I Was Wrong

I was expecting to start crying on Friday night and continue to all day Saturday. But, I was wrong. Tears started today, Tuesday, 4 days before my departure, but for a different reason than you might think. I mean, who would expect your favorite child sending you to the hospital not a week before returning to your home country?!

The 16 kids and I were all playing in the house together, as school was out today. Beto, the cutie I mentioned in my blog before, wanted to come sit with me and give me some love. My right leg was straight and my left knee was bent, with my left foot on top of my right knee. He comes to sit on my left knee that is not touching the floor. He sat down and it touched the floor, in a way no knee should move. My left knee was dislocated, on the left side of my leg. I quickly pick him up and pull my leg to my chest as much as I could. No house mom was near, I just start to cry and say in my best Spanish whimper, "Dónde está mama?" One of the girls calls the house mom over, very worried for me. She came over and, using my best Spanish to describe what happened, I said, "Mi rodilla está aqui" (my knee is here) pointing to the side of my leg. Before I knew it, at least 6 English speakers were by my side helping me through the pain and helping me talk to the house moms/medical workers. They called the ambulance, and I was sitting on the floor for about tenish minutes before they arrived. Blankets were put under my leg to hold it up, I was fanned, I was prayed over, and I was waited on hand and leg to get whatever I needed: water, pillows, my wallet....

The tears may have started out as a result of pain. They grew into tears of love and care for my children. The 16 kids were standing all around me, most of them crying for me, worried about me. They were sent outside when the ambulance came, and they were sitting on the side of the concrete like statutes, waiting to see where I was going and what was happening to me. 

The 2 medical workers came to my rescue with 2 wooden beams and joint wrap, placing the 2 beams on either side of my leg and holding it together with the beige wrap used for twisted joints. The tighter it got, the worse the pain. Just a bit tighter and my knee popped back into place. The majority of the pain left when my knee was put back where it should be. But, I was still in tears, not knowing if I would be spending the rest of my last week in Guatemala with the kids who were crying just outside the door for me. 

I was lifted onto a wooden pallet laying on the floor. 4 guys, 2 from shalom, carried me outside and into the back of the ambulance. 2 of Casa Shalom's staff members came along in the ambulance with me to hold me in place over the bumpy Guatemala roads and to help me translate. Another staff member was driving behind the ambulance for a ride back to shalom when my hospital time was finished. And I thought I did my time at the hospital earlier this year at school! I was wrong!

About halfway to the hospital and the ambulance stops. The lights were still flashing, but the siren was burnt out. I thought we just hit a bunch of traffic fighting to get into Guatemala City. Nope. I was wrong. I used all the strength that I had to lift my torso with my arms just enough to peek out the windows, only seeing the top of gas tanks. I thought we had stopped to get gas. Nope. I was wrong, again. At the hospital, I was told that the driver was putting air into his tires as slow as he possibly could. Not the best ambulance driver I would say, although the drive was pretty smooth for Guatemalan roads. 

From the hospital, I was put into a rolling bed and taken into a small room, with another patient on the other side of the curtain. I was given pain medicine via IV and taken into radiology for X-rays. 2 were taken and the both looked fine, from what I was told. I never got to see them. 

I finished my pain meds, put cream on my knee, and was given a brace to wear for the next 3 weeks. Thank the Lord that nothing was broken, torn or in need of surgery, although a cast signed by all of the Casa Shalom kids would've been really cool to take home with me, not gonna lie! 

From the hospital, we went to the pharmacy to get my prescripted pain meds and went to Pizza Hut for lunch. There, I broke down. In the middle of Pizza Hut. They all asked me if I was in pain. Nope. It just took me this long and in this circumstance to see how much I am loved. How much I am cared for. How much these kids mean to me. I was crying, thinking that Beto might feel guilty for the rest of his life, when he was just trying to cuddle with me on the floor. Picturing all those kid crying just for me tore me down. Arriving back to shalom, I got huge hugs from my kiddos and happy smiles to see me back at the house. A chair was brought to me to sit in, as well as a smaller one with a folded blanket to put under my foot. I was told by one of the kids that they all prayed for me, and was also provided with a cupcake and fresh papaya. 

Now, I know that Saturday will be extremely difficult, not just because I have to walk through the airport and the plane in a leg brace with a couple of heavy suitcases, but because I will be saying goodbye (or hopefully see you later) to 16 pieces of my heart. I was wrong about the day the goodbye tears would start. I was wrong about the love that the kids have for me. I was wrong about the place that each of them holds within me. I was wrong. 

** A BIG thank you to Zoila, Colleen, and Gabby for taking care of me, working with the insurance company, and dealing with me and all my tears!