Two Ways To Live

"There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle." - Albert Einstein

I'd like to share with you all the story of Olivienne.

Olivienne arrived at our admissions centre in early November, and was due to have surgery in several weeks. She would stay at the HOPE Centre in the mean time, where she'd be fed nutritional supplements in an effort to bring her body weight up (she weighed less than 90 lbs), build up her iron levels and blood volume, and improve her body's ability to heal after surgery.

She had a benign tumour inside her left cheek. While it would not spread through her body like a cancerous tumor, it still continued to grow, stretching out her face to the point where her nose was flat against her skin, her left eye was squished shut, and her mouth was gaping, held open by the bulk of stagnant tissue that almost entirely filled it.

I cannot imagine the shame and dejection she has experienced, having to see the horror on peoples' faces upon seeing hers.

As difficult as her life has been, though, Olivienne is extremely lucky. No, lucky is not the right word. Olivienne is the living evidence of a miracle. Not because her tumor was removed, or because her recovery went remarkably well.

It is a miracle she got here when she did, or she would almost definitely be dead.

A few days after arriving, she was admitted to the ward, and was having some trouble breathing. The tumor had grown so large that it was beginning to press on her airway. The tumor was also so vascular (full of blood vessels) that blood was trickling down into her throat, blocking her airway even more. Normally, someone would cough if this were happening, and force that blood back up, clearing it out of the way. But already having a very limited airway, and very litle space in her mouth, it was not possible for her to keep up with the bleeding.

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That particular Thursday night, I along with most of the crew, were sitting in the International Lounge enjoying some worship and teaching. Halfway through the service, a pager went off and a doctor ducked out of the room. A minute later, another went off. Then another. About 6 doctors and nurses left the service, leaving the rest of us glancing nervously at each other, and silently praying for whoever it was that obviously needed some urgent care.
 

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The "whoever," of course, was Olivienne. They had taken her to the OR to insert a tracheostomy - a tube at the base of the neck directly into the trachea - so she could breathe unhindered by the tumor. The bleeding from the tumor had also brought her iron levels dangerously low, so she was given several units of blood.

Two nights later was my first night shift; I was on the Maxillo-Facial ward, where Olivienne was. I learned what had happened, and was amazed at how well she was doing, in spite of it all. Around 2 AM I left to grab a bite to eat. I came back in to find the other two nurses hovering over her, their hands in her mouth applying pressure and suction, a basin full of blood on her lap. The tumor had begun to bleed again. And boy did it bleed. It took about 30 minutes and an infusion of Tranexamic Acid (which improves clotting), to get it under control.

Olivienne's surgery was bumped up to the head of the line. No one had been able to reach her husband, who was apparently in town somewhere, and we were all desperately praying for him to reach us before her surgery.

He did. The night before. 8 hours of surgery and 12 units of blood later, she was tumorless and in the ICU, on a mechanical ventilator, being fed through a tube. 12 hours afer her surgery, she was up walking around, breathing through her trach, getting her hair braided, and smiling. Although it was a little crooked, it had been impossible for her to smile a few days before. 

She now has a nose, a functional left eye, the ability to eat without choking, and can breathe on her own. She has required a few more surgeries to further repair and correct some issues, but is looking amazing. Last time I saw her, she was strolling around the HOPE Centre, grinning and nodding when I said "Salama."

Her face may never be perfect, but it is beautiful, it is strong,, it is full of love, and it is, truly, miraculous.