the youngsters out of the nest when it came time to fly. If they resisted, out they went with no other option but to flap those wings. Our young ladies would be encouraged to flap their wings as they followed the transition plan.