I've been hesitant to write about this. Truth be told, I've spent the last four months or so hiding it all away, and so the prospect of spilling my proverbial guts on these pages is a little overwhelming. However. I find that I no longer want to keep this to myself.
It started a few months after that needlestick. I was always tired, and every time I worked night shift I would spend the next couple days recovering from violent illness. I caught every cold going around, and I felt like an absolute weakling. It all seemed easy to explain, though, since I live on a ship and breathe the same air as four hundred other people.
It was around the time that Baby Greg first came to us that I signed up to be a blood donor and gave a sample to the lab for routine testing. I was sitting by Greg's bedside in the ICU, willing him to breathe, when the crew nurse poked her head around the door and asked me to come to the clinic. I figured my hemoglobin was too low or my electrolytes were out of whack from my latest round if sickness. I just wasn't expecting Dr. Craig to say what he did.
You have Hepatitis B.
My world quietly crumpled and I sat, numb, while he drew more blood to repeat the test and explained to me that the man whose blood I had injected into my finger must have been very recently infected. That there was only a small chance of the virus going chronic. That I would probably recover.
And the whole time, all I could see in front of me were the yellow eyes and swollen bellies of patients I've cared for with liver disease. I found my way back to the ICU, back to my critically ill baby, forcing myself to concentrate. Willing myself to believe that it was going to be okay.
But it's hard to believe that things are going to be okay when you're a couple months away from your twenty-fifth birthday, living on a ship off the coast of West Africa, and infected with a potentially deadly virus. I'll admit it now; I was angry. Back when I was preparing to come to Liberia, people constantly told me to be careful. It's so scary over there! I can't believe you're doing something so dangerous! Anything could happen! I smiled and shot back the same glib answer every time. If God wants me there, He'll protect me.
But He hadn't. I'd somehow slipped out from under the shelter of His hands and into the big, bad world where things like incurable diseases lurked. I couldn't figure out why He would let it happen.
I spent the next three months waking up in cold sweats, wondering how I'd be able to afford a liver transplant. (I'm not sure Talent Trust covers that sort of thing. They do, however, make provision for repatriation of mortal remains. Which I was also thinking I might have to use, in a worst-case fulminant-hepatitis sort of scenario.) I dodged questions as to why I was drinking soda instead of Club beer with my dinners when we went out on a Friday night. I held on to my little secret, feeling dirty and diseased, and I tried to pretend that everything was all right.
Which, in true I-worried-about-this-for-nothing style, it is.
I'm now, as of a couple weeks ago, the proud posessor of another little pink slip of paper that bears my latest test results: negative. Just like over ninety percent of everyone who gets infected. (Those odds, interestingly enough, don't seem so great at three in the morning when your cabin is dark and your mind won't stop racing.)
I still don't know why it happened. I'm still a little bitter, if I'm being totally honest. Because I can't help thinking He failed me.
But, oh, His voice speaks into the silence of my pain. I know every hair, He reminds me. I knit your body together as you grew in the secret places. Every day and every moment of your life, I planned it all. Have you ever known me to make a mistake?
No. No. A thousand times no.
And I'm so glad you're okay.
I have learned that my faith wasn't worth much until it was tested. When things happened in my life that were worst-case scenario (like the death of my mom a year ago), it was so reassuring to see God on the other side of the awful, too.
I don't believe in the brand of Christianity that says that we are all supposed to be in a certain place at a certain time to see God's will in our lives. I think that life happens and it is up to us to see God's will during the wonderful times and the terrible times.
I hope that your faith is strengthened with every trial and that no matter what comes your way, you have the peace that surpasses all understanding.
HE mended you. What a glorious gift!!! HE never gives us more than we can handle, and I can only suppose that we are better, more empathetic people for our suffering.
My Dad passed away this Spring, a (relatively) young, strong, healthy Christian in every respect, and he died of a sudden heart attack. I held his cold hand as the emergency personnel worked on him in vain but could not bring him back to me.
Our pastor comforted me with the knowledge that my Dad's work here was done. It was not my Dad's plan to leave me, it was God's plan that my Dad was finished here.
Still, I couldn't help but have my eyes open to the suffering of the world and ask why God would allow such awful pain. My only conclusion thus far, is that everybody who lives, dies, our time on this Earth is brief, and somehow our suffering helps keep our humanity so we can empathize and help others in need. Always looking up to Him to help guide us until we can be reunited in Heaven.
Ali, I couldn't be more proud of you sharing your story, living your life, and trusting in Him as you do. You are an inspiration. Big hugs from a 28-year old mother of two, housewife in NY.
I've recently (two months ago) decided to apply to volunteer for Mercy Ships and ever since I made that decision I've been following your blog. I've gone through and read all your previous posts and I get excited every time that I see that you've posted something new. I am always moved by your unbelievable experiences and how you are able to convey them in such an eloquent and personal manner.
I read this latest post and I'm not really sure why I'm commenting. After I read it I knew that I needed to respond in some way but it's taken me two days to even come to this point and I still don't really know what to write. I definitely share your happiness in your joyous news and your story gave me a lot to think about while I was sitting in the doctor's office this morning waiting to get my physical and hepatitis vaccinations.
Needless to say, your writing has in no small way had a positive effect on my life for at least the next year and a half (and probably for as long as I live) as I apply and hopefully am accepted to serve along side you and the many others aboard the Africa Mercy. For that, I say thank you.
I know you're very busy and your spare time is precious but if you get a chance I'd very much like to correspond with you.
-Ryan