Trust

Trust is something that has always been difficult for me. I like for things to make sense, to be able to plan ahead, and to have things operate according to my schedule. Who doesn't? But when things don't go according to plan and are impossible to make sense of, what choice do we have except to trust? It's not a valiant or admirable thing, it's just that there simply is no other option. I asked God to help me with trusting Him more before we came to Guatemala. I just had no idea what that process would involve and just how painful it would be.

I, obviously, never would have chosen to have surgery in Guatemala. I have strong American loyalty and biases -- I was skeptical of health care here and thought that it couldn't possibly be as good as at home. Now, I know this is exactly where I needed to be. I told my doctor, Dr. Ruata, when I left the hospital on Saturday that I don't think that I could have made it through this without him -- he was like Jesus walking me through each step.

At 8 am on Friday morning, Dr. Ruata met me at his clinic. He sat down with us and explained everything that was going to take place. Then he walked with me to the hospital, took me through Admissions, and then stayed by my side through a second-opinion ultrasound that he had set up with the radiologist. It was difficult for me because the ultrasound was on the maternity ward of the hospital. I had wanted to be there under very different circumstances. Dr. Ruata held my hand and rubbed my arm as the tears slipped down my cheeks.

I haven't decided yet if it was good or not for me to see the ultrasound photos that morning. It was good in the sense that I could see the baby and say goodbye. I knew what was coming so I wasn't surprised when the radiologist shook his head, confirming what Dr. Ruata had told me the day before. Of course, there was that small piece of me that hoped for something different, but yet the confirmation wasn't a surprise. What was bad about the ultrasound was that the image is now frozen in my brain. Dr. Ruata told me that they removed "disorganized tissue" that in no way resembled a baby. However, due to the miracle of ultrasound, the image was so enhanced that I could see the tiny frame of a baby, laying on its side, motionless at the bottom of the sack with one little arm sticking up in the air. A pathetic, lifeless little person. That was not "disorganized tissue." It was a baby and not just any baby... it was my baby.

I was surprised that I was not put to sleep before entering the operating room. As I was laying under the big metal lights, looking at everyone in their masks and seeing the trays of tools, the tears began again. The anesthesiologist grabbed my hand and said, "I know you are scared, I am going to give you something to relax you." I responded that it wasn't so much that I was scared, just very sad. He looked at me with eyes of understanding, squeezed my hand, and told me that his wife had miscarried with their first child and now they have "a precious angel Matthew" and that someday I would too. He was very kind. He then told me he had given me something that would make me very sleepy. I said, "I'm not sleepy" and that is the last thing that I remember for the next four hours.

I now have no doubts about Guatemalan health care. The doctors and nurses lovingly cared for me. Everything was clean and of high-quality. Even the food was very good (thankfully no black beans or plantains!). Their thoughtfulness was amazing to me. Dr. Ruata ordered an extra meal tray for Daniel so that he could eat dinner and breakfast with me. When we left the hospital, we were given a five page bill, which I was shocked only totaled $2,029. Why is medical care so expensive in the U.S.?