Community HIV Testing
Who ever said community medical work would be fun? I guess it goes right along with the idea that NGO work is meaningful and missionaries are more blessed than the rest of us. As we are slogging away in our north-American jobs, we look at those awesome peace-corps volunteers or long-term missionaries in the deepest jungle in Congo or flood-prone Indonesia and think “Man! What would I give to have that life? Making a difference every single day. That is where it’s at…”
Maybe I never thought it would be fun, but at least fulfilling, exciting, deeply spiritual or at the very least, interesting.
So imagine my surprise when, after spending a good five or six hours trekking around Kampala doing home-care visits, we landed in a neighborhood for our last patient and found our truck surrounded by people eager for HIV tests (i.e, this should be super exciting, community health work at its best...) As our clinic has recently started testing routinely (as opposed to voluntarily- in which you wait patiently at the clinic for people to get it into their heads that testing for HIV is a good idea) we are carrying around with us rapid test kits and are supposed to be “scaling up treatment.” As in, finding and recruiting as many HIV+ individuals as possible to meet targets set by some person in a suit sitting in an office being paid to come up with these bizarre and outlandish numbers. What this means for us is that my boss walks around the office hollering about needing to get 5 HIV+ clients registered every single day.
This leads us to Katwe, the neighborhood we were in that Tuesday. Christopher (our driver) quickly instructed me to start drawing blood. From where? Starting with whom? We had our truck, with supplies, sitting in the middle of a slum, surrounded by people. This did not look like a controlled, clean, or organized environment to me. (These are things I usually try to insist on if I’m going to being waving needles around or handling human body fluids.) Nor did we have a sharps container or a biohazard bag.
Martha took a station on one side of the truck, and I set up on the other. The first lady jumped in the back seat and stuck her arm out. I strained to reach over her to find some gloves, disinfectant, a syringe, etc etc. I ended up having to use her lap as a work space, since there was no where else to work. As I uncapped the needle, people pushed in, three deep, to check out my technique. Kids peered over the door window trying to get a glimpse of the action. I could envision someone jostling me or the door, and my arm with the needle being pushed so that we drew an arterial sample and ended up with blood spurting all over. Great. A blood fest. Just what I need at four o’clock in the afternoon when I haven’t eaten all day.
I managed to draw the first sample and hand it over to Martha (after convincing the lady that it was a bad idea for her to hold the cap while I recapped the needle!). I could barely back up for her to get out of the truck as the rest of the crowd vied for the next spot in line.
Let me stop here to demystify the situation. In case you are envisioning that there were any positive feelings or emotions in me at this moment, let me assure you that I was in a monstrously bad mood. Low blood sugar, exhaustion, frustration, fear (regarding previously mentioned uncontrolled environment) were all taking over. These are moments that make me despise myself more than anything. Who the heck goes to Africa to help out with the HIV/AIDS epidemic and goes around snapping at people and being grumpy? Is this any way to spread the love of Jesus? I should have been delighted to help a few more people in this country figure out their serostatus and be able to make informed and wise lifestyle decisions based on that information. Instead, I just wanted lunch, and a rest. At the very least a sharps container or more gloves!
Unfortunately my friends, you now know the truth. Saint I may not be, but I made it through that afternoon (by the grace of God, and also by His grace that there was no violence between those of us on the team who were equally tired and frustrated). I’ve made it through a few more days of community testing as well, not necessarily with a better attitude, but I am trying. Strange as it may sound, the struggles of the flesh do not disappear when one engages in volunteer or mission work and sometimes it feels as though I require more of God’s mercy and forgiveness here than I have ever needed before in my life.
My prayer, therefore, is that regardless of the context of our work, we would find meaning and blessing in being faithful to that which God has called us to do—whether it would be teaching, nursing, studying, facilitating, etc etc etc—or drawing six million blood samples in a slum in Kampala—and that he would work through us despite our very human limitations. May we be contented to do that work and not say with the apostle Peter "what about that other guy? Why aren't I doing the work s/he is doing? (John 21:21)" but would rather hear Jesus saying to us, "What is that to you? You follow me." (John 21:22)
Maybe I never thought it would be fun, but at least fulfilling, exciting, deeply spiritual or at the very least, interesting.
So imagine my surprise when, after spending a good five or six hours trekking around Kampala doing home-care visits, we landed in a neighborhood for our last patient and found our truck surrounded by people eager for HIV tests (i.e, this should be super exciting, community health work at its best...) As our clinic has recently started testing routinely (as opposed to voluntarily- in which you wait patiently at the clinic for people to get it into their heads that testing for HIV is a good idea) we are carrying around with us rapid test kits and are supposed to be “scaling up treatment.” As in, finding and recruiting as many HIV+ individuals as possible to meet targets set by some person in a suit sitting in an office being paid to come up with these bizarre and outlandish numbers. What this means for us is that my boss walks around the office hollering about needing to get 5 HIV+ clients registered every single day.
This leads us to Katwe, the neighborhood we were in that Tuesday. Christopher (our driver) quickly instructed me to start drawing blood. From where? Starting with whom? We had our truck, with supplies, sitting in the middle of a slum, surrounded by people. This did not look like a controlled, clean, or organized environment to me. (These are things I usually try to insist on if I’m going to being waving needles around or handling human body fluids.) Nor did we have a sharps container or a biohazard bag.
Martha took a station on one side of the truck, and I set up on the other. The first lady jumped in the back seat and stuck her arm out. I strained to reach over her to find some gloves, disinfectant, a syringe, etc etc. I ended up having to use her lap as a work space, since there was no where else to work. As I uncapped the needle, people pushed in, three deep, to check out my technique. Kids peered over the door window trying to get a glimpse of the action. I could envision someone jostling me or the door, and my arm with the needle being pushed so that we drew an arterial sample and ended up with blood spurting all over. Great. A blood fest. Just what I need at four o’clock in the afternoon when I haven’t eaten all day.
I managed to draw the first sample and hand it over to Martha (after convincing the lady that it was a bad idea for her to hold the cap while I recapped the needle!). I could barely back up for her to get out of the truck as the rest of the crowd vied for the next spot in line.
Let me stop here to demystify the situation. In case you are envisioning that there were any positive feelings or emotions in me at this moment, let me assure you that I was in a monstrously bad mood. Low blood sugar, exhaustion, frustration, fear (regarding previously mentioned uncontrolled environment) were all taking over. These are moments that make me despise myself more than anything. Who the heck goes to Africa to help out with the HIV/AIDS epidemic and goes around snapping at people and being grumpy? Is this any way to spread the love of Jesus? I should have been delighted to help a few more people in this country figure out their serostatus and be able to make informed and wise lifestyle decisions based on that information. Instead, I just wanted lunch, and a rest. At the very least a sharps container or more gloves!
Unfortunately my friends, you now know the truth. Saint I may not be, but I made it through that afternoon (by the grace of God, and also by His grace that there was no violence between those of us on the team who were equally tired and frustrated). I’ve made it through a few more days of community testing as well, not necessarily with a better attitude, but I am trying. Strange as it may sound, the struggles of the flesh do not disappear when one engages in volunteer or mission work and sometimes it feels as though I require more of God’s mercy and forgiveness here than I have ever needed before in my life.
My prayer, therefore, is that regardless of the context of our work, we would find meaning and blessing in being faithful to that which God has called us to do—whether it would be teaching, nursing, studying, facilitating, etc etc etc—or drawing six million blood samples in a slum in Kampala—and that he would work through us despite our very human limitations. May we be contented to do that work and not say with the apostle Peter "what about that other guy? Why aren't I doing the work s/he is doing? (John 21:21)" but would rather hear Jesus saying to us, "What is that to you? You follow me." (John 21:22)
posted by Christi-Lynn at 5:03 PM
4 Comments:
I so appreciate your integrity. Sometimes it takes a while to get there, but all we can do is be 'in the moment,' receiving the grace God gives when we need it most. Your experience reminds me this is possible. I sometimes forget.
Doesn't necessarily make things any easier. Just doable -- which on a lot of days is infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
May got shower you with 'gracelets' each day.
Love, Leslianne
Yikes! Hit publish instead of preview.
That is -- May GOD shower you with gracelets . . .
So much for striving for solemnity!
Grace and peace,
Moi
Despite your "attitude" not always being as holy and grateful as you'd like, you are doing the work, and that's what counts. Remember Jesus question to his critics--who is a disciple, one who says he'll do what I ask, and then never gets around to it, or the one who refuses, says its too hard, and then goes to do what I've asked. It's the doing that counts--I bet that guy grumbled the whole time. But he cared for the sick, while so many others kept promising they'd get to it someday. So many things about your work are hard, not ideal, unacceptable, unjust. And your responses are normal, understandable, ok. You are loved by Friend Jesus, who sent you to this bad place. No despising, only warm sympathy and joy in your obedience. Thank you for sharing so openly, dear sister.
I think it is just hard to be confronted with the worst version of myself, in a context where I would hope to be the best version of myself. Also, hard to be reminded of just how dependent or connected to my "flesh" I am--that things like fatigue and hunger are not easily ignored. I know so many people who seem superhuman, they go for whole shifts without eating, sleep very few hours each night and still manage to accomplish more, and with a better attitude than I do!
This whole year has been a long exercise in learning how dependent I am on God's grace and the prayers of his people.
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