Friday, April 4

This trip is not going at all how I expected. I expected work regular days at the children’s home, with a nice routine set in place, and to visit our Deaf friends on the weekends.

But in the past few weeks I have been focused on Theresa, the little girl with hydrocephalus. When she came in, I took one look at her and knew she was dying. I was so shocked and frightened by her condition. After going home and researching the disease, I found that the disease is cured with a simple surgery. A shunt surgery that would drain the fluid from her head would be simple and would save her life. The surgery is probably no more than two thousand dollars. I contacted Rebecca and we made a plan. The following week, after much pushing and bargaining with the orphanage administrators, I took her to the hospital. We went from room to room, where people talked in Twi and I stood there holding Theresa, utterly confused. Then we were told to sit and wait for two hours, and then the doctor could see us. Those two hours were the most painful and heartbreaking hours of my life. I held Theresa on my lap and tried to comfort her as she gasped for air in between her cries of pain. I nearly cried from relief when she finally fell asleep in my arms. We were then taken to the “queue” where everyone sits and waits for the doctor. After MORE waiting, we were informed that the doctor’s shift had ended and he had gone home. Frustrated, but still motivated, I took Theresa back to the children’s home, to be taken to the hospital again the following Monday for a definite scheduled appointment. I waited through to Monday hoping that Theresa would live until the appointment. Thank god, she did. On Monday we took her again. Again, we waited for many hours. Then we were told that the doctor had already seen his maximum number of children for the day and couldn’t see us. I was so angry and on the verge of tears. We had gone through hell to see this doctor and he couldn’t see her. The most frustrating part of this is that it was obvious what Theresa needed. She needed a shunt surgery. She had already been diagnosed and examined only a few weeks ago. The appointment was merely a formality for the doctor to write the orders for the operation. We were told that they would send the doctor to the children’s home on Saturday to look at Theresa. That was five days of waiting. Any day Theresa could die, and it was obvious by looking at her that she was fighting for her life. The next day, Tuesday, I was called into the office at the children’s home in the morning. When I arrived and sat down, I was told that they had found Theresa’s mother and called her, telling her to come pick Theresa up. They told her that Theresa could be better taken care of if she went home with her mother. They brought Theresa’s mother in and I talked to her through Linda, because the mother didn’t speak a word of English. She was very stressed out and the orphanage staff was criticizing her for abandoning her child. She was terribly upset about the whole thing. She just sat there and held in tears. I wanted to reach over and take her hand and tell her that I understood that she was overwhelmed with taking care of Theresa. How I understand that she has three other kids and can’t afford to take care of one with special needs, and how her husband left her because of Theresa’s medical condition. No one was having any compassion for this woman. I felt so sad for her and Theresa. The mother took Theresa and we settled that on Saturday she would bring Theresa to the orphanage for the doctor to see her and then I would go with her to the hospital to pay for the operation. I then helped Theresa’s mother home, and paid for the taxi. She was silent the whole ride and as I looked over tears were rolling down her face and falling onto Theresa. Theresa was moaning with pain and the devastated mother tried to comfort her. It was so heartbreaking. When we got to her ‘house’ I helped her carry Theresa’s things in. The house was a metal shack. It was about 10x10 feet big. There was a mattress, a laundry bucket, a jerry can, and a pile of clothes. I had heard about stories like this on documentaries or in stories, but I never really felt the impact. It’s hard to understand how terrible the situations are, unless you see them for yourself. I left and continued work at the children’s home, expecting to meet Theresa and her mother early Saturday morning for the doctor appointment.

On Friday, April 4, 2014, one day before the doctor appointment, Theresa died.

Her mother came to the children’s home to tell the administrator about it, and later in the day, the news passed on to me. When Linda told me, I felt like she had thrown a brick at my face. I was so shocked; I didn’t know how to feel. It didn’t feel real to me. It was so unbelievable. I called Rebecca and told her the news. We thought the best thing to do next was to go to Theresa’s home to give our condolences to the mother, and offer her pictures of Theresa to keep. We wanted to check on her and make sure her family is doing okay. So tomorrow we will go. I am nervous and sad. I am angry and shocked. And part of me is also relieved for Theresa, because she is no longer in pain. My heart goes out to Theresa’s mother, who has three children and is living in terrible poverty. I will make sure that she knows that we are here to support her and comfort her.

I didn’t expect this trip to be a walk in the park, but I certainly didn’t expect something like this to happen. Its something that is so emotional and difficult to deal with, but it is part of life, and if this is going to be what I do for the rest of my life, I have to learn to accept it. So I try to look at this situation in a positive light and see that this has prepared me for what is to come. Although sometimes I wish I wasn’t dealing with this. Sometimes, I wish I never went to Africa and discovered my passion and got attached to these people. It would have been so much easier to be a normal, self-absorbed teenager.

However, I find that in these times of difficulty is the time when I really look at what I’m doing and say, “this is really, really difficult, but I would never have it any other way.”