Let's dive in, shall we?
The Best Mover & Shaker
When I first met Modou, he was curled up in his bed, blanket pulled over his head, his breakfast untouched on his end table. His sleep cycle was completely out of whack, he was struggling with motivation to eat, get out of bed; more than a little bit of a slump - he had classic symptoms of depression. He had had a long journey, and still had a long way to go.An accident as a young child left Modou with severe burns to his face, neck, arms, and hands. It is a fair miracle he survived at all; burns to the face often go hand-in-hand with burns to the lungs & airways. These can very easily be fatal without intensive treatment. Modou, clearly, did not receive much (if any) treatment for his burns. Scars and muscle contractures essentially tied his chin to his right collarbone, and his fingers were mostly gone. Only a few little nubs were left on the stump of his left arm to indicate where a finger and thumb might have been. Looking through his chart, there was a furrowed brow and a hardness in his eyes in his pre-op medical photos. It is a stare which many patients have in these "before" photos. It is, far deeper than physically, not a person I recognize any more.
Modou's first surgery tackled the contractures of his face and right hand. Numerous skin grafts were needed to build new, healthy skin which would replace the scars. As such, he had wounds on almost every limb - some where donor skin was taken, others where it was placed.
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| Modou (L) after his first surgery |
After his first surgery, Modou's first few weeks were a struggle. There was very little he could do for himself, as both hands were bandaged, and he still had very limited mobility in his fingers. It was incredible, though, how well he could balance a cup on his stump without spilling. We leave the dressings wrapped, untouched, for 2-3 weeks after plastic surgery; helps prevent infection, giving the grafts time to heal without any outside interference. This meant for over 2 weeks, Modou was just sitting in the ward, waiting. No windows, minimal contact with the outside world, only an hour of fresh air every day. Nurses and dietitians constantly hounding him to eat more, take his supplements, check his circulation, etc. It's no wonder the guy's circadian rhythm went haywire.
It took some sleep aids, some chaplain counselling, and eventually his mom staying overnight a few times to help get him into a better headspace. And just in time, too. Plastic surgeon Dr. Tertius had decided to offer Modou another surgery on his left hand, to give him as much function back as possible. They would also do a little more work to improve his face. This meant ANOTHER 2-3 weeks (minimum) on the ward. Nonetheless, Modou agreed.
In these photos, you can see that modou now has a thumb sticking up out of his left hand! If you feel the meaty part of your hand - between the thumb and index finger - that is where Dr. Tertius cut down into to separate the 1st metacarpal bone (all that remained of his thumb) from the rest of his hand.
While Modou would still have good days and tough ones, overall he grew more and more cheerful, optimistic, and stubbornly pushing through the harder tasks & rehab exercises.
More than anything, though, Modou LOVES DANCING. Nothing could get him, and everyone around him, in a good mood like a good beat. Nobody could match his moves. And he'd always don his traditional, black & white hound's tooth robe whenever dancing was happening.
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| Demonstrating some traditional West African dance moves |
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| Joining in the Bambalela during a birthday party |
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| Jamming to the djembe with a hospital chaplain on Deck 7 |
3 Months Later...
I had the privilege of being the nurse to decide, on a rare shift in the Outpatients tent, that Modou's wounds were completely healed, and he could be discharged from our care. He would still return for physical therapy for several weeks, so it might not have felt momentous to him, but it sure did to me. I was able to look him in his knowing eyes, say "everything looks perfect," and give him one last high-five/handshake/hug.
I have a lot of memories of Modou, from the Senegalese name he gave me (Mariam Seck), to the other nickname he gave me ('LOTION!' - owing to my constant nagging that he needed to put lotion on his graft donor site), to the chirps and bird sounds over my shoulder while I worked on the computer. More than anything, though, I will remember his eyes. The eyes that stared from his admission photos - distant and cold, his brow furrowed; becoming the eyes of a friend - trusting, mischievous, kind, and permanently smiling.
Modou came to us as a young man covered in scars; scars which held him back, forced him to depend on others for all his needs, and caused him pain to the point where only his mother's presence would comfort him. He left us with different scars; scars which granted him joy, freedom, independence, and confidence. Modou will never look "perfect."
But he is certainly beautiful.
À la prochaine,
-D
