Messes.

Today it happened. It actually, finally happened. I knew that the event was looming, ominous, inevitable and that it was merely just a matter of time. Today, for me, my number was drawn, the clock struck twelve. Today, as I was holding a fry in my lap, I was peed on. I should have seen it coming as she was a little reluctant to let go of mama and render herself under my care. She started to fuss and before I could utter the words "basi, basi, basi" (enough, enough, enough), she leaked. All over my white scrubs, right in my lap. Now as if wearing pants wasn't uncomfortable enough for me to begin with here in Africa, now add on being drenched in urine. The wet, clinging factor is especially annoying. Then, of course, it starts to itch and smell as the heat gets a hold of it. And in case you were wondering, yes, I did go and wash up, but without having a spare change of clothes with me I was sort of stuck in an awful predicament. And, of course, this happened at about 10:00 in the A.M., leaving me a whole additional 6 hours of stinking, scratching, and squirming. "Hurry up clock and strike 4," is all I could keep thinking. Luckily the staff was pretty good about not giving me too much grief. They chuckled as too be expected because face it, it is hilarious. They passed it on from mother to mother as they came in, bringing about more pointing and laughing. And after a while it died out. But I wasn't too fazed by it as I knew that they've all been there before. Been spit up on, slobbered on, peed on, pooped on, for working with children is messy. And today, as it seemed like the children just kept coming into the clinic, it also seemed like messes just kept coming along with them. Let me continue with one more example.

I was working with a 2 year old girl who had down syndrome today, just screaming her head off while my CI had her in the standing frame. After 15 minutes of screaming we took her out. Took her out because 15 minutes is the standard time frame for the standing frame, not because anyone grew tired of her wailing or felt sorry for her. My CI told me to work with her so I picked her up and took her over to the mat and laid her down. More shreaking, this time louder. Now everyone was looking at me, looking at the little girl, nonverbally telling me to do something to make her stop, especially the mother. I looked back at them, at my CI, and nonverbally responded with, "what do I do?" My CI spoke up, telling me that this girl screams and cries like that every time that she comes in so just to procede with treatment and let her cry. I couldn't. I didn't care if my actions of disobedience aided in expanding the gap between my CI and regarding her trust and tolerance of my treatment techniques. I stopped treating her and began consoling her. I picked that girl up off the mat, pressed her as tight as I could against my chest, rocked her back and forth ever so gently, and just held her. Held her to show her that someone cared for her in that moment, cared that she was crying out of pain, frustration, being afraid. And as soon as she felt my arms pull her in tight she stopped her fussing. She went limp. She knew that she was being attended to, cared for, secure. And as if it was her way of saying "Thank you," that little girl turned her head towards mine and stuck her big, sloppy tongue right into my ear. The wettest "wet willy" I'm sure I will ever experience. But I just held her there as if to tell her that even that was okay. That her comfort and her needs were more important in that instance than my own or anyone else's. And with one simple gesture the entire clinic fell into complete silence. Mothers and fellow staff who previously looked at me fervently to do something and do it with haste to make her stop now looked at me in disbelief and bewilderment that I actually did. Everyone in the clinic, that is, except for one person. My CI. She scoweled and huffed from across the room with hatred in her eyes that could have killed a man because I didn't listen to her, because I wasn't treating that girl. But I only noticed for a brief second as the girl in my arms was the most important thing to me in the world right then and there and nothing was going to make me stop holding onto her for as long as she needed. So I just held and rocked and comforted that little girl. That beautiful little girl. That beautiful little mess.

More to come. Stay posted.

[Just to add in a little bit more regarding my treatment session here at the end of this blog entry: After taking about 5 or 6 minutes of holding and consoling her she completely settled down and not once cried, fussed, or remotely in any sort or form of an expression complained while I performed the appropriate treatment in respect to her plan of care that afternoon while having her complete cooperation as we did so.]