The Life of the Flesh is in the Blood

This is Part I of a two-part series and will be a longer post than usual.  It tells an incredible “Only God” story and is accompanied by several heart-stirring photos.  It is a one-year anniversary story of tribute to some dear friends and our gracious God.

Date: Thursday, June 12, 2014

Stephen is one of those fortunate people who falls asleep just before his head hits the pillow.  I, on the other hand, do not and this night was no different.  We had been in bed all of 45 minutes, Stephen blissfully sleeping, when I heard the dogs going ballistic, the way they do when their alarm involves people.  Now what!  Very quickly Stephen was roused from his sleep and, in a bit of a stupor, went to investigate with me not far behind.

“Mista Stephen! Mista Stephen!”  came Michael’s panicked voice from down the driveway where the dogs held him back.  Immediately we knew there had to be an emergency for Michael to brave the dogs after dark.  Stephen walked down to meet him and call off the dogs.  After a brief exchange Michael ran back toward town and Stephen ran up the hill.

 

As he hurriedly dressed and washed the sleep from his eyes, Stephen explained that Beatrice, Michael’s wife, had finally gone into labor.  She was three weeks over due and the baby was getting quite large for this petite Mende woman.  But there had been serious complications with the delivery and Beatrice was now near death from excessive blood loss; she needed to get to a hospital immediately.  I offered to travel with them to help in anyway I could but a nurse from our tiny bush clinic would accompany them so I was left behind to pass the night in prayer.

The nearest hospital, run by a Dutch organization, is only 20 miles away in Yele.  However, on a good day it takes an hour to get there due to road conditions.  Traveling at night during the rainy season would certainly make it take longer.   “God’s speed to you, my dear ones.  Prayers are compassing before and behind as you go,” I silently said as I watched the truck lights fade into the distance.  Miraculously it was a clear full-moon night and not raining.  Stephen later told me he made that drive in record time – 45 minutes – and confessed that he had no idea how!

Michael gently cradled the newborn baby girl while the nurse cared for the dying mother, who lay on the floor of our Toyota Land Cruiser, during the rough ride.  When they arrived at Lion Heart Hospital, Beatrice was barely alive.  After removing Beatrice, a crew came to clean the back of our Land Cruiser.  Stephen said the floor was just awash in Beatrice’s blood; a crimson flow that represented her very life draining out of her.  He could only stand there and cry as he called our daughter to start a prayer chain.

Back in DeLand, Florida, the mid-week service at our home church had concluded shortly before Stephen arrived at the hospital and our daughter had only just turned her phone back on.  She was quite alarmed to see a call coming in from her father knowing that it was nearing 1 AM our time.  A prayer group was quickly assembled of people who, only moments before, were loading children into their vehicles and getting ready to go home.  They all went back into the church house and earnestly prayed for our dear Beatrice.

Meanwhile, back at Lion Heart hospital, it was discovered that Beatrice’s situation was far more dire than we could have known.  A blood typing test revealed that she has O-negative blood; a very rare type and in this limited, rudimentary setting would be difficult if not impossible to provide.  Only 7% of the world’s population is O-negative and it’s even less common among those with African ancestry.  The hospital knew of one such donor and despite the wee hour, the doctor’s phone call was encouraging.  Taking a guide and interpreter with him, Stephen made the 30 minute ride to pick up the man who graciously came in and donated one pint.  But Beatrice would need at least three more if she were to survive.  Later in the morning another known O-negative donor, an older man, was contacted and he consented to donate the life-giving blood.  However, shortly after he arrived at the hospital his enraged family came in forbidding him, a Muslim, to give blood to Beatrice, an infidel Christian.  There was nothing to do but watch him leave.

Stephen arrived home at 5:30 on Friday morning and caught a couple hours of sleep.  Later he and Alfred headed out to search for O-negative blood.  The staff at Lion Heart had given them some contacts to try in Bo and Kenema – the opposite direction from the hospital and a very wearying, rough ride.  Here we see God’s hand so clearly at work in response to prayer.  Friday is the beginning of the Muslim weekend and most people aren’t at work.  Several hours later Stephen and Alfred finally arrived at the Bo blood bank office and found it was locked for the weekend.  But a man, who was just getting into his vehicle and preparing to leave, saw them and asked if he could help them.  After hearing the urgency of the situation, he graciously opened his office and spent 90 minutes of his weekend making calls.  This represented life-saving time as he went through his contacts trying to trace even one pint of O-negative blood or an available donor.  Bo, Kenema, Freetown, all were dead ends.  One last place to try: Makeni blood bank.   Jack Pot!!  One precious pint was under refrigeration and they could go get it the next morning, Saturday.  This man, his name now long forgotten, is the director of the Bo blood bank and had only come into his office for a brief time that afternoon; he would not have been back until Sunday.

Please don’t get the image that things were going smoothly.  The late-night arrival at the hospital was chaotic and it took quite a while to get Beatrice into the treatment area for assessment.   Finding the blood bank in Bo turned into a wild goose chase because of poor directions, missing street signs, and confusing input from people who didn’t know what they were talking about.  That’s Sierra Leone.  But how that magnifies the strong hand of our Lord!  This was perfectly choreographed and timed in spite of all the confusion and chaos.

It was now quite late and it was decided that they would return to our village of Baomahun to get a good meal and some much needed sleep.  On the long ride home, the plan developed that Alfred and Timothy, one of our adopted sons, would go early in the morning to Makeni by motorbike as it would be much faster than our truck.  Stephen and I would then meet them in Yele around noon.  They left at 5 in the morning on Saturday with a cooler to safely transport the chilled blood.  Noon came and went.  Then one o’clock and still no sign of them.  Finally at 1:30 in they rolled with ear-to-ear smiles, holding the cooler high like a trophy.  And truly it was a hard earned trophy as they had had more of the typical frustrations and delays in obtaining the promised blood.

After some final testing of the blood it was then warmed to body temperature.  How, you ask?  By the men taking turns holding the wrapped pint under their arms!  Finally the bag of beautiful crimson fluid was hung on a pole and allowed to drip into Beatrice’s arm.  Tears were flowing as we watched the doctor turn the valve which started the transfusion of life.

But she still needed more and we had exhausted our resources.  What could we do?  As word spread through our village of Beatrice’s dire need for blood a small trickle of people made the trip, at their own expense, to Lion Heart hospital to have their blood type checked; each willing to give her what she so desperately needed.  The trickle turned into steady stream and we were told that in all 50 people had offered to donate blood.  Sadly, all of them were turned away as none was a match.  But the willingness was an incredible testimony.  “This must be a very loved family in your village,” exclaimed Maria, the Filipino head nurse at Lion Heart.  “We’ve never seen such an out pouring; Sierra Leoneans just don’t do that.  Beatrice must be very loved.”  And indeed she is.

But where to find one single pint of O-negative blood?

Throughout this incredible odyssey I was continually struck by the stark contrasts between my native land and my adopted country.  Something so simple as one pint of blood was nearly impossible to obtain and we had to make all the arrangements from locating it, to transporting it, to warming it.  It was the proverbial needle-in-the-haystack adventure.  But sometimes the needle is right under our nose and we don’t even know it.

While sitting in a waiting area late in the day on Saturday, Michael struck up conversation with a man next to him.  I had seen this man and just assumed he was part of Beatrice’s family; it was after clinic hours and no one else was around.  Michael learned that he had brought his son into the hospital because of severe malaria-related anemia.  The man was waiting to have his blood typed so he could give a pint to his ill son.  As they talked, the technician called the man over and privately informed him that he was not a match for his son.  He was understandably discouraged so Michael tried to comfort him.  In so doing he learned that this man was – amazingly – type O-negative!  Very gently Michael asked if the man would be kind enough to give a pint to his wife who might not live if she didn’t receive it.  The man was more than willing and immediately the technicians set about their work.  While type O-negative is considered the universal donor type and technically speaking the father could have donated to his son, the hospital staff had intended to make Beatrice’s urgent need known to the man knowing that the son had a very common blood type and it would be easy to find a donor to meet his need.  Having certain privacy protocols to follow, they had not yet approached the father but the Lord worked it out in His own way.  Next, Beatrice’s sister, having already had her blood typed, gave a pint for the gravely ill boy – a perfect match of strangers brought together under adversity. Only God!

I hope you’ll join me for Part II of this marvelous story.