Pieces of Home: Cake, Mysteries and Obama

(Caution: This entry contains only lighthearted thoughts.

Just a little levity this time around, hope that's ok!)

Confession #1: Last night my friend Hannah and I made a layered red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. 

Yes, we're still in Africa! We had discovered the crew galley, you see; a small kitchen with every kind of bakeware you could possibly require. And the ship shop onboard the Africa Mercy sells cake mixes. Like exactly what you might pick off the shelves of Safeway. So yesterday we grabbed the red velvet as though it were the last box on earth and gleefully made our way to the kitchen! 

There has always been something soothing about baking treats, for me. Maybe it's the smell, or the the predictability of recipes. Regardless, something about it feels familiar and comforting, like a hug from mom. So, discovering I could bake here was like having a direct link to home, as though I could make my way back there. We presented that velvety, cream cheesy goodness to the group of us that arrived here together, in celebration of our three week anniversary of being aboard the Africa Mercy. And it was delicious.

Confession #2: I love Agatha Christie's murder mysteries.

I have no recollection of when I first became acquainted with this woman's works, but ever since I first followed her inquisitive and somewhat cheeky Belgian detective Hercule Poirot on the hunt for "who-dunn-it" on the Orient Express, I was hooked. And then just as quickly, she fell into the periphery and finally the background of my mind's eye. School, work, and other more pressing literature eclipsed her entirely. 

Then, two weeks ago, I was perusing the small yet mighty library on the ship, and what do you know? There it was, all in a row: Agatha Christie's Murder Mystery Classics Collection. Ha! After reading the first book in three days, I've had one at my bedside without fail. It's been just delightful.

Confession #3: I went to the Obama Cafe and I liked it.

This past Friday a big troupe of us left the ship for an evening out in Conakry. We made our way along the coast south of the port and found ourselves at a little seaside restaurant and bar called the Obama Cafe...yep! It's an open air establishment, all wood and stilts and bungalow appeal, perched precariously over the ocean with the slimmest little plank bridge leading out to it. In the daylight, this sight could strike fear into the heart of any would-be patron afraid of water. But not us!

Expat locale, the Obama Cafe

The dozen of us Mercy Shippers clambered into this little place, which was already packed to capacity (Maybe 50? There are no fire marshals here that I know of). We enjoyed drinks and live reggae music, played a round of the hand game and then got up to enjoy the band a bit closer. Near the end of the evening the power went out, and the whole room spontaneously carried on singing "No Woman No Cry" while the band played the drums. Priceless.

Michelle O. keepin' it classy

So while we encounter hard things everyday, I thought it important to put out a lighter note and let everyone know we're having a great time. Truly! It's not home, but the little tastes of home remind me that God thinks of the littlest things. Even red velvet cake :) 

"On Deck 3, it is Africa"

This is what we were told in our first cultural orientation onboard the Africa Mercy. 

One of the Patient Life coordinators was trying her best to explain to us that, while the ship may feel a lot like our respective homes, the hospital level is another story. Down there, it would be more like the country outside the portholes than the ones we hail from. And honestly, I wasn't really sure that was true at the time. I mean, of course the patients would be African, but they will be coming aboard OUR ship, admitting to OUR hospital, learning to do things OUR way ...right? Haha.

After having worked my first stretch of shifts, I now have a taste of what she meant. And she was right.

Here is the first lesson I have learned on Deck 3.

My very first patient was a 7 year old girl; a little doll with big, chocolate brown eyes that just stared at me with the hint of a smile. She would have surgery the next day on her wrist. But today, all we had on the agenda was to admit her. She was accompanied by her mother, who was dressed to the nines. And for the life of me, I wanted to talk to them. I wanted to know what happened to her, if her mother had any questions, what I could do to "ease their way".

But there was one teensy problem:

I don't speak Susu.

My second patient was a 2 year old boy, one that I actually recognized from Screening day! I had taken his history from his mother, an absolutely lovely woman also dressed to the nines. I'm not sure if she remembered me, but I'll never forget her face. Again, all I had to do was admit them; his cleft lip surgery was scheduled first thing in the morning. But I wanted to reach out, tell her how excited I was that they were here, ask if she had any worries, learn about their lives. 

And then the tragic reality check:

I don't speak Fullah.

Overarching feeling? Totally handicapped.

I realized in that moment how much I value my ability to verbally communicate. 

Subjectively, it's one of my best assets. 

As a nurse, It's what I have come to lean on. 

It's how I build rapport, 

how I make my patients feel at ease, 

how I let them know that I am on their side 

and have a handle on their care. 

I love talking with my patients. 

And here, that is being withheld from me. 

Every patient I encounter speaks everything but english.

So I have to learn another way. 

I need to depend on others to verbally communicate for me. 

(Which feels often times like taking three lefts to make a right)

I need to trust that those translating for us are saying what we need them to say. 

(Only one out of 30 have ever been in a hospital before, and they are our conduit for relaying information to people who have also never encountered a healthcare system) 

I need to practice patience. 

(My pace is not everyone's pace, and we are all learning this new way together)

And I need to let Christ's love shine through my actions. 

(They speak louder than words anyway)

The next day, one of my patients was a 63 year old man who had just had a tumor removed from the right side of his skull. Now, with a big bandage wrapped around his head and under his chin, you couldn't wipe the smile off his face! And his favorite pastimes included coloring with me. Or hitting balloons back and forth. Or playing Jenga for hours at a time on his bedside table. I realized in THAT moment that not every important encounter has to be accompanied by words. Maybe just by being with the patients, showing interest, playing with them, I can connect more than with my translated attempts at conversation.

Sometimes I get the feeling I am living in an alternate universe. On the one hand, we live on a converted cruise ship. We can pass the day reading in the cafe, playing games in the mid-ship lounge, sunning on deck 7 overlooking the ocean. Then, when shift comes, I go down to the third deck and find myself somewhere else entirely. Where the patients have never been in a hospital. Where they believe that surgery means taking them to a white room, killing them, and then bringing them back to life. Where the national language doesn't guarantee you communication at all. 

I am still trying to reconcile my expectations of these two vastly different environments. 

This is the Africa Mercy. My hospital. My home.

So THIS is how a floating hospital begins...

     At precisely 1600 (4 o'clock pm) today, the hospital aboard the Africa Mercy accepted its very first pre-op patients in the country of Guinea. As I type this in the mid-ship lounge, there are patients two decks below me. It's real. They are here...

     Now jump back approximately two days and eighteen hours, and you would see Pat and I bleary-eyed, preparing to depart the ship with over 150 crew mates before the sun had risen. We were headed for the People's Palace to participate in the largest healthcare feat I have ever witnessed.

Screening Day

      Those two little words come nowhere near to describing the mass amounts of coordination and organization and controlled chaos behind such an event. When we arrived at the People's Palace to set up at 6am, there was still no light. Imagine a building the size of a large convention center with 10% of the electricity and no working plumbing - this is where the Guinean congress meets, large plays are put on, and the screening of over 3,500 people was about to take place. 

     In no time, everyone went to work setting up countless chairs in various wings. Bays of tables were arranged, large stacks of water bottles and trays of pre made PB&J sandwiches were brought in, and as the sky outside the windows finally began to turn a slightly lighter shade of purple, we looked out at the line. I have now put this picture everywhere possible, but I can't help it. This sight was the most heart stopping thing I have ever seen, because I knew it was all headed our way.

     People had apparently begun lining up overnight hoping to be among the first seen. The line snaked in front of the palace's huge courtyard, through the main gates and out to the street beyond sight. Inside, we still scrambled for our places, preparing each designated zone to be the picture of efficiency. Patients would first be seen in line by Pre-screeners, who ensure that only potential surgery candidates make it inside. [Due to the specific care provided by Mercy Ships, no medical patients can be accepted. That means anyone wanting to be seen for things like high blood pressure, liver disease, malignant cancers, etc] 

     Once inside, they would be processed through Registration. Then, on to my station, Patient Histories.  After this, we would send them to a wing corresponding with their specific need: Ortho, Plastics, General, and Maxillo-Facial. Here, the extremely dedicated Physicians and their teams would do the actual physical assessments and determine a) if they were candidates for surgery and b) how urgent their case was. With this information on their paperwork, down to Scheduling they would go. There, the final team had the dizzying task of fitting everyone into operating slots over the next ten months. Patients would then depart, armed with a card telling them their date to arrive at the ship for their surgery. A literal Golden Ticket :)

     It sounds really simple now that I've just typed it out, but this was the most elaborate, choreographed event I have ever witnessed. Escorts ferried people to and from stations, volunteers passed out nourishment to patients who had been standing in line for hours, security joined with local police to ensure everyone's safety. And the people just kept coming. At times I would look up from my table and current patient to eyeball the waiting area that never seemed to shrink, and just inhale deeply. Fifty chairs were lined up in front of our station alone, and when it was one person's turn to get up, their spot wasn't vacated for long. The closest thing I can compare it to was the inside of a watch: so many moving pieces, so many connecting cogs. And somehow it all worked!

     This means we now have the blueprint. In one day this whole endeavor went from being the plans for a hospital to a suddenly tangible reality. We're no longer talking about "the people of Guinea" from across the ocean. These patients have faces, they have ID numbers, they have surgery dates. 

They're downstairs...

     Pat and I went down to the wards last night to take pictures before patients arrived, just some goofy fun! How does a room lined with beds and equipment turn into a place of hope and healing? Tomorrow we find out :)

Week one: Life onboard begins

Today officially marks one week that we've been onboard the Africa Mercy :)

     Despite how short that is, it seems like we've been here much longer. Maybe that has something to do with the way time has felt - relatively free, and unstructured. Though these past couple days have been spent in a number of orientations and meetings, our time has largely been our own.
     So we've spent it acquainting ourselves with the ship and daily rhythm onboard. When mealtimes are, when/where mandatory weekly gatherings take place, what protocol to follow for coming and going. It's surprising how easily one can learn a new routine - like we're happy to return to a predictable way of doing life.
     We've also begun to build relationships with those we will work alongside. There are so many kind, loving people on this ship, and it's been a joy to spend this uninterrupted time together. There have been loud, hilarious moments playing games in the mid-ship lounge, and quiet, peaceful moments reading and praying together outside on deck. I know the next few months will bring challenges that only life lived in community presents, but right now I am just excited to join lives and purpose with these people.
     It is difficult to sum up the days: Do I blog about events? Or should I talk about the friendships being formed? Do I give you facts about this country, attempting to sum up the richness of these people with a few pictures? Or do I share how I'm feeling about it all? I'm not quite sure...I think the content of this blog will evolve as my days here increase. So bear with me as I figure out how to best process and relay this experience. I want to give it due weight.
     But for now, I will share a few things I am thankful for now that we're here! :)

Everyone filing off the ship and gathering at our muster stations

Andrea, Beth and I during the routine fire drill on Friday

     First things first, I am beyond thankful for Pat. He has been such a reassuring presence during this transition. Always steady, always loving me well. We have each adjusted to this change in our own way, but in the shared experience of upheaval and life shift we have found joy in yet another common ground. He is the biggest blessing I could have asked for, and I'm a lucky girl to share my cabin with him :)

Pat playing in our cabin; getting ready in the morning wouldn't be the same without that sound :)

Inspecting our Guinean money...plastic bag given to us by the bank

    Secondly, I am SO thankful for the group of people we arrived with! The dozen or so nurses that came in on our flight have seemed to knit into this happy little bunch who basically do life together. It's somewhat like freshman year: you all walk around smiling with your new name badges on, going where you're told, eating in the cafeteria every meal, and just trying not to be too overwhelmed. So it's really great that we're not alone in this experience, that we have others to share in it too!

Pat giving Hannah her first chess lesson

Becky and Emily's squared during Dirty Uno

Jen, Juan and Andrea - the competitive corner

     Lastly, I am extremely grateful for the chance to be here. It sometimes feels like we've jumped the tracks of our life and found ourselves here by happy mistake for this brief time. But I know better - this has been a long time coming :) And it's going to go by so quickly, which I think is part of what makes it so precious. If I'm honest, it's been an adjustment reconciling the dream of what Mercy Ships would be like with the reality of what it IS, but I wouldn't change it. How cool is it that we get to do this beautiful thing alongside all of these people who want to be here...?
     Next week the hospital opens, and everything will change around here. This peaceful ship will be bustling with life, patients will come, surgeries will be done and lives will be changed. So I've tried to just soak up this week of rest and learning, because the ship will never be this still again. We're in the calm before the storm, but this is one storm everyone here is actually looking forward to :)

Hello Ship, it's nice to finally meet you :)

Despite the frequent pinching of my arm and rubbing of my eyes, I am writing this blog from the fifth deck of the African Mercy. A small troop of girls and I are typing away on our respective laptops in this air conditioned lounge, and to my left are two large portholes overlooking the guard post keeping a watchful eye...is this real life??

After two days and three flights, we were welcomed at the Conakry airport by a dozen smiling Mercy Ships crew members with Land Rovers, ready to deliver us to the ship. We rode through the city at night, taking in as much as we could in the dark. Traffic was as I remember African traffic to be - a fluid chaos free of street lamps or stop signs, full of potholes and puddles, and always good for an adrenaline check. Thankfully we arrived at the docks in one piece and walked the gangplank to the place that will serve as our home for the next four months.

So far we've been onboard a grand total of 24 hours and, without sounding like I'm jumping the gun, I already love it here. Truly. Everyone greets you with a smile, some introduce themselves spontaneously, probably knowing what it feels like to be new to this working family. And a large family it is - as of now there are nearly 330 crew living here, with another +20 to be added next weekend. They seem to have this community down to a science, and have filled this week with various orientations and trainings to show us the ropes (pun intended a little, hehe).

We spent today getting settled into our cabin, setting up logistics onboard (finances & internet), and learning the lay of the land. This ship is pretty amazing. There are eight floors/decks, several staircases, and even more ways to get turned around. Apparently blue staircases and red staircases differentiate the bow from aft (yep, learning some ship lingo too), but I still have to double take down certain hallways. There is a large dining hall, a meeting lounge, a "town square" in the center of the ship and a variety of unexpected excitements - a small library, a hair dresser, and even a coffee shop (bet you can't guess what it is). What I've been most impressed with is the way community is so valued and encouraged. They literally fling opportunities at you to get involved as ship life gets rolling. And the all-crew meeting tonight ended with worship in both English and Guinean-French, which put the biggest smile on my face.

Sorry this is short, but I really need to attempt sleep. It's past 11pm local time, I am currently wide awake, and they want us up at 7am...this may be a process :) But we are so thankful to be here, sleep or not. It's been a long time coming.

A time to uproot

I've always taken issue with finality. 

Ask anyone who knows me well and they'll tell you - I don't like having no choices left. I like to believe that possibilities are endless, that choosing one road doesn't negate another, that if I change my mind I can go anywhere and do anything. 

I hate feeling trapped.

So now, as we pack our bags for this long-awaited journey, 

I can feel that familiar recoil in my stomach. 

My hands tremble a little as I zip that last suitcase shut. 

This is it.

We will get in the car, and this whole thing will be in motion. 

In fact, the dominos have already begun to fall, 

there is no changing where they will inevitably lead us. 

So my insides panic a little. 

Instinctively. 

And my mind battles a mile a minute 

to ward off the myriad of fearful questions 

that could undermine the years of purpose that have led us here:

What if we get there and it's horrible?

What if I miss home?

What if we're not ready?

What if I don't really want this?

But my heart already knows.

There is no turning back. 

My soul embraced this path long ago, 

and the coming to fruition is all the more beautiful

because it is frightening.

It is decisive.

It is final.

I know in my "knower" that this is our time to uproot, 

to leave all that is familiar and home-like,

to allow this miracle to happen. 

We are meant to encounter the suffering.

We are meant to see the hard things.

We are meant to rub our hearts raw on the aching parts of this world. 

And it could ruin us, in the most beautiful ways. 

So while my tears betray me, my heart beats loudly for a place we've never been and a people we've never met. There will always be a home to return to, but right now is not the time for us to plant. 

Right now is our time to uproot.

Thank you to everyone in the Northwest who made time to see us before we left! We miss you already. While onboard the ship we will have internet, so you can bet I'll be blogging about our journey! 
Please keep us in your prayers, and if you fancy writing, we would love to hear from you!
Patrick & Emily McHenry
Mercy Ships IOC
M/V Africa Mercy - Surgical Ward
PO Box 2020, Lindale TX
75771-2020 USA

Precious days in the Pacific Northwest

Sorry for my recent silence: August has been full in all the best of ways :)

A little over two weeks ago, my husband and I packed up our lives for the third time this year and began the long journey from East coast to West. We left Baltimore on the first and headed north, making a much-anticipated visit to our dear friends in Connecticut. After many laughs, good meals, conversations, and yes a few tears, we aimed toward the Pacific and away we went!

The mighty Jeep

We set a pace of about 7-9 hours of driving a day, which turned out great! The first day took us through New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Ohio - Lots to greenery, a fair amount of other drivers, and plenty of road tolls. (Cleveland is awesome, ps) The next day we swept under the Great Lakes through Indiana, Illinois and Wisconsin. Land became increasingly flat, traffic came to a halt outside Chicago, and then we hit farm country as far as the eye could see. Still interesting, but less varied for sure. The next day however, it began to really get sparse...Minnesota turned to South Dakota, the state that never ends (isn't that supposed to be Montana?). No green as far as the eye can see. It was beautiful prairie, and the sky was about as big as it gets, but driving into it felt slightly daunting. 

South Dakota expanse

We made a few side stops in SD, including Wall Drug (for my dad) and Mt. Rushmore, which made this the longest day of our journey. The next day we crossed into Wyoming; slightly more dry, slightly more depressing, lol. Thank goodness for the Olympics. Watching all the prime time American golds was our end-of-the-day treat :) The following day we entered Montana - TREES!! We spent one final night in Missoula before arriving in Spokane on the sixth.

You'd think after six days and a few thousand miles on the road that we'd both be over this whole traveling thing, but since arriving in Washington we've just kept going!

The road hasn't affected us one bit...

First stop: Spokane! Not much has changed here, but this endears it to me all the more. I love that I can still walk the same streets of the South Hill to my favorite coffee shop and find the same treats. I love that we can drive ten minutes in any direction and find a friend's home. We've enjoyed a few lazy days and fellowship-filled evenings. It's not hard to see why this town holds a special place in our hearts.

You know where I am, Spokane

Made a pie with this lovely lady!

Rolled around with these two sillies

Shared a porch with this great couple!

Next stop was Kennewick, where my parents live. We got to play with our new Jeep (which I lovingly refer to as our Transformer), taking the whole top off or the first time - now that's big kid fun :)

Daddy Creek!

With them, we made a quick trek to Vancouver to visit my grandfather. He showed Pat his B17 replica, and told us his plans for building a model train track around the top of his game room. This man is in his 80's and still at it. *Love 

Gpa Creek, Daddy Creek, and Hus-man :)

Shortly after, we made our way over the Cascades to visit the Emerald City. Every time I go to Seattle, I wish for a moment that I didn't have to leave. It's all so inviting - the beautiful city, the water on all sides, Rainier to the south - and of, course the people. We were blessed to stay with our friends, the Houghtalings, and see many whom we've missed in our travels. We got to have breakfast with and hug a fellow traveler from Baltimore (she loves Seattle now too!). We wandered thru Pike's Place, taking in the smells of fresh flowers and the catch of the day. We savored clam chowder while sitting on the pier. We went out and played trivia with a bunch of Pat's friends - all great guys, all poor historians, lol. And one fine day we took a ferry to Whidbey Island with two of my favorite ladies, exploring its many beaches and Deception Pass. I'm gonna be honest - I miss this.

Miner - rock skipper extraordinaire!

Connolly - delightful as ever

Hiking around Deception Pass.
Must have seen something deceiving...

On the island, looking west

In short (or length, rather) - we have been soaking up every corner of Washington. 

And now it's time.

In a week, my husband and I will be traveling to West Africa, where we will live and work for four months. It's strange to say that 'out loud', but we couldn't be more excited! Two years in the making, and the long awaited moment is nearly upon us. Go time... 

(For a recap of that story, visit my past posts here and here)

I know this last week is going to go by much too quickly, but I'm so glad that we have these moments at all - that we can soak up these people and places and take them with us in our hearts. God knows what waits for us on that ship, and I'm so thankful that He's given us this time of repose before the big leap.