"It will only hurt a little bit...not much pain"

Our dear daughter, herein referred to as "The Bug," age 8, has suffered for the past two months with a wart on the instep of her left foot.

I first became aware of it while we were away on retreat. It was her eighth birthday and I'd taken her out for some special "Mom/Daughter" time and we'd found a place to get a cheap foot massage. (For those of you readers in the West, when I say cheap, I mean about $5 for one hour of foot massage!) Anyway, it was during her birthday foot massage that she told me she had pain in this certain spot of her foot and something that was "growing" on her foot.

When you live cross-culturally, especially with kids I think, I must often suppress the trigger reflex to "freak out" every time the kids are sick. Because you see, I've been to the hospital here...and once you've seen it...you don't want to go back, for anything other than a band-aid. Now, forgive me here and allow me to say that our local hospital is the best in our city and has some very fine doctors and nurses and a generally a nice facility. However, it does not compare to the warm and inviting Doctor's office of our dear Dr. D in WC. There are no hand-stitched quilts on the walls, no private, sparkling exam rooms and certainly no cookies from the local Dutch bakery in the waiting room!

Anyway, I digress.

We always cover any health concern immediately with prayer. We have seen several miracles happen with health and injury occurances in the nearly two years that we've been here. Yet there remain a few times when, for whatever reason, we must face our fears and go to the hospital to see a Doctor.

Six weeks ago we made the first trip to the hospital to see a Doctor (no doctors in a local office, if you want to see a doctor, you go to the hospital) for the Bug's foot ailment. No longer taken aback by strangers walking into our exam room to "just see" what the problem is or walking up three flights of stairs to the blood draw room where you queue up to a large countertop that resembles a tellers' counter at a bank and has 7 phelbotomists waiting, needles in their un-gloved hands. (See earlier medical/exam posts for further description.) We received the dreaded diagnosis of wart, caused by virus and a "freezing" was required after an IV round of antibiotics! (I politely declined the IV drip which would have required us to make the 1 hour car trip back to the hospital three days in a row, and instead took home some oral antibiotics as there was some suspicion that she had a secondary infection.)

The first experience of freezing was unusual. After standing in the Dermatology Doctor's area, pressed into her office with about 20 other people who were angling for position to push their sores/moles/warts before her while 19 others spectated...we were, after nearly two hours, taken into the "Laser Room." There was no laser in sight (only an aged desk, two chairs and an wooden stool that looked just like the ones that my neighbors perch upon out in front of their shops eating noodles with wooden chopsticks.)

The Doctor brought in the liquid nitrogen in a thermos that appeared to be circa 1974. The opening at the top was stopped up with a dingy, yellowed gauze plug. She also brought in two "tool kits" that looked like they perhaps were used with the Last Emperor. They had various metal implements in them, lying in disarray like a half-hearted mechanic had just used them. The Doctor, while counseling another 2-3 patients who walked into "our" room, dipped the first implement into the "smoking" opening of the thermos. She withdrew the implement and pressed it to The Bug's foot. She repeated this three times, the Bug's eyes spilling over with tears, until she finally told us to go home and to return in two weeks.

Yesterday was the two week mark. We dutifully returned.

After elbowing our way in front of the other dermatologically challenged, a diagnosis was made that we must go to the "Procedure Room"...for a "knife poking." The Bug was immediately assured that "It will only hurt a little bit...not much pain."

Local anesthetics are not used here. They're seen as wasteful and unnecessary. The Bug was placed on a plastic sheet (the exact same material as is used to cover the billions of restaurant tables Here that, when you place your arms upon it, sticks/melts to your arms.) Underneath the plastic I could see the evidences of other "knife pokings" on a stained sheet. I prayed again for protection and strength.

It did hurt more than a little bit as the Doctor, with four assistants and a few other patients pressed in to view, used some scissors to cut away at the wart on The Bug's foot. She was so, so brave. She was so tough. She remained still while she cried out it pain as I stood by feeling sick to my stomach. Afterward, The Bug quickly composed herself and limped out of the room.

I was once again helpless and totally out of control. I was away from the "best practices" of medicine that I've grown up with in the West, cultural expectations that I'm accustomed to, and it bothered me! Yet I had to face once again the truth that "control " is an illusion, no matter where I live. Though these experiences are painful for me, as a Momma to go through, I should learn from my daughter's example. To resist my urge to panic and run. To instead be like The Bug who remained still trusting me while enduring the pain, waiting for the necessary process to end. After all, my best response is to be still, knowing that my Father is standing by my side.