Healthcare Among Friends - Part 2

Another tale of friendship and surgery, this one far more serious. You will notice that, as in the last post, there are a lot of "as it happens" in this story. Lots of happy coincidences. Some of these I attribute to the fact that Congolese society is highly networked and inter-dependent, with lots of unexpected connections between people I never would have guessed knew each other. I also can't help but see God's hand in how things came together. Here's the story:

The head translator for one of the projects we work with, Pierre, had known for some time that he needed prostate surgery. He lives up north in an area that does not have great hospitals. But a couple of hours outside of Bunia, in a town called Nyankunde, there is a very good hospital, furnished and supported by Samaritan's Purse. It is well-known throughout the region. That is where Pierre hoped to have this surgery.

Pierre, head translator for the Bible in his language. During tea time at the translation office.

As it happens, he was coming to Bunia in February for a translation training workshop. He made plans to go up to Nyankunde afterwards for the surgery. His daughter and another young woman, Aimee (below), came to cook for him in the open-air patients' kitchen and to take care of him.

Aimee in Mado

As it happens, our office accountant, Lydie, grew up in the same area as Pierre. (They are not from the same ethnic group, so this was a surprise to us.) Their fathers worked together, and Pierre was like her uncle. Also, as it happens, one of the Congolese doctors working at Nyankunde, Dr. Joel, was also a friend of Lydie's, from school. So she kept in touch with both of them while Pierre was there.

What we had not understood was that, in order to do the surgery, there need to be 2 approved blood donors on hand, in case a transfusion is needed. The hospital is not equipped with a blood bank, so the donors need to be right there at the time of surgery.

One morning, almost 2 weeks after Pierre had arrived in Nyankunde, Dr Joel told Lydie on the phone that he had not yet had the surgery. They had not been able to find two blood donors for Pierre, who is type A+. They had had some leads, but they didn't pan out. No donors, no surgery.  But if only they had the donors, they could do the surgery that very day.

As it happens, Lydie is type A+, and I'm O+. So we were both potential donors. We made a quick decision. "On y va." Let's go. Let's get this surgery done. Our office administrator, John, offered to drive us up there (close to 2 hours each way).

When we got to Nyankunde, Dr Joseph met us and took us to the lab. They tested our blood and we both "passed". But then he checked with surgery and had bad news. The surgery schedule was full for that afternoon. It didn't look like the surgeon would have time to operate on Paul after all.

Well, as it happens, I had met that surgeon, Dr. Warren Cooper, an American, a couple of years earlier. He went to medical school with one of our supporters, and the two of them had volunteered together one summer at Nyankunde before Warren took a permanent post there. In fact, we had all gone out to dinner when they were in Bunia, and they had come over to our house for cake afterwards. So, I kind of had an "in" with this surgeon. (It was pretty good cake.) That is, if he remembered me. The problem is, I was too shy to try to go find him and ask for this special favor. (We get so much special treatment here, by virtue of being rich foreigners, I hate to seek out more.)

Surgery building at Nyankunde hospital. To the right, you can see bundles of personal items, mattress, a crutch, and clothes drying on the lawn. Patients bring family members or other "helpers" to stay on-site and tend to them while they're there.

So now we're sitting outside the surgery ward with a dozen or so other people, waiting to see what will happen. Dr. Cooper comes out, and he sees me, recognizes me, even remembers my name! (Of course, he had recently seen a photo of a skin cancer on my face, so that might have helped jog his memory.) He came over to say hello, and I explained our situation. He said he could fit Pierre's surgery in that day! Badaboom! Thank you Dr Cooper!!

John, Dr Cooper, Dr Joel, Pierre and Lydie. This deal was a team effort.

Within an hour or so, Pierre was in surgery. We never had to give blood. When we heard he was safely in recovery, we left and drove back to Bunia. End of story.

Here are a few photos from that drive, to give you an idea of the beauty of this area;

Questions remain, of course. There are thousands of people in the Nyankunde area. Couldn't they have found 2 eligible donors among all those people? Apparently they had tried that, but it hadn't panned out. Another question: Was a trip to Nyankunde the best use of a work day for Lydie, John and myself? Hmm. Then again, if we hadn't gone, when would they have found donors? How much longer would Pierre's surgery have been delayed, leaving him in pain? How much more money would it have cost him and his two helpers to continue to stay there, to buy food, etc.? How much longer would he have been unavailable to his translation project?

Relationships are so important in Congo. Spending time with people, showing up when they need you, being "with" them, stepping out of your comfortable missionary world to be in their world... these things speak volumes. (And I don't do it nearly enough.) When I hear people here telling stories of how missionaries touched their lives, I rarely hear about how skilled the missionaries were, how efficiently they used their time, or about a particularly insightful bit of teaching they imparted. I hear about a missionary crying with a Congolese friend when he hears of a family tragedy. Or the missionary women who went out and worked in the field with the Congolese women, rather than sitting in their comfortable houses. Or missionaries simply offering or accepting hospitality. Showing up at funerals and weddings. "Tuko pamoja"... we are together.

Too often, my response to hearing about a need here is to offer some money, or a bag of rice or whatever, but stay comfortably at home. So, when I heard that Pierre needed a blood donor, and that Lydie was willing to go, I could have looked for someone else to go with her, a fellow Congolese perhaps. But it seemed immediately like the right thing to do to get in the truck and go myself, to show friendship and solidarity in that (admittedly very small) way.