Ripping off the Bandaid

This week when so many of my friends have flown back to their floating home, I am back in Australia and I am staying.

My departure from the ship in June wasn’t really like I thought it would be. I have been the one saying farewell one hundred times over the years and it was actually nothing like I imagined.

I have gone on holidays away from the ship so many times now, that other than having to pack up ALL of the things I have bought and accumulated in the past 5 ½ years, it felt pretty much the same. Walking down the gangway for the last time felt like every other time. Hugging my friends didn’t feel different. Sure, there was an element of sadness but I also felt fairly numb. I walked away from the group of ship family standing on the dock to the waiting car, feeling nothing. The bandaid had been coming off so slowly and painfully during the past month that it was really just time to rip it off. So I moved through the motions of goodbye, waited for the others, hopped into the car, buckled up, waved goodbye and looked behind me twice as we drove off, trying to feel something. Nothing. Blank. Apparently I'm a post-griever.

Several weeks later, it still doesn’t feel real.

I flew out of Durban, through Dubai and on to Seattle. The plane from Dubai to Seattle was pretty empty and so when the opportunity to have four seats to myself arose, I jumped up, covered myself in a blanket and promptly went to sleep laying flat, a rare luxury on a 14 hour flight.

Have any of you watched the BBC series Call the Midwife? It’s one of my favourite TV shows and comes with a 50% chance of tears. Well the airline entertainment had season 5 which I had never seen before, so being overtired and already emotional I sat in my row of four seats and watched Call the Midwife and cried. Eventually I turned the show off and just sat staring at the flight plan on the screen in front of me, thinking about all that had just happened leaving my ship home and cried. Not just silent tears either. Face screwed up and nose streaming sort of tears. No one even noticed.

Arriving in Seattle I was greeted by my friend Molly, who took beautiful care of me. After a shower and a perfect cup of coffee, we hit a Seattle highlight, Pike Place Market. I took in the colours and smells of freshly cut flowers, arts and crafts, seafoods, teas and all sorts of yummy foods. We met up with another ship friend and headed out for a sushi dinner. Around that time I hit a jetlag wall of tiredness and eventually crawled into a dreamy bed and fell fast asleep.

The next day Molly drove me out to Pier 66 where I found my friend Heather and her family, along with the Norwegian Jewel cruise ship for the next adventure. With a mixed apprehension and excitement I boarded the largest ship I’ve ever been on. So many parts of living on a ship were familiar, including the crowds that you fight everywhere to get anywhere. Of course this cruise ship was completely different to the AFM (Africa Mercy). The Norwegin Jewel is 14 decks high, it is also double the length, too many restaurants and bars to count, an art gallery, spas (hot tubs), pools and water slide, a casino and carpeted almost everywhere, just to name a few differences. There are 1,200 crew and I knew none of them, although they were all very friendly. You can eat almost all hours of the day and before you are even hungry it is time to eat again. An event is always taking place and if I hadn’t already learnt how to live with constant activity around me, and fear of missing out (FOMO) I would have been a basketcase. Instead we spent most of our hours on board staring out the windows, eating, reading, eating, playing games, eating, watching shows in the evenings and did I mention eating? Our favourite time of the night was going back to our cabin (called a stateroom on a cruise) all the way down on deck 4 forward and finding our origami towel creation on the bed.

Deck 7 walkways practically disappeared from view they were so long

 

Unfortunately mid June is too early for Salmon in Ketchikan

Ketchikan's harbour

Us at the Mendenhall Glacier, outside of Juneau

Heather checking out the glacier

The train from Skagway

Skagway harbour

One of the seven origami towel creations that we found in the evenings

We visited Ketchikan, Juneau, Skagway (all Alaska) and Victoria (B.C. Canada). We walked around each town looking in their local stores, learnt a little bit of history, watched the Lumberjack show in Ketchikan, walked to the Mendenhall glacier in Juneau, took the train up the White Pass and Yukon Route in Skagway and walked the streets of Victoria. It was fun and so beautiful. We saw dolphins and whales, glaciers and icebergs, waterfalls and snow-capped mountains. All the while my mind had intermittently been churning thoughts of returning to Australia and all that comes with it, but to keep my head in the game I tried to concentrate on where I was presently and focus on that.

From Seattle we travelled down to my friend’s town Medford, Oregon. Then the following day after a beautiful morning outdoor church service, different friends (Tim and Karin) picked me up and we drove back up to Portland. There we tasted some of Portland’s delicious foods, Pip’s Original Doughnuts and Chai, Salt and Straw for gourmet ice-cream, schwarmas from a street food truck to name a few. We hiked trails and drove the Fruit Loop tasting wines and ciders while catching up and talking of old times.

Chai and doughnuts at Pip's

Cider tasting at the Hood River Fruit Loop

Onward from Portland I flew to Durango, Colorado where I joined Mercy Ships friends from all over the US, Canada and even my kiwi friend who’s living in Northern Togo. We squeezed into every bed in our generous host’s house, some overflowing into tents, others in pop-up camper vans. Every day held adventures, hiking trails in the mountains (we got hailed on and froze when the temperature dropped significantly and it rained the whole walk down), soaked in the hot springs in Ouray, went white water rafting down the local river with Durango friends, a day out on a shooting range, lots of BBQs and meals together, Dutch Blitz, bocce ball and cornhole games. It was so fun to see so many friends that I hadn’t seen in years. I love it when you can just pick up exactly where you left off.

 

Ouray Hot Springs

Look at the size of this thing!

Hitting the 200yd, 300yd and 400yd targets took just 4 bullets!

The mark where my bullet hit and then ricocheted off and hit Mirm in the forehead

Soothing baby Bennett took some African mama style

The American cornhole game

 

After Colorado I flew to Virgina to see Stacia and her family. I always think it’s interesting to see where your friends grew up and all the things that are normal for them in contrast to your own ‘normal’ upbringing. From Virginia we drove through Charlotte, North Carolina for a quick stop and onward to Nashville, Tennessee where we got to join our friends Josh and Katie for their wedding! Another beautiful ship love story became until-death-do-us-part in a gorgeous outdoor ceremony in the woods of Tennessee.

 

The plan was to explore Nashville the next day and after driving around the music recording studios, walking the streets and eating lunch in a pub with great live country music, I had expired and was reduced to tears in the airport car park after dropping Heather off. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie down and close my eyes, but with nowhere to go and an 8+ hour drive the following day, we said goodbye to other friends in the city and knocked 2 hours off our drive for the next day, enjoying the golden hour of sunshine hitting the trees as we drove and ending up in a random town, hotel and the 12th bed I'd slept in that trip.

Do you feel tired just reading this? Yeah me too. Let’s take a break.

I Don’t Want to Forget

It's the time of year I really dislike the most. The hospital has closed and so I am no longer a nurse which means I not only have a different job but I no longer have daily contact with the Malagasy people which leaves me feeling disconnected. I've also said goodbye to no less than 50 friends, many of whom I'll probably never see again unless we put in major effort. Now that the hospital is packed up and I'm sitting at a computer every day, I'm just itching to get out of here and start the next part of the journey. It's not that I want to leave Madagascar it's that my reason for being here, my normal day to day life, has been removed and the crew has shrunk from about 450 to 200. It's so evident by the empty dock and deck 8 loaded full of vehicles, that we're almost ready to hit the open ocean.

I am ready because I feel a little like I have nothing left to give this country or many of those around me. The end of field service sucks you dry of emotion with so many goodbyes. I am dried up like a raisin. I look around the ship which is my home and try to imprint each special thing about it into my memory, the cafe in which I have eaten two meals a day for years, the dining room hustle and bustle which is now quiet and calm, my little cabin space which is now the most empty it has ever been, the short commute to any place I go, two minutes being the longest time it takes to get anywhere on board. Then most importantly I am consciously committing to memory the people that are my family in this place.

You might wonder why I've chosen to stay throughout this period and not just taken flight. Although it's been tough and it's not over yet, I find it is part of the process of letting go and closure to the chapter. As each goodbye is said, a page turns to mark the end of that season, whether it be goodbye to patients, day crew, friends or the closure of the hospital. When I look around I see that those chapters have ended- the hospital is empty, a shell of its former busy self. My friends aren't there anymore, I think I see them or hear their voice but it's a mistake when I turn my head to find them.
Setting sail is the second last chapter in this season. It is a physical departure from Mada that gives time for reflection before jumping onto the next adventure.

After a very rainy month our last weekend in Mada is beautifully sunny, with the odd shower and despite the fact that I'm tied to the ship with a duty nurse pager today I have been able to soak in the rays from the dock, enjoying the warm breeze, the puffy clouds floating in the blue, blue sky, the mooring lines slacking and tightening above the rippling sea. Beneath where my feet hang, tropical fish swim along the dock wall and there's a big fat starfish under the sea visible from the gangway.

Last weekend as I was sitting in a vehicle traveling for hours I watched with a keen eye everything passing me on the streets and decided to make a list of things I might have forgotten to tell you about.

Have I ever told you...

How much the Malagasy people like hats? Everywhere you look on the streets, adults and children alike are wearing hats.

How hard the Malagasy people work planting, harvesting, drying, and readying their rice to eat?

How resourceful they are using travellers palms for plates, spoons, wrapping, drying out for weaving baskets, placemats, bags, anything woven? They build their houses from the dried branches laid on top of each other and woven together.

How many pot holes their roads have? One man we met told us that in French pot holes are called chicken nests. I was told the roads only get worked on close to election time, so most roads go for a long time between being fixed.

How much I love seeing the community movement on the streets? They are selling goods, braiding hair, drying rice, pumping water, washing clothes, weaving, pushing carts, herding zebu, standing on the side of the road selling chickens hung by their bound feet or freshly caught fish.

How the peoples’ faces break into smiles when we speak Malagasy to them? Salama, ina vaovao? Tsy misy vaovao.

 
How clever they are at riding bikes with a second person perched on the front bar, sometimes as small as a toddler?

How beautiful the stretching green landscape and rivers are?

How colourful the woven crafts are?

How the main mode of public transport for long distance is a taxi-bruisse which is a van with four rows of seats? It seats as many people as you can fit across the seat, about 22 altogether. The other modes of transport is pousse-pousse (bicycle pedaled) and tuk tuk (motored).

How my favourite Malagasy lunch or dinner is brochette de zebu or brochette de poulet avec pomme frite or legumes? The best breakfast around is Portuguese omelette, jus grenadelle, cafe au lait and pan au chocolat.

How chickens roam everywhere? It seems no matter where you are, there will be a chicken there scratching around for food. They have long skinny legs and remind me of a T-Rex dinosaur.

How much I love to drink fresh coconut milk from the coconut selling men and women along the beach road? After you finish the milk if you hand it back to them they will cut it open and dig out the flesh for you. It is so delicious. Some stalls even have a fridge to make the coconut milk cold.

Have I ever told you how much I have enjoyed living in this country? Its people are some of the most beautiful I have ever met. It is a land I truly hope I am able to return to in the future, for it holds a large piece of my heart.

Being Understood

I’m sitting here on my bed with my last nursing shift in my favourite hospital in the world looming before me. I struggle for the words to express what I’m feeling. I have loved every minute in the wards and now I’m wondering where all my knowledge on this maxillofacial specialty will go, for it is not useful in the general paediatrics ward at home where I will return to. I think one of the things that I am struggling with most as I look ahead is knowing that I walk away from a place where I am sort after for information and knowledge of my specialty. I know most of the surgeries we do and the nursing care specific to it inside and out, but I am about to walk out of that position, to be the one again who asks one hundred questions every shift until I know again. It’s not just at work though, it’s in life. After more than five years here I have built this community of the ship around me. I walk the hallways and know who has just arrived, who has been here for the last outreach or even years before me. I can greet everyone, knowing that if they are new on board how they might be feeling and I’m able to share knowledge of how to live life well in this community and soon I will be the one who needs help and adjustment. I will return home to a physically familiar environment, but feel like an alien. I already know because when I have returned home in the past years I feel out of place and uncomfortable in my own country. It only makes it worse that I have an Australian accent because there seems to be no excuse for my lack of knowledge or confusion over how to order a drink or pay for a meal (before we eat or after we eat? to tip or not to tip? to speak English or French or Malagasy?).

Once I have returned to Australia I am sure there will be memories of my travels or time with Mercy Ships sparked by a conversation or comment and I won’t know whether to pipe up and add to the conversation or just to let the moment pass, knowing maybe those I am with will not understand and my comment will require too much explanation. So I will keep it to myself but then I will feel a part of myself dying. How will I know when to speak up without making it a conversation killer when the others don’t know how to respond? How many times can I say, “When I was on the ship….” Before people start internally rolling their eyes and wishing I’d shut up?

I think living on this ship, being in this community and loving on the people of Africa has changed me beyond anything I could imagine. I have experienced the deepest feelings of my life in this place. Loving so hard that it feels impossible to say goodbye. Hurting so deeply that I feel like I might break into physical pieces. The tears have come more freely, sparked by little things like singing a song that reminds me of a patient I loved.
I have wondered how it would feel saying goodbye to this place I call home. Last week I stood in front of about 150 friends and crewmates, many of them the best friends a girl could have. They are people who understand me in my deepest part. They've seen my heart rejoice and my heart ache. I stood in front of them to be formally farewelled from the ship. As the complimentary words of my amazing team leader were read over me, I could barely look up to meet the crowd in the eye for fear of dissolving into a massive puddle of ugly tears. So instead I hugged my arms around my chest to hold myself together. I pushed all the emotion down, for another time, another place, every now and then letting a tear or two slip out.

I suppose most people have walked through periods of life like this, where they feel overwhelmed with emotion to the point of breaking open exposing a deep vulnerability. I think of my friends who have lost siblings, friends who have lost children and babies, other who have lost their parents or grandparents. Most of my friends have had a deep ache of some sort, the breakdown of a relationship or a beloved pet die. The tender part is knowing when it is safe to speak up about our deepest hurts or feelings. Just as I want my friends to be my safe place for my deepest feelings, so do I want to be the safe place for them. Can we make a pact to always talk about the hard and vulnerable things together? About the things that make our blood boil? About the things that cause us to burst into tears? To not be afraid to speak.

I tell you because I want you to understand and I want to feel understood.

Mourning has begun

The biggest month of the year is well and truly upon us. May ends the surgeries on the ship for the outreach, the hospital closes down, school ends for the year and the grade 12 class finish school forever and the majority of the hospital crew disembark often traveling places on their way home. Some head home early before preparing to come back to the ship for the following outreach.

For the last few years I have felt immense sadness behind this month of goodbyes, knowing that in all likeliness I will never see these patients again that I have spent months caring and praying for or the day crew who have been my voice, another set of my hands and cultural teachers for the past 2 years.

When it comes to saying goodbye to nurses and crewmates, in the last years I have hidden behind the saying, “see you when you come next time!” knowing that many of them will most likely not be back, but for a good many I have seen and worked with again. So this time around, it feels so much harder. There is nothing to hide behind, except to know that for the ones where friendship runs deep, I will try my hardest to visit and keep up with them despite our different geographical locations.

D ward team

 

Here is the timeline of coming events:

11 May- The Advance Team leave for Benin to prepare the way for the next outreach. My first goodbye in May, to a beloved roommate.

20 May- The last day for surgeries for the Mada2 outreach and the HOPE Centre closes and all remaining patients needing care are transferred to the hospital on board. More goodbyes to good friends.

26 May- Last day of school for the academy and the grade 12 class graduate! More goodbyes to good friends.

27 May- The AFM hospital closes its doors to patients and we send everyone out, whether they have healed or not. Sometimes we have to transfer them to the local hospital but often we just send them home with an estimated number of dressing supplies, hoping and praying it’ll be enough.

-     The day crew Thank You event is also held on board where all 200 of our day crew come together with us and we celebrate them for the hard work they have done. We also say goodbyes to most of them.

28 May- There is a mass exodus of crew, mostly hospital staff. We stand on the dock for a 06:30am departure, overwhelmed with the sheer number of people getting on the buses leaving. Friends left behind usually say to me that day, “How have you done this so many times?” and it’s hard to answer because each times a piece of your heart breaks off. Then I usually walk back up the gangway with a guarded heart, pushing the emotions back deep inside, hoping I don’t fall apart.

Then we have one week to clean, pack up and tie down the hospital before saying more goodbyes to friends leaving and friend staying behind and to the country of Madagascar before we sail away. At that point I don’t even know what to do with the heavy feeling in my heart, tears just aren’t enough. I already had one good sobbing session out of the blue on my own last week. I have a feeling there are a few more to come.

So, will you stand and pray with us for all these things?

Pray for the next two weeks of surgeries, that the cases would be uncomplicated and patients will heal quickly.

Pray for the patients who have been with us for months that their wounds would heal before the hospital closes.

Pray for the day crew that they would find new jobs quickly.

Pray for the crew leaving that they would walk away from the ship with full hearts and that they would know God walking with them as they leave and process all they have seen and been a part of.

Pray for the emotional, mental and physical strength of the crew who are packing up, readying the ship to sail.

Pray for me, as I prepare to leave this beautiful country, the Malagasy people and say goodbye to a ship community that has shaped me these past 6 years. Pray for the strength of my heart.