by Tracy Taggart
Esther is sixteen years old. She is dying. For the last year, her father Charles has taken her to clinic after clinic looking for a diagnosis and a cure. She has lymphoma. The only hope for a cure is chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. Neither is available nearby or affordable elsewhere. Esther and her family live in a mud hut with no electricity. She is the eldest of six—soon to be seven—children. She lies in the bed she shares with her siblings. It is an agony for her to even turn over. She is bone thin, and developing bed sores on her hips from lying too long on her side. She doesn't eat much, but when offered rice and lentils today, was able to take a few bites. She does not complain, but the moans she cannot always suppress keep the family up at night.
Sandy is a farmer, and a resident missionary. Charles works as a laborer on the farm, and through him Sandy has come to know of Esther's plight. Sandy senses Esther's end is nigh, and comes to me for help. She is hoping to ease the pain and suffering of these final days. I agree to prescribe and administer medicine for pain.
Pablo, a surgical technician on the team, hears Esther's story and asks to accompany Sandy and I on a visit. We walk the half mile or so, Sandy greeting neighbors along the way. On arriving at Esther's home, Charles and family usher us inside. Esther is grateful for the company, and puts on a brave face. I examine her, confirm the diagnosis and prognosis, and explain that we have brought medicine to ease her pain.
She cringes when she sees the needle. I reassure her it will only hurt for a moment, then her pain will subside. She submits. Her father holds her hand as I inject the medicine into her shriveled thigh. I explain that we have brought several doses, and will return to administer them each evening so that she and her family can rest. Pablo says a prayer, and we depart, having done all we can for her.
The next two days are consumed with surgery, but Sandy keeps me updated on Esther's condition, as she has been making regular visits. Another, more effective medicine is added, but it causes itching. I give Sandy my personal stash of Benadryl to combat this side effect. On the evening of the third day, we learn that Esther has died. This is the reality of life here.
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