After the first day or two of lunch, I realized we had alot of left-overs. I couldn't bear the thought of all of it going in the trash and so a sign was made. Food was saved and I decided to take it around the hospital to share to those that were hungry. We didn't have enough for a large group and in the male ward of the burn unit there were only 3 patients. One was a small boy that had spilled something hot in his lap, resulting in a burned penis. One was an older man that had been electrocuted. His wounds were almost healed, you could track the path of the current. His palms and feet had large wounds and a wound on his abdomen looked like an exit of sorts. He was going home soon and would hold his palms up to me when I arrived and asked how he was. The third is a man that is seared into my mind and heart. He was in his mid to late twenties. His entire body was burned. Even his face and neck. He had an infection and a mosquito net hanging over him to keep the flies from landing in his open, draining wounds. At his side was what I think was his wife and Mother. On maybe the third or fourth day, his family wanted to speak with me. With the translator, they told me that they needed money. His doctors had said that he would die if he didn't go to a better, more equipped hospital in the city. One that could possible help him. They looked at me and I knew at that moment if I could, I would have done anything to save him. However, the cost was tens of thousands. And I knew, that even with the money, he possibly wouldn't have even lived long enough to make the trip. The man looked at me, really looked at me. With his pleading, desperate bright eyes holding mine, he said in perfect English with a hoarse, quiet voice, "Please help me. I will die." I will never forget that. How it feels to know that kind of raw truth. To see what it looks like in someones face to know that they are out of options. To look at his family, scared and helpless. To feel so frustrated. To feel like sometimes, things are just effffing unfair. I touched to crook of his arm, perhaps to not only comfort him but myself, and said "I will be praying for you." I did and I do. I felt my heart breaking when I had to leave the room that day. I felt defeated but grateful that I had been granted the chance to meet them. I was changed. The translator, walking down the long hall of death back to post-op said to me, "I cant do this. It is too hard. Ive never seen things like this before." I stopped and put my arm on a shoulder and said, "Just because it isn't seen doesn't mean that it is not real. You live here, you can change this and you must." And so we both continued on. Offering what we could give...words of encouragement, hugs, smiles, tears, nail polish, prayers, and love.
