One final reflection

My time in PNG has come to a close. I’m currently sitting in the Brisbane airport partway through my 3½ day trip home. As I think back through my time, there are a number of memories that come to the surface. To be honest, many of them are sad and difficult. I think about diagnosing a woman with twins and polyhydramnios (too much fluid) at 19 weeks and then a week later delivering the twins, too small to have any chance even if they had been born in a different setting. I remember the tiny three month old, suffering from malnutrition and likely some undiagnosed congenital syndrome who came in with respiratory distress and miraculously survived through the weekend only to die on Christmas Eve. I think about the mother with uncontrolled diabetes that we took back for a C-section due to failure to progress because her baby was 5kg. After the C-section, I went in to check on baby and he was cyanotic and had significant difficulty breathing due to his massive chest and the amount of fluid and meconium still present in his lungs. I knew in my heart that he wouldn’t survive till morning. And yet there are a lot of other memories that are more positive, although not as etched into my memory; the man slowly recovering and gaining strength following TB meningitis, the molar pregnancy I diagnosed in clinic after 20 weeks that could have been life-threatening if allowed to go much longer, the little boy with acute bacterial meningitis who slowly improved over time, the cord prolapse baby that survived, somewhat miraculously, to be born early Christmas morning, and the countless people in clinic who left with a diagnosis that could explain much of their pain and suffering.

Despite all the difficult moments, discouragement is not the predominant impression I have in leaving. To be sure, it is difficult to swallow that so many people, particularly children, are still dying of illnesses that we have had the ability to treat or prevent for over 50 years. There were a number of nights I left the hospital with a heavy heart. The more I reflect on it, though, the predominant impression I have in leaving is not the individual clinical memories, but rather the conviction of God’s calling me to medical missions work and to caring for the poor and most needy. It was reassurance that I have not wasted the last 9.5 years of my life and that my motivation, though deeply buried, was not fully destroyed by the medical training process. It was also a reassurance that there are multiple paths after I finish and a number of ways to obtain the skills that I will need to serve in such a location. Overall, I’m leaving with a kind of hope for what the future might bring and the changes that might be possible.