Charge over you

We called her over a month before our already-booked flight to confirm she would be present in clinic. The OB/GYN for our airline out of Africa verbalized that the 36 week gestation limit for travel was correct and that we could have a consultation in her office the day before flying home to the US to obtain a letter of permission. 

The reason for the inquiry was that our colleague missionary with much personal pregnancy experience had been illegally detained at the airport in N’Djamena some years ago. She was prevented from flying because she appeared greater than 27 weeks gestation and the airport refuses to let women fly after that time. So I breathed a huge sigh of relief after the phone call with the doctor and continued to work here in Béré during the summer. 

My pregnancy passed uneventfully in Béré, except for a bout of malaria at 28 weeks. I feared for the baby when my fever reached 103.6 but mercifully I defervesed quickly. We were immensely thankful it was the first episode I had had in pregnancy as earlier episodes in pregnancy not uncommonly cause miscarriages. During the weeks that I was the only doc in the hospital working with the nurse surgeon, I was nervous about what would happen to me and baby if I did go into labor prematurely. The outcome for baby would have been more certain, however, since viability here at our hospital is realistically around 32 weeks. Our neonatal resuscitation capabilities consist of a neonate ambu bag and sometimes a little oxygen supplementation if the oxygen concentrator is present and working. So if a baby is in trouble there is very little we can do, and I can’t even count the number of dead or alive initiating but quickly dead babies I have delivered. The OB nurses here function as midwives and deliver all the uncomplicated cases so we docs are left with the difficult and occasionally horrific ones.

The summer passed without a strike or other major crisis at the hospital or in the country at large. Gabriel and I enjoyed time together and with our beloved German Shepherd, numerous cats and small flock of sheep. We experimented with our limited ingredients in the kitchen, visited a few hospital staff in their homes, and even made a trip south to a small mountain during our one weekend off. 

When the time finally arrived for us to exit the country, we debated on the appropriate mode of travel. Normally we take motorcycles when exiting on the initial 1.5-3hr journey from the hospital to where the paved road begins. With me being 32 weeks pregnant at the time, we were a bit reticent about such a plan as I had already had a moto taxi driver skid out with me on the back of it that summer. 

Another missionary family, however, happened to also need to go to the capital city to send the mother out for a family wedding. So as their land cruiser would already be heading there the same day we needed to, we decided to tag along with them and their 4 kids and dog. The journey took around 12 hours with the ever deteriorating state of the “paved” road. By mileage, google maps says that same stretch should be able to be done in 2.5 hours. Google maps just doesn’t take into account the 3,493,284 potholes in the way. 

Once out of Chad, we visited a number of friends before finally settling down at my parents’ house in North Carolina. A second bout of malaria that I took with me as a souvenir from Chad was likely the cause of our baby’s premature delivery at 36 and a half weeks. Praise the Lord he gave a lusty cry when he came out in response to the warrior cry of his mother. Despite his prematurity, he did not require NICU or other interventions. 

Many people discussed with us whether or not we would return to the mission field after baby’s birth. We prayed and searched for the will of God. No door opened up for us to walk through other than to return to where we feel we have been called to serve for now. The decision was not easily or quickly made, however, given this area’s history of two dead missionary children. Malaria is such a kid killer. Often it is because the illness is let to progress until it is so severe our limited resources are unable to revive the child.

Two days after the birth of our son, we received word from missionary friends back in Chad that our beloved German Shepherd had followed the path of her sister and died of a gastrointestinal illness. They explained that she suddenly started vomiting and stooling blood and within 1-2 days was dead. Already riding on the roller coaster of pregnancy hormones postpartum I went briefly ballistic. 

Anger was the chief emotion I felt. We had already lost one of our kittens and then all but one of our cats died in the weeks to follow before our return to Chad. How could I then willingly take our little firstborn son back to this place of death?

Intermittently in the weeks to follow I prayed and cried out to God for wisdom and direction. Gabriel and I claimed His promises and trusted that His word is true.

In the Casablanca airport on our return to Chad, a familiar face said “Bonjour!” to me as I walked with baby in the carrier trying to get him to sleep. I looked up and recognized the face of the doctor who had written permission for me to fly on our exit Africa flight. “Felicitations!” he greeted as he bent down and kissed Elijah’s forehead. “Comment il s’appelle?” I responded with the French version of Elijah which sounds very much like our doctor’s Arabic name. A huge grin broke out over his face as he claimed Elijah as being named after him. A wave of peace washed over me as I felt that God had brought this doctor on the same flight as us to remind me that He has our little family in His hands and will continue to provide for us just as easily in the US as in Chad.

“For He shall give His angels charge over you, To keep you in all your ways.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭91:11‬

Now we are back in Chad with peace in our hearts that “He who calls you is faithful, who also will do it.”

‭‭I Thessalonians‬ ‭5:24‬ 

Thank you for your prayers for our little Elijah!