“My baby is going to die, and there’s nothing you can do about it?”
Before coming to Africa, it was my worst fear. After all, it is every doctor’s nightmare, to be willing, but be unable to offer medical care.
Though those words were not verbally articulated, they pierced right into my heart, as I heard this new father’s utter despondency after my pathetic reply of, “I’m sorry… I’m not a baby specialist.”
Just a few days ago, there we were at a dilapidated hospital, aptly named “Grade B Hospital”, celebrating the birth of his new baby. Hours before, Vic had called us to share the anxious news of his wife going into early labor and getting a Caesarean section. With his heart in knot, we prayed together for the baby’s safety, given it was a little premature.
Having journeyed 8 hours together with his entire assemblage of family to a remote village to celebrate this couple’s traditional wedding ceremony in full Ugandan multi-colored splendor, this couple had a special place in our hearts. Seeing them join hands in matrimony, in dazzling colors of traditional African wear and before a raucous community of villagers peering from the sides, was a special affair.
Shortly after their marriage, Vic’s wife, Vero, told us she had a dream of me.
“I dreamt I was pregnant and I lost my baby. It slipped out of me and the doctors could not save it. That was the first scene of my dream. Then suddenly, I was in another room, and there was you Dr. Wai, and a man… his face was so white and bright I couldn’t see it. I saw him standing behind you, and it was you, together with him, who put my baby back into my womb and then my baby lived.”
With such graphic details and the true pregnancy which followed soon after, it was hard to shake off this dream as one which had not been divinely inspired. Vic was convinced that the man in white behind me was God Himself.
When Vero was in early labor pains, Vic called us. With her in the Operating Theatre already, there was little else we could do, besides pray and make our way to the hospital.
Nothing brought more relief to the nagging dream, than to hold the little bundle of joy in my arms, whom the couple had named “Divine”.
The next day, however, things took a sharp turn. Without supplementary oxygen, baby Divine could not breathe. Because there was no neonatology facility available, the couple was referred to the National Referral Hospital, where the baby could receive special care. Yet, because Grade B Hospital had no ambulance fitted with oxygen, the anxious family was stuck.
“What is your advice, Dr. Wai?” Vic called me. His voice, calm and full of fatherly pride the day before, had crumbled.
“We will pray for you,” I replied, before foolishly adding, “I am sorry, I am not a baby doctor… so I can’t advise further.”
“I understand…” As his voice trailed off with despair, my heart broke.
As soon I hung up, visions of Vero’s dream flooded my mind. Something within me heaved and ebbed like a stirring tempest, refusing to be quelled.
As I texted Paediatric colleagues back home, I was advised to do X-rays, blood cultures, and monitor the baby in a Neonatal Intensive Care setting, nothing of which “Grade B Hospital” had. Recalling what a missionary doctor had shared with me previously, I remembered that doctors back home, because of their training, tend to investigate far more than what developing settings can offer. It would be cruel to tell Vic what his baby needed, if reality could not support it.
Trying to numb my sense of helplessness, I tried to convince myself that there was simply nothing I could do. I’m not a neonatologist; I don’t have a vehicle fitted with oxygen tanks. Maybe it’s just TTN (Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn), and it’ll resolve in the next 72 hours.
I remembered what Cliff had shared with me before, “That dream means something.”
I was restless. Deep down, I knew it could be pneumonia, RDS (Respiratory Distress Syndrome), or even a pneumothorax… Countless diagnoses were possible, and all needed an Intensive Care Monitoring setting.
We had heard, that Grade B Hospital was a questionable facility, and often had no doctors on duty, especially in the weekends.
At once I was reminded, that God never asks us to give what we do not have. What He really wants from us, is a completely yielded heart, ready to let Him multiply the little we can offer. The greater the needs around us, the more He is able to do, without our self-sufficiency. Our faith in Him, can replace our deepest fears.
Remembering the symbolic dream of God Himself helping me restore the baby’s life, I knew I was not alone. Overcome by a divine peace, I prayed aloud, “God, show me what to do!”
Suddenly, I was prompted to walk to the nearby clinic and speak to a local doctor instead.
“Hi there, I’m Dr. Wai living next door. Do you know how can I get an ambulance from Grade B Hospital to National Referral Hospital?”
“Ah, there is Emmanuel Medical Centre nearby. I’m sure they would have private ambulances for hire.”
“WITH oxygen? Cos Grade B Hospital has an ambulance but it doesn’t carry oxygen!”
“Yea of course, WITH oxygen!”
Searching the Medical Centre online, I finally found a number and spoke to a lady who then referred me to another number. I spoke to a man, who then said payment had to be made through “Mobile Money” instantly, before he could rent out any ambulance.
Mobile Money? And what’s that?
Having lived in Africa for 8 months, my husband and I looked at each other with a wry laugh- as with everything we had done to live and serve here, let’s get into action and find out!
Pulling up our missionary socks, we drove down to a little phone kiosk, which said they did do “Mobile Money”, but had “no credit”, whatever that meant. But we could go to a little shack across the traffic-laden road to try our luck. When we did, a stout-looking lady referred us to yet another shack down the road. By this time, we were both running.
After multiple phone-calls, blunders and a long convoluted journey from one shack to another, the full amount for the ambulance fee was finally sent via Mobile Money, a mode of transferring credits of cash via one’s cell phone. We both heaved a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Vic over the phone. Soon after, an ambulance screeched past our home towards the city.
A day later, when we visited the National Referral Hospital, a sprawling organism of multiple wings filled with throngs of people, baby Divine was sleeping peacefully in a phototherapy box, totally weaned off oxygen.
Both parents were beaming, telling us how grateful and happy they were to see their baby live! The next day, both mother and baby were discharged home.
Looking back, I realized that too often, we demand too much that is unrequired of ourselves and underestimate the power of prayer and availability. As a medical doctor here in Africa, what God required of me in this situation was not Neonatology expertise or first-world care in a setting which could not support it.
All He required of Cliff and myself was a willing heart that believed in prayer. Through that, a life, divinely-breathed, was saved.
I am learning, that with a willing heart, anyone can serve in the mission field. While having skills is always a bonus, you don’t have to be a medical specialist, a PhD graduate, or an award-winning individual to be a know-it-all, fix-it-all missionary. A dependent, and not a self-sufficient vessel, is the one God wants to use.
The truth is- no matter how “qualified” we think we are or need to be, we will always face situations beyond ourselves. In those trying times of helplessness, it is not our own abilities, but our reliance on God’s wisdom and grace which will provide the answers to our greatest fears.
After all, in the dream, it was the man in white, with a face so bright and white it could not be seen, who was behind me restoring the precious life.
You’re going to live, baby Divine.
Vic and us
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
And do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He will make your paths straight.”
– Proverbs 3:5-6
*Names changed to protect privacy.