Charis Around the World

Tidbits From Ebony
by Elizabeth Carmichael
December 2010


 

Dear Charis Family,

Greetings not from Ebony this time, but from nearby!! I am out for a break.  It has only been a little over twenty four hours since I left the country, yet I feel significantly more refreshed.  I scheduled this time away because I knew that my first couple of months back in after such grief and loss would be very intense and emotionally draining.  I am headed to the Philippines for a week to catch up with old friends, catch some rays and do my heart a little good before returning to Ebony for Christmas.

This month, I wanted to tell you a little bit about just one, tiny.....very tiny......part of my life recently.  This little part is very tiny, but very important because she is a little, tiny, tiny babygirl.  Enjoy getting to know her.

ZARRAJAN

BANG. BANG. BANG.  My hand and fingers are tingling in a slightly painful way as, exposed to the cold, dry air, I bang on the metal gate surrounding the hospital compound.  It is dark and no one is around.  The only light for my feet on the rocky path to the gate is the glare from my taxi's headlights.  A little slit in the gate opens up and two brown eyes stare at me inquisitively.  "I'm here to go to the NICU."   I say in the local language.  The metal flap slams shut and I hear metal on metal as the guard pulls the lock open on the gate.  He lets me come on through and I head across the cement drive towards the main hospital building, by-passing the female body check because no female guard is on duty at this time of the morning.  I guess they are only worried about people carrying weapons in during the day!

The air is so chilly and crisp as I walk.  I can see the mountains rising up like shadows draped against the slow and lazy dawn.  Walking in to the main lobby, I'm greeted only by florescent lighting and silence.  A man is asleep in the corner, curled up into a squatting position in his chair, his turban slipping off his head.  I walk down the hallway and pass two men without looking at them.  They are deep in conversation and appear to have come into the city from a very far away village.  Further down the hall, an old man comes toward me, shuffling his feet along the floor, carrying a cloth sack over his shoulder.  He has big, thick glasses on his wrinkled, bearded face.  "Hello, Uncle.  How is your patient doing?"  This is the common greeting in the hospital when you meet someone you should pay respects to, but whom you don't know personally.  Because he is an old man, and because he was looking directly at me, I took the liberty to speak to him.  He opened his nearly toothless mouth and began telling me about the patient he brought in to the hospital.  I don't understand most of his speech because it is in a language I haven't studied.  But, I do understand him when he says,  "We don't have enough money.  We don't have enough money."  I try to look at him with compassion, and I know this particular hospital will offer generous help to any who are truly in need of it.  So, I simply wipe my right hand over my face, cupping it closed under my chin.  This indicates that I have offered a prayer on his behalf and that I hope God will have mercy on him and his "patient."  "God is merciful.  God is kind."  I say.

I continue on my journey to the neonatal ICU, through the twists and turns of dark hallways that smell of bleach and mold at the same time.  When I finally reach the double doors I am looking for, I push them open and warmth envelops me.  I greet the nurses and the cleaning lady who are quietly going about their business.  One of the nurses is kneeling and prostrating himself on a prayer mat on the floor in the middle of all the incubators which line the entire room along the outer wall.  There are 18 babies in the NICU this morning.  It is a busy time.  Thank God this NICU exists!!  Babies like them who came along five years ago would not have had this option....

After washing my hands, changing my shoes and putting on the appropriate covering, I head over to the baby I am here to see.  Her name is Zarra.

I first heard about Zarra when an announcement was made in the foreign community that an abandoned baby was in need of kangaroo care.  "Kangaroo care" is the act of holding a baby so that their body is interacting with the skin of the torso of another human--male or female.  It is intentional "skin to skin" time which is very therapeutic to all babies, especially sick ones.  Zarra had been through some rough patches, but now there was no reason for her not to be growing, yet she couldn't seem to gain weight.  When there is no other reason left, from a technical point of view, it becomes clear that a baby is in need of skin to skin contact with other humans.  It is essential for life and growth!

Zarra was born with a twin sibling.  The other baby was healthy at birth, whereas Zarra was weak, with no fat on her bones.  Either at delivery or shortly thereafter, Zarra required abdominal surgery to clear an obstruction.  Because of her condition, her mother didn't feel able to care for or attend to her.  The family was sure she would die.  Her mother left her at the hospital and went home with the other baby, but a grandmother stayed on.  The nurses tell me that, for about a week, the grandmother would come to visit Zarra about once a day.   They said she objected to other women donating breast milk to her and that she talked about Zarra in very negative tones, peeking her head in and out of the NICU and saying things like, "Has the baby died yet?"  After a few days of this, the grandmother told the staff that she would return in two hours and they never heard from her again.

Family members can behave like this in any country and any cultural context, as we well know.  But, the kind of abandonment and hopelessness depicted by Zarra's family is especially common here because they have endured so much loss and they haven't had the benefit of experiencing life saving scientific advances which are evident for generations at a time.  Their opportunities for health care come and go with regime changes and in between all kinds of warfare.  They have no concept of the fact that, with the right care and conditions, Zarra could live past five years old, then she could live to ten years old, then she could grow up and be a delightful woman.  They can't even conceive of it.

When I met Zarra, she was two months old and no family had been to see her in weeks and weeks. When I first saw her, it would have been easy to be put off by the look of her, but the feeling just overwhelmed and overcame me that this was a little person in need of other people and in need of Jesus.  Her face and body had no fat on them.  All the bones of her still forming skull, her arms, chest and back were exposed.  She was so small.  A long scar formed a crescent across her upper abdomen.  When she was fed through her feeding tube in her nose, I could tell that she felt pain.  She could only be fed laying down, so, while the nurses accomplished this task, I just cupped my hands around her trying to give her some of the human interaction she craved.  I prayed for her as I tried to position my pinky in her palm.  When a baby wraps their fingers around something and grasps on, not only is this an important sign of development, it also releases a pleasurable and comforting hormonal reaction for them which can contribute to or indicate things about overall health.  Zarra has had a great grasp reflex from the beginning!  I could tell she is a fighter!

I try to talk to Zarra as much as possible whether I am holding her or not.  I ask her how she is doing and feeling.  I tell her she is loved and not alone.

Sometimes Zarra has a hard time entering into a time of kangaroo-ing.  I bring her into the skin at the middle part of my chest.  I try to calm myself and my breathing, so that as she feels my heart beat and breathes, and hears my voice it isn't too fast or stress-filled.  Sometimes it is hard, though.  She acts like the contact itself is painful to her at first.  She struggles against sleep, warmth and the intimate interaction for about 15 to 20 minutes every time.  I try to just remain still and she almost always settles right in and falls asleep.  Sometimes, she just quiets down and looks up at my face.  Her face is so small that I don't even know how to describe it.  She looks kind of like those aliens you see on TV where the eyes are really big and dark and the chin kind of comes to a point, making the face appear as a tear drop type shape.   (I say all this with great affection!)  Her little black eyes connect with mine and just blink and stare.  I try to smile and let her see that someone isn't just looking away, isn't just busy with other duties or just bustling around "over" her, but someone is looking at her and is with her.

Zarra has started to gain a little weight lately, but it is hard to tell.  I have been visiting her as often as possible, and have even asked my staff to go when they are able.  It is exciting to see her striving for life and to see the Lord blessing her with so many loving people to come and hold her.  Several local women who also have babies in the NICU are donating their breast-milk to her.  In this culture, that means she will never be able to marry their children (because now they are "milk siblings"), but I think that is OK with her!  The nurses have noticed that, since receiving the donated breast milk, she has been able to eat without vomiting and has less pain.  Isn't it wonderful that these lessons are being confirmed to them before their very eyes!

It was an exciting day for me when Zarra started being able to root around and look for something to eat even though I was holding her upright against me.  To me, it was a sign that she is developing and growing.  She has also started pinching me when she's not happy.  My niece, who has battled a rare liver disease, especially at the beginning of her life, is also a pincher!  I kind of see it as a baby's way of saying,  "HEY! If you pinch ME (with IV's and tubes and all the "handling"), I will pinch you back!"  I love that she is growing stronger.  Sometimes, even though I realize that she can't spare many calories with crying or being upset, I picture her body using those times to build some muscles as she struggles against my soft body.

The last day I saw Zarra, she didn't struggle at all.  She must have been tired because she just settled in and slept so hard that I had the urge to check on her breathing every few minutes!  She was so content.  Although the sounds around me were driving me crazy--early morning religious messages the nurse was playing over the radio, the beeping of incubators, the ticking of the clock--Zarra and I were in our own little world and I just sang "Jesus Loves You" over her for two hours.

During my time with Zarra, I've been able to meet many male nurses (almost all the nurses in the hospital are male) and also some visiting midwives from all over the country, especially Pushpin areas.  It has been an honor to speak with them and know them.  But, it has been especially an honor to know Zarra.

International adoptions are not yet legal in Ebony, so if Zarra goes to a family other than her own, it will have to be an internal adoption.  However, it is still possible that her family will return and want her back.

Please pray for Zarra's health and her future!!!!

Can you believe that our great Creator made Himself into a tiny, little baby just to dwell among us so that we might know Him?

Love in Him,
E.C.

Our International Charis Family
Your stories from around the world touch us and we pray for your safety.
Thanks, Love and Blessings to every one of you!