How to Save a Life

Her name is Dwali, a seven year old Fulani girl with big eyes and stick thin arms who had a severe case of Malaria. It took four of us to hold her down while I placed the IV, but she held my hand afterwards as I leaned down to kiss her forehead. Kelsey, one of the nursing students with us, just held her, for hours at a time, comforting her with a gentle loving presence. I do not know what would have happened to her if we had not been there. Would she have overcome the parasite on her own or would it have ravaged her slight body?

One of the appeals of emergency medicine is saving someone’s life. Deep down almost every doctor, nurse, fire and police man or women share this conviction. In the hospital though, it is not as easy to make these distinctions as one would think. Rarely do you have a definitive “save” where there is no doubt that your actions prevented a person’s death. And with modern medicine it’s hard to tell what kind of life you have preserved for your patient. My sickest patients tend to leave my care intubated and sedated. I rarely, if ever, know whether they recovered fully, partially, or finally slipped away hours or days later. But staring into that little girl’s eyes I was struck by how temporal all these efforts are. Dwali, with all the love of her family and support of her community, will likely get malaria again, will still battle with malnutrition, and will face more hardship in her life than I ever will in mine…and we won’t be there to do anything about it.

We must remember that all of medicine is a stall. Not a fight against death, but a slow surrender to life’s final ending. While this is true all over the world, it is even more acutely felt when you hand an old man two weeks worth of hypertension meds knowing they will likely never be refilled. So why do these trips? Why travel halfway around the world to bring medical care to a village once every few years? Because what we bring is so much better than our medication…it’s hope.

Jesus had this wonderful heart for the poor, continually using them to illustrate his values and even identifying himself with them: "as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me." (Matthew 25:40). Yet Christ rebuked his disciples for chastising a woman who poured a bottle of expensive perfume over his head. "Why the waste? For this could have been sold for a large sum and given to the poor." Jesus reminded them “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.” (Matthew 26:9-11) Does service to the poor matter to God? Absolutely, but he wants us to remember the larger picture. It isn't just about poverty, it's about his presence in people's lives. God’s plan on earth is not to fix it, not to lift everyone out of poverty, fill everyone’s belly, or rid the world of disease. No, God’s plan is to bring hope to the hopeless telling them that he is on their side, that he does not ignore their suffering, and that he is with them, “always, even to the end of the age.” This is the calling that I feel when I go overseas. I act as a servant and a messenger to those that God values most: the poor, the hopeless, the oppressed, and the weak knowing that my actions alone will never save anyone, but believing that they see the hope in me and can find the same hope for themselves.

Dwali was sitting up now, still pressed against Kelsey’s side, but looking stronger than before. She snacked on a few crackers that I had thankfully tossed in my bag before leaving the hotel that morning and sipped some re-hydration solution. I smiled, astounded by how children can wreck you with one glance. This little girl will always hold a place in my heart serving as a reminder to me of my limitations, and my trust that I have been assured to be of good hope, for God loves us desperately and is on our side.


Addendum:
Upon coming back to the states I've had a number of conversations about serving overseas with others. Many have expressed an interest in going, but frequently add the caveat "I just don't want to go with one of those religious groups." I understand this, in fact I used to feel this way myself. Even though I was a Christian, I did not like the idea of serving others with any kind of strings attached. However, after several trips with "religious groups" I find that I am a convert myself. What good is all the medical care in the world if the people you are serving have nothing to cling to in the midst of all they are going through? A friend of mine serving in Peace Corps in Eastern Europe recently shared this with me: "This country has many things that a 3rd world doesn't, but it still lacks structure, political justice and hope. People literally don't plan ahead for the future because they feel like it's too uncertain. Part of the reason volunteers are here is to bring a 'can do' attitude and show our own hope." 


I studied international development in college focusing on how to do sustainable development and graduating with a conviction that I had the tools to change the world. My growing belief is that while these tools are useful, what my friend observed matters the most. People need hope and the only hope I know to offer is that God loves them. My whole motivation has shifted over the years. No longer do I feel called to work with the poor to provide medical care in a Christian environment, but I feel called to share my hope in Christ in a medical environment. Medicine is a vehicle for sharing hope, not the hope itself. I know this well as I've watched medicine finally fail over and over again, ultimately unable to save a life.