Miracles Do Happen!

We must start this blog on a low note, before we move to cheerier topics.  We had hoped that our tales of chicken woe had come to an end, but alas we must now report that more poultry sorrow abounds.  A late night visitor (in the form of a wild cat-like beast) snuck into our chickens’ peaceful domicile and put a brutal end to our dear friends Mabungi and Bruce.  So Kibibi is the last chicken standing!  Of course, we mustn’t have him lonely, so two new chickens join him in the coop: “Gundi” (“whatzizname”) and “Omudongo” (“Good for nothing” - no eggs from her yet!).  Whilst these may seem like bad names, anyone working in paediatrics will have seen numerous children with worse names (“Klamydia”, anyone?), so no need to call the RSPCA quite yet, folks.  Surprisingly, our reputed chicken-murdering dog Sierra has taken very little interest in our new acquisitions, nor much interest in our dear cockerel Mr. Loverman, who has returned prodigal-son-stylie, probably hoping to spread his seed to our unsuspecting newcomers! She has however been making friends with Noah!

The human wing of Hotel Crow is currently also very busy. Jono has arrived from London via Burundi and will be here for 2 months. He is helping with Synergy, making Noah giggle, and has increased the combined mental age of the household to approximately 54, (Sarah = 33, Tim = 10, Jono = 10, Noah = 1!!). We also have  Forest Hill Community Church assistant pastors Sam and Jenny here on a pastoral visit for 10 days.   What could have been terrible timing to have a packed house, after Noah decided to do a profuse vomit reminiscent of “the Exorcist” followed by fevers and an upset tum, has turned out to be fine and fun. Having said that, since then Tim has spent a morning curled up in foetal position on the floor of a latrine in a clinic with Giardia and Typhoid, whilst Jenny and Sam have also enjoyed  some "Bombo Belly" (our Ugandan equivalent of Delhi Belly!). Jono, in typical teenage lad fashion, has compensated for the resultant lack of appetites by eating enough to fuel a small army! 

On the baby unit front, the usual continuous stream of sick babies and some deaths have been more than offset by an astounding story of healing!  A previous graduate of the Unit, now a month old, came back extremely sick, with fevers, seizures and episodes of stopping breathing.  Luckily a couple of the doctors from maternity were around to help with the resuscitation, and gave Sarah a call, because there was no improvement after 30 minutes, and yet they didn’t feel quite comfortable about stopping their resuscitation.  The story we’d been (incorrectly) given was that the baby had properly stopped breathing after being given a drug to stop fits.  So since he looked quite good (well, you know, for a baby that isn’t breathing – maybe “good” is a bit of an over-statement), we decided to try something that we hadn’t tried before, and asked an anaesthetist to put a tube into the baby’s windpipe. 

Now, we wouldn’t have dreamt of this had it not been for the fact that we wondered if there could be something reversible, e.g. after-effects of the drugs, which might then be able to leave the baby’s system.  We haven’t got a ventilator, so it’s not possible to have the only nurse on shift completely tied up with one baby when there are many other sick babies to care for.  So as you can imagine, we were pretty peeved to later be told that actually the baby had been having prolonged periods without breathing even before the drugs.  Peeved isn’t actually an adequate description – frankly we all felt quite sick about the situation, wondering if we’d basically given a mother a tiny bit of hope (not much, mind you) when really there wasn’t any.  Anyway, mum and grandmother opted to help us “bag” the baby overnight (basically pushing air into the lungs regularly), so we left with our hearts in our stomachs.

The next morning, Sarah went to the Unit feeling dread, expecting either to be told the baby had died, or (worse) that he hadn’t, but that he hadn’t improved, so we’d probably need to tell the mother that it was time to stop bagging and let him die.  Having prayed, she knew that God might intervene, and all might be well.  But was it likely?  Not at all.  But sure enough, there was our little baby breathing by himself (having had 14 hours of dedicated “bagging”), and having had a good breastfeed!  He did try a silly stunt a little later that morning, and stopped breathing again briefly, but now nearly a week down the line, he’s going from strength to strength, and we’re all AMAZED (including his very delighted maama).  Woop woop!!