A taste of unreality

I have been working on the blog I originally was going to post next for the last few days, but that’s gone out the window for the moment now, I have spent the last three hours writing my experiences from today which I feel that I must post, and as I went to publish it, I did a select all to spell check and what happens?, it deletes itself, isn’t that fun, hours and hours of work, down the drain, I love computers.
I am writing this again mainly because I must
Today was the most difficult day that I’ve experienced since I got here, not difficult in the homesickness, or illness or tiredness, but in the physical experiencing of something that feels like you’ve taken a sledgehammer to your brain and your reeling.
Today we went to Shayamoya with Michelle from TLC, we first went to visit a guy who’s 19 and is in the equivalent of fourth class in primary school, he is the head of his household of four other siblings who he has to look after, he has a deformed left hand which he hides and is very obviously embarrassed about, he is polite and respectful, by his house he is dutiful, they have no income to speak of so TLC provide them with care packages, when they run out they notify TLC who call to the school and drive him home, they then drop off the care package and drop him back to school, to be 19, the head of your household, to be behind in your studies and carry a deformity, yet to persevere is just so impressive, to persevere with such dignity is beyond impressive, when we got to his house I noticed that his shoes weren’t really shoes anymore, just pieces of leather that sat on top of his feet, there was no soles, they were just there to give the illusion of shoes, he wore them every day to get to school, the pain that it must be on bad cold days, with rocks and glass, metal and what not, yet he still has a smile on his face, it was impressive that Michelle also noticed and in a matter of minutes had organised that a pair of shoes would be delivered to the guy and also a pair for his younger brother. After dropping the package we dropped him back to school, and he went back to his life.
We then went to deliver a care package to a man with advanced HIV, he was so very welcoming as he sat out in the sun with his friend, he was in a lot of pain with his feet due to the HIV medication, yet as always he was so friendly to these two strangers who intruded his house as he suffered and tried to enjoy the sun, he welcomed us with a warm smile and a handshake as did his friend, as the time passed it became obvious that his friend had something more then a bad cough, immediately the care workers were asking him questions and came to the conclusion that he needed further examinations so as they do, they organised to check him the next day, again as it always seems to be the way he bade us good day with a smile and friendliness of someone that is an old friend in the peak of their health, and yet reality is the opposite.
We then called to another man with very advanced HIV, again he was so nice, so happy to greet us to his very modest home, and although he was uncomfortable with the state of his place, as a sick man living in such a situation it can’t be easy to keep any place clean, his medication was the only thing that could be seen in his tiny house, what we would consider a shed, there was no food so TLC gave him food and medicine, it’s tough to describe these things without being all clichéd and pointless, but I will try, the food and the medicine are the obvious provisions of sustenance from TLC, but it’s the care on a personal level, from people who really care about those they are working with, it’s the conversations, the way they talk to each other, that it’s not a patient relationship, it’s a caring relationship.
We then went to visit a woman who is terminally ill with cancer, initially we went to just drop off nappies, as she is unable to move from the bed she needs to wear adult nappies and they had run out, it transpired that when we got there we could go into see the lady.
The lady was in one of four rooms, the back room, a small dark, dank room, the smell was musty, the lady, weighs more or less 5 stone, lying on a bed in pure, and I do not use the word “pure” lightly, agony, her eyes screaming the pain that is in every fibre of her being, this woman, who is so ravaged by cancer that she could have been 30 or 60 it’s so difficult to tell, and yet, in this hellish surroundings (In my opinion), lying in a dark room, in a nappy, in mortal pain, staring death straight in the face without any medical personnel bar the visits from Michelle, this woman looks at us, smiles and shakes our hands, even when she can barely move due to the constant pain, she smiles, her eyes are screaming, and she smiles, she shakes both our hands, and it’s near total pain to do so, she cannot speak, but as Michelle explains to her that we’re her Friends from Ireland, and explains to us that she can only whisper, she looks at us and whispers the word “pain”, Now please don’t think for one moment that I am in any way insinuating that cancer and pain and death do not exist anywhere else, I buried my Mum when I was 18 from cancer, she was in pain for the week before she passed, yet she was in the care of a fantastic medical team, with the best of medical equipment and surrounded by all of her loved ones, she didn’t die in a small dark room, with little to none medical care, no counselling, just the room, the dark and the end. The fact that she has such dignity to greet us, to smile to shake our hand even at the last hour has affected me profoundly. I notice I am changing how I refer to her from past to present, that is simply because as I type this I cannot be sure that she is still alive, a woman that I met a matter of hours ago may now be dead, such is life you might say, millions of people die, everyone dies eventually, that’s fair enough, yet if she was in the best of health I would have left the house heart broken, to see a woman that weighed so very little, that was in constant agony, that was lying in such total pain that you could see she was waiting for the end, yet to smile, yet to shake hand, yet to greet us as friends I cannot fathom the depth of strength and dignity, maybe I’m a pussy, but if I was lying in a small dark room looking at the end of my mortality and I had one hundredth of the dignity of this lady, I would die proud, I will never forget that moment, I will never be eloquent enough to really describe what happened properly, but maybe if I can just even pass on that something did happen, that may be enough. I wish her all that can be granted and hope that if she does pass it will be quick and painless, I haven’t mentioned her name, not because I don’t know it, but because I don’t think knowing her name will change anything and maybe it might belittle this experience. If I’m honest, I consider myself a decent writer, not Roald Dahl decent, but that I can convey information decently, I am not doing what happened justice, I’m not sure I will ever be able to properly move my memories of this day from my brain to a written media, this happens all over the world, but it doesn’t happen to me. It is nice that a woman you meet once and don’t really talk to can have a profound effect on you then maybe there is some hope, thing is, I don’t know what, All I can do is try and explain whats going on over here and why it’s important. I hope my next blog is more light hearted, one thing I have realised is that every piece doesn’t have to end with a meaningful line, and yes, I am aware of the irony of that.