Prolapsed Rectums?!?......

The other week I felt that God was telling me to “let this go deep”. The same week I arrived to find Margaret, a two and a half year old, whimpering. I picked her up and right away noticed that she smelled of poop. I asked why she was crying, and the kids said she was sick. I carried her around to the back of the orphanage and asked the directors what was going on, and they said she had hemorrhoids. Odd for a two year old. I checked, and sure enough, she had a prolapsed rectum. I’ve since learned that this is not that unusual of a problem here given the parasite infections and malnutrition.

Still unsure of exactly what to do, I took Margaret to the Doctors Without Borders clinic down the road. The first words out of the clinician’s mouth were “This child is malnourished. Is she in a feeding program?” I was shocked too. This was the first time I had seen her without her clothes, and every one of her ribs showed. The veins in her stomach were palpable. Her belly wasn’t a cute little plump one, but seemed out of place on a body with stick thin arms and legs. Immediately guilt ridden, I explained that we had just started to deliver food subsidies to her orphanage, but that this was only the second time I had ever seen this child.

After a few tries, they were able to reduce the rectum, but by the time we returned to the orphanage Margaret was restless and whimpering again. When I picked her up she started screaming. With every scream, her prolapsed rectum bulged further out of her body. At the clinic they had told us if it were to happen again that she might need surgery. Not 45 minutes later we were back on the road, this time to the hospital. Liberian emergency rooms are not a fun place to be, especially with a screaming 2 year old. By this time I’d figured out that if I held Margaret on her stomach on my lap, she wasn’t so uncomfortable, but she got bored easily. One of the nurses noticed this, took pity on me, and got us through the waiting room and into the exam room. I’d like to think it was because of the gravity of her condition, and not my skin color, but I wasn’t about to question it with such a sick little baby in my arms. After a few tries the surgeon was able to reduce it, this time placing quite a pressure dressing over her little bottom. I wanted to stop and get her ice cream or something on the way home, but she slept the entire way. I think the diazepam they gave her to relax the muscles finally kicked in during the car ride….

I’m happy to say that since being treated for worms and getting regular food Margaret is doing much better. She never did need surgery. It will take time, though, for her swollen belly and thin little arms to look healthy. I was afraid that she would hate me after our ordeal. She clung to me in the hospital room, but I thought for sure she would cry every time she saw me afterward. Instead she’s become my little girl. The other children and the directors call me her mother. I have to remind them that I am only an auntie. I can’t choose just one. It’s amazing, though, how one little child can motivate you to keep fighting through the frustrations, and how quickly that challenge to “let this go deep” took on a face and name.