She was one of a hundred patients seen on that sticky, hot afternoon. I remember when I first saw her: adorable, cute, beautiful; all perfect descriptions of the 4-month-old girl who was held tightly in her mother's arms. When I glanced at the mother, she didn't seem worried; quite honestly, this was reassuring. I figured the mother was bringing her daughter to see me, not unlike many mothers that day, to take advantage of seeing a doctor for a second opinion instead of strictly following the local witch doctor's advice (which often times is to stay away from all doctors and medical personnel).
The little girl was unwell, but not toxic-looking. I assessed her. She had a fever and a few crackles in her right lung, but otherwise was feeding normally. Her respiratory and heart rate were slightly elevated, but the baby gave a good cry and then sucked well on her mother's breasts (both very encouraging signs for a doctor). I gave them antibiotics and analgesics that they would otherwise have no chance of receiving and sent them home.
The next morning, an hour before lunch while I was in the thick of another flock of patient consults, a student informed me that the child and mother were back...and it didn't look good. "The child was vomiting blood all last night", was all I remember hearing. I pushed back all the other patients and brought the child forward. The mother was in tears and the child's appearance shocked me. The child was barely moving and had a very slowed respiration rate (very scary sign). The heart rate was through the roof at ~200 beats/minute, and I could barely get a cry from the child. Our fabulous pediatric nurse (and only nurse), Mindy, grabbed a thermometer and we checked a rectal temperature. I did want the temperature, but quite honestly I was more hoping for the baby to cry, to move, to be annoyed that we were sticking a thermometer in her rectum. Nothing. We saw very little movement.
I suspected the bacteria that was in her lungs the previous night had now made its way into the bloodstream. She had become lethargic; I couldn't hear anything in the lungs during her few breaths. I was worried. Sometimes, in situations like these, the mother would go to the witch doctor who would inform her to find a snake or frog, and boil them and have the child breathe in the steam. Thankfully, on this day, we were able to convince the mother and the surrounding villagers that the baby was at risk of dying in the next 24-48 hours (or sooner). They needed to find a boat and head to the closest hospital for intravenous (IV) antibiotics immediately. Our team had IV fluids and antibiotics, but not the right cocktail of drugs that this child needed...and needed urgently.
The mother and a local villager agreed to head to the hospital immediately.
Over the next few days, we prayed. We hoped for healing. We hoped for the child's life to be saved. We hoped for the villagers to see that not all doctors are evil despite the witch doctor's preaching of this message. We held tightly to our Hope.
Three days later after some intense IV antibiotic treatments, the mother came back to our clinic the last day of our trip. The mother was smiling from ear to ear, and her baby was sucking on her breasts. It gave our team instant chills and joy. And that's when it hit me: if all I did on this trip was convince a mother to step into a boat to seek help from a hospital, then it would've been the most successful trip regardless of my expectations. So I ask, if supporters gave to a medical mission trip and heard very few heroic stories, but a young babe's life was spared, was it worth the investment?
I ask again: how much would you pay to save a little, 4-month-old girl's life? Honestly, how much...? Is her life worth a prayer? Worth a 24-hour fast? Worth $5? Worth $100? How about $1000?
Was it time well spent?
Was it money well given?
I know for the medical team that day, we wouldn't have traded our sweat, our work, our time, our money for anything else...
...afterall, a baby's life was saved that day.
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