Jacqui and her doctor friend Jessica went out to see Belusha, whose name means beautiful, the little girl with the big problem. We were all sitting around her on a woven esteira mat on the dusty, hard ground outside their house, talking lightly and congenially with her mother and the pastor, squinting our way through an opaque medical history when a burst of wind abruptly blew the capulana off poor Belusha's head. Silence. Jacqui didn't blink an eye, a consummate professional, just showered love and tenderness on the little girl who was desperately trying to hide her affliction behind a too-small, grubby baby hand - but even so, midway through she faltered for words and simply looked up at us, amazed and bewilded. The next day: "One of the worst things I've seen," she murmured.
But the battle is not lost, good is fighting back. There was confusion as to Belusha's actual HIV status because the clinic told them she was negative but then filled out her card as if she were positive. So we sent them back for a retest. And this evening, the cry rose up: NEGATIVE.
Because they've had so many bad past experiences at the hospital, Jacqui is admitting Belusha and her mother together into the baby care unit she runs, for about a month or so. It's the best thing I can realistically envision for them: a deeply safe, communal environment where she can begin to heal (as much is possible) and learn how to care for what will be her disfiguring burden to bear, should she grow into an adult. Her mom, who is HIV+, seems to have given up hope. I'm not surprised; simply the isolation and dust of where they were living is untenable.
But mystery is, yet. Hope is easily fanned aflame because it is a world of suprises. It is.
I am delivering them to their new home tomorrow morning.
Two:
Sampson came home. It was just in time to sleep through Rebekah's despidida (farewell party). He arrived at 6 AM, soaking wet, panting and crying, thin, with a broken two-foot long wire chain around his neck, but passion still in his heart. We don't know who had him hostage all this time, but he knew where to come back to once he got his chance to escape. Good dog, Sampson!
(From left to right: Joel, Lois, Cappasura, me, Sara, Tony, and Sampsy, who
loved this sort of thing even before his harrowing prison trauma.)
1 comment:
Oh, I'll have to tell Kellan NOT to air mail you a new dog. Glad Sampson came home.
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