Sonu died last night.
I knew earlier on in the day that this was likely to happen. She has deteriorated and bounced back several times before, but this time it was different. Her breathing was becoming more and more laboured, and she was lapsing into unconsciousness. I knew it wouldn't be long.
She had continued to hang on since my last post, and in fact had perked up again. I really wondered if she was going to surprise us and make it after all. We did end up amputating her one leg a few days ago. Her mother knew this and had given us permission. Sonu had given a head nod that day to say that we could do it if we had to, but I don't think she realized after the fact that it had been amputated. But she did complain of a lot less pain after that. In a way I'm glad that she didn't realize that her leg was gone - she had been so against that from the start.
I don't usually go into the hospital if a patient dies in the night. The residents are usually very capable of handling it, and Nepali people have their own customs for mourning. But last night I wanted to go in and see her once more, and (much more importantly) to give her mom a hug, sit with her if need be, and pray with her. Sonu's family lives very far away from the hospital, and I knew it would be awhile before any other family member would be able to come. I didn't want her mom to feel alone, and I also wanted to connect with her for the sake of my own closure.
Nepalis are very community-oriented people, always very interested in everyone else's business. Whereas we tend to be quite private about our personal lives and our health issues, they are very open, and like to show off whatever medical test results they have, talk about their problems, and be involved...even with total strangers. In fact, there have been times where I've thought I was giving discharge instructions to a child's parent (and they nod very interestedly as I do so), only to find out later that the person I was talking to is with some other child and not related at all to the one about to be discharged! At times this interest in everyone else's business is amusing, and at times it's frustrating. But last night, it nearly melted my heart.
When I went into the burn ward, Sonu's mom was sitting on a stool, holding her young daughter who has been with her this whole time. Around her sat the other 2 female burn patients in the ward (who are both doing quite well), as well as their family members. There is a young woman, 22 years old, whose skin grafts have taken well and will be going home soon. Her husband is with her. They were clearly concerned and sad for Sonu's mom, and the husband was making multiple phone calls from his mobile phone to try to contact a family member, or at least someone from Sonu's village, to pass on the news that she had died. The other woman, who is also doing well, was sitting up in bed and trying to offer comfort to Sonu's mom. Her granddaughter (maybe 15 years old) was sleeping when I came in, but she later woke up, and immediately went over and hugged Sonu's mom, held her, and let her cry on her shoulder. She then took 500 rupees out of her pocket and gave it to Sonu's mom for mobile phone recharge cards or other expenses. Later, they took the baby from Sonu's mom, and the husband of the young woman held the baby (below) while Sonu's mom cried. It was so touching to see the love and care that they showed for her. The poor woman is still all alone. Her husband is supposed to arrive tomorrow. It's a long way. In the meantime, she has nowhere else to go, so she is sleeping on the burn ward with the only "family" she currently has. I'm so thankful that they're caring so well for her.
I took one last look at Sonu before they wrapped up her body and wheeled her away. She looked peaceful and had a little smile on her face...the first smile I've seen on her in weeks. I had been told yesterday morning by one of the members of our Pastoral Care team that she said yes to Jesus a few weeks ago. I believe she is with Him now, and her suffering is over. Thanks be to God!
Yesterday evening, before she had died, Paul and I were praying for her in our home. I was initially crying tears of sadness for her and for the whole situation. But then I felt like Jesus showed me that His arms were going to be open for her that night, and that the next time I see her, she will be whole. Then I heard His words: "Whatever you did for the least of these you did for me." The tears that followed were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to care for Sonu and show her the love of Jesus in the midst of this tragic situation. Gratitude for His love for her, which far surpasses mine or the love of her family. And gratitude that He made a way for us to be with Him forever. Death no longer has to be the ultimate enemy.
Welcome Home, Sonu!
I knew earlier on in the day that this was likely to happen. She has deteriorated and bounced back several times before, but this time it was different. Her breathing was becoming more and more laboured, and she was lapsing into unconsciousness. I knew it wouldn't be long.
She had continued to hang on since my last post, and in fact had perked up again. I really wondered if she was going to surprise us and make it after all. We did end up amputating her one leg a few days ago. Her mother knew this and had given us permission. Sonu had given a head nod that day to say that we could do it if we had to, but I don't think she realized after the fact that it had been amputated. But she did complain of a lot less pain after that. In a way I'm glad that she didn't realize that her leg was gone - she had been so against that from the start.
I don't usually go into the hospital if a patient dies in the night. The residents are usually very capable of handling it, and Nepali people have their own customs for mourning. But last night I wanted to go in and see her once more, and (much more importantly) to give her mom a hug, sit with her if need be, and pray with her. Sonu's family lives very far away from the hospital, and I knew it would be awhile before any other family member would be able to come. I didn't want her mom to feel alone, and I also wanted to connect with her for the sake of my own closure.
Nepalis are very community-oriented people, always very interested in everyone else's business. Whereas we tend to be quite private about our personal lives and our health issues, they are very open, and like to show off whatever medical test results they have, talk about their problems, and be involved...even with total strangers. In fact, there have been times where I've thought I was giving discharge instructions to a child's parent (and they nod very interestedly as I do so), only to find out later that the person I was talking to is with some other child and not related at all to the one about to be discharged! At times this interest in everyone else's business is amusing, and at times it's frustrating. But last night, it nearly melted my heart.
When I went into the burn ward, Sonu's mom was sitting on a stool, holding her young daughter who has been with her this whole time. Around her sat the other 2 female burn patients in the ward (who are both doing quite well), as well as their family members. There is a young woman, 22 years old, whose skin grafts have taken well and will be going home soon. Her husband is with her. They were clearly concerned and sad for Sonu's mom, and the husband was making multiple phone calls from his mobile phone to try to contact a family member, or at least someone from Sonu's village, to pass on the news that she had died. The other woman, who is also doing well, was sitting up in bed and trying to offer comfort to Sonu's mom. Her granddaughter (maybe 15 years old) was sleeping when I came in, but she later woke up, and immediately went over and hugged Sonu's mom, held her, and let her cry on her shoulder. She then took 500 rupees out of her pocket and gave it to Sonu's mom for mobile phone recharge cards or other expenses. Later, they took the baby from Sonu's mom, and the husband of the young woman held the baby (below) while Sonu's mom cried. It was so touching to see the love and care that they showed for her. The poor woman is still all alone. Her husband is supposed to arrive tomorrow. It's a long way. In the meantime, she has nowhere else to go, so she is sleeping on the burn ward with the only "family" she currently has. I'm so thankful that they're caring so well for her.
I took one last look at Sonu before they wrapped up her body and wheeled her away. She looked peaceful and had a little smile on her face...the first smile I've seen on her in weeks. I had been told yesterday morning by one of the members of our Pastoral Care team that she said yes to Jesus a few weeks ago. I believe she is with Him now, and her suffering is over. Thanks be to God!
Yesterday evening, before she had died, Paul and I were praying for her in our home. I was initially crying tears of sadness for her and for the whole situation. But then I felt like Jesus showed me that His arms were going to be open for her that night, and that the next time I see her, she will be whole. Then I heard His words: "Whatever you did for the least of these you did for me." The tears that followed were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to care for Sonu and show her the love of Jesus in the midst of this tragic situation. Gratitude for His love for her, which far surpasses mine or the love of her family. And gratitude that He made a way for us to be with Him forever. Death no longer has to be the ultimate enemy.
Welcome Home, Sonu!
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