Dr. Rodriquez’s words created a lightning strike to my heart. “You will not make it back to Monjas, and you need to check into the hospital immediately.” I could handle the hospital part if I lived in the States, but being in a third-world country brought up major concerns. I knew of stories from missionaries that I based my thoughts upon, and I could hear the warnings in my head, yet it seemed the hospital decision had already been made.
With tears, I looked at Vanessa, who graciously brought me to the City, for any input she had and caught her nods. I had one choice if I wanted to live, and I didn’t want to verbalize it. My mind accelerated in a different direction as the doctor examined me.
One of the hardest times missionaries can face happens when there are physical issues and decisions about medical treatment need to be made. One such unexpected time happened to me after several bouts of sinus infections, pneumonia, and bronchitis. I had coughing episodes that lasted for an hour, leaving me totally wiped out with breathing difficulties. I had found a Guatemalan respiratory specialist who had been trained in New Orleans and spoke perfect English. I assured myself that with the right medication, I would rise up in health and continue my work at James Project of Latin America. This was my plan for this visit, until the doctor popped my bubble with the hospital idea.
On this particular day, I had traveled the three hours for an appointment, thanking the Lord that I did not have to drive. I had a coughing fit before the appointment, where I called upon the Lord to help me breathe. At the doctor’s office, I took a step up the stairs, waited, and then took another step until I made it to his floor. That feat did me in and stirred up more coughing. The doctor could see my true health situation as he evaluated treatment.
During the exam, I described a pain I had behind the ribs under my left breast. Dr. Rodriquez suspected a blood clot as the reason for the pain and said I needed to be on an anticoagulant. After checking out my peak oxygen flow, oxygen level, blood pressure, and pulse, the doctor sternly said I needed to get to the emergency room. He proceeded to list the exams I would need to help with the decision for treatment. There would be X-rays, cat scans, blood tests, nuclear solution testing, and allergy testing. As he listed each test, it furthered my resolve to speak the words in my head as panic gripped my heart.
“I just want to go home,” I whispered. “Please help me get home.”
The doctor’s head jerked around to catch what I said. I continued with my pleading that I wanted to go back to the States. “Can you get me well enough to travel back to Missouri?”
Frowning, the doctor said he could stabilize me in seventy-two hours for travel. Obediently, I entered the hospital and helping hands put me on the portable bed. They placed an oxygen mask snug on my face, and I started breathing air with some substance to it. “Oh my goodness!” I said. “I feel differently breathing real oxygen. I will take it any day over gold and riches. I can’t believe how much better I feel.” Vanessa smiled as she listened to my babbling and watched the attendants prepare me for a hospital room.
God’s soothing presence settled upon me while I laid in the hospital bed. The nurses began to prepare for the many tests needed. Vanessa made stateside phone calls to inform my family of the situation, and within hours, they decided to come and travel with me to the States after the hospital release.
With my fears abated, I realized that God had me covered and sent the help I needed. After making the hospital decision and staying there for three days felt the same as in the States except for a different language that echoed in the halls. I received professional care and responded to the treatment. I proceeded in the lifelong walk of learning to trust in the Lord. He said He would never leave me nor forsake me and that He knew my needs and would act accordingly. I think I mentioned before that I’m a slow learner.