Rachel and Amy's Nighttime Experience

Rachel and I jumped at the chance to work 7PM to 7AM Tuesday and Wednesday at the Hospice turned Healthcare Center. We had six female and five male patients all with HIV/AIDS and /or TB. The first night all but one woman was very resistant to us being there. The men were much more receiptive (go figure). There was one man in particular who took an interest in us and shared his story. As you can imagine, this was a humbling experience for us for a stranger to "spill his guts" so openly and without reservation. This gentleman was diagnosed with HIV three years ago is physically what we back in the states would imagine as the typical progression of AIDS. The difference is what we saw in how his diagnosis affected his heart. He insists the day he was diagnosed was the first day his life truly started. He told us the last three years have been the best in his life. The common theme he kept coming back to was "no pain, no gain". He explained that when he is without pain, he neglects his time with the Lord. When he is in pain, is the time he is closest to the Lord and remembers to be with Him. He prefers the pain over not.


Our second night proved to be more fruitful in that the women seemed to receive us as soon as we came thru the door. It is as if the first night they were watching us to discern our motivation for being there and could feel free to accept us. We decided to pamper them with hand cleansing and massages. Before we could finish with the first patient, a couple of other women were calling out "me next!". As I reflect back on the experience I remember seeing my two strong, soft white hands clasping one frail, thin, rough black hand between them and wanting to cry. I wish I could capture that moment on film to take home with me because I know my memories of this week will fade and I will forget the details. I pray the Lord will help me to remember these small details as they were so important at the time. We then proceeded to the men who even enjoyed a hand massage themselves.



Although different languages were spoken and we needed a translator for one patient, I felt the compassion in our voice outweighed any language barrier there might have been. The language of love and compassion is a universal language.



We completed our two night "assignment" tearfully and realized bonds had been formed in that short time. As Rachel and I reflect on our time together, we agreed that although we had both treated terminally ill patients in the past, walking into a ward full of people who will probably all have died by the next time we return was a different type of experience.