Today was a big day down in D Ward. Nothing spectacular happened as far as surgeries go, and to be quite honest the pace was slow enough that it wasn't until shortly before lunch that I even remembered why the day was supposed to be so special. Today was Dr. Gary's birthday.
Dr. Gary first came to Mercy Ships more than twenty years ago. He originally volunteered for just a few weeks, and he's still here. He's the Chief Medical Officer, the head maxillo-facial surgeon and he's arguably one of the top cleft surgeons in the world. He pays to work, just like the rest of us, and it's largely due to him that I love my job as much as I do.
Dr. Gary is one of the humblest people I know. He goes out of his way to learn names of new staff, takes time to greet each patient in the mornings and comes back in the evenings to tell the nurses what a great job they're doing. I often hear him give the credit for a patient's success to the hard work of a nurse, completely downplaying the long hours he put in in the operating room.
So when I finally remembered that it was his birthday today, we knew we had to make it special for him. I raided the craft cart to collect supplies and the translators asked each patient whether they wanted to make a card.
The responses were immediate, with hands held out all around the room to choose paper and markers and shiny stickers. Heads bent low over clipboards as each one crafted his or her masterpiece for the man who had put their faces back together.
Papakey, his breath whistling softly through his new nose, wished him health and a long life. Blessing, who is here to have an infected bone plate removed, told him she loved him but that God loves him more. Fifteen year-old Kevin was in the operating room having a small tumor removed from under his chin, but his mama decorated a card, sending Dr. Gary a big kiss from the two of them.
My favourite, though, came from Fatoumatou. She's in her forties (no one, herself included, is quite sure exactly where in that decade she falls) and when she was a child, some infection or injury fused her jaw shut and destroyed the skin at the corner of her cheek. She came to us quiet, withdrawn into herself like so many others. About a week ago she had surgery to release her jaw and the first in a series of operations she'll need to remake her cheek. It's been a tough week of tube feedings and stretching exercises, but slowly, as she sees her mouth opening further and further, Fatoumatou has come out of her shell. She's started to interact with us, smiling her crooked smile and cracking jokes with the other patients.
Today she drew a beautiful flower on a piece of bright magenta paper. Underneath the drawing, in her neatest handwriting, she carefully wrote three things to Dr. Gary.
I love you.
I wish you grace.
I have found my smile again.
Happy birthday, Dr. Gary. On behalf of the hundreds and hundreds of people who have found their smiles again, thank you.
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Dr. Gary first came to Mercy Ships more than twenty years ago. He originally volunteered for just a few weeks, and he's still here. He's the Chief Medical Officer, the head maxillo-facial surgeon and he's arguably one of the top cleft surgeons in the world. He pays to work, just like the rest of us, and it's largely due to him that I love my job as much as I do.
Dr. Gary is one of the humblest people I know. He goes out of his way to learn names of new staff, takes time to greet each patient in the mornings and comes back in the evenings to tell the nurses what a great job they're doing. I often hear him give the credit for a patient's success to the hard work of a nurse, completely downplaying the long hours he put in in the operating room.
So when I finally remembered that it was his birthday today, we knew we had to make it special for him. I raided the craft cart to collect supplies and the translators asked each patient whether they wanted to make a card.
The responses were immediate, with hands held out all around the room to choose paper and markers and shiny stickers. Heads bent low over clipboards as each one crafted his or her masterpiece for the man who had put their faces back together.
Papakey, his breath whistling softly through his new nose, wished him health and a long life. Blessing, who is here to have an infected bone plate removed, told him she loved him but that God loves him more. Fifteen year-old Kevin was in the operating room having a small tumor removed from under his chin, but his mama decorated a card, sending Dr. Gary a big kiss from the two of them.
My favourite, though, came from Fatoumatou. She's in her forties (no one, herself included, is quite sure exactly where in that decade she falls) and when she was a child, some infection or injury fused her jaw shut and destroyed the skin at the corner of her cheek. She came to us quiet, withdrawn into herself like so many others. About a week ago she had surgery to release her jaw and the first in a series of operations she'll need to remake her cheek. It's been a tough week of tube feedings and stretching exercises, but slowly, as she sees her mouth opening further and further, Fatoumatou has come out of her shell. She's started to interact with us, smiling her crooked smile and cracking jokes with the other patients.
Today she drew a beautiful flower on a piece of bright magenta paper. Underneath the drawing, in her neatest handwriting, she carefully wrote three things to Dr. Gary.
I love you.
I wish you grace.
I have found my smile again.
Happy birthday, Dr. Gary. On behalf of the hundreds and hundreds of people who have found their smiles again, thank you.
