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I visited the hospital the other day and as I was leaving I
saw a little old woman with a baby in another room, calling for me. I greeted her and entered the room. With a sweet little smile on her face, she
seemed to be pleading for help. With
hand signals and body language, she kept showing me how this boy’s head just
kept falling. As she removed the cloth
from his body, I saw his skeleton – the large ribs clearly protruding from his
body, no bottom, sagging skin on his arms and legs. And yet, this woman kept telling me he can’t
hold his head up. She would put her
hands out as if to say “What’s wrong?
What am I to do?” I wondered -
does she really not get it? Does she
really not know she needed to be concerned months ago when he wasn’t
eating? When his ribs started to become
so obvious? When he slept for
hours? - A 2-year old boy – just a
skeleton? Is she still wondering why he
couldn’t hold his head up? Why he died?
It was clear the doctors knew. I wondered why she was left to sit there,
apparently for hours, alone with the child, waiting for a doctor to come. Then I saw the treatment plan, a prescription
for ibuprofen. Just ibuprofen – no IV,
no attempt, it was too late; and the reality of it made me nauseous. The ibuprofen was to pacify the woman and
comfort the child while he died.
I did pray with her and the boy, but I prayed that it would
go quickly and that this woman would be comforted. I returned that afternoon, and the room was
already empty. Now I can’t get the
picture out of my mind. I continue to
see her sweet smiling face, looking at me, the white woman, with hope that
surely I can do something. And the
skeleton with a child’s face, a 2-year old.
I wish I had asked his name.
Well, the Lord knows his name and I’m sure they’re together now. Now I pray this helpless woman will never
know – this boy died because she didn’t feed him. How many others die because they just don’t
get it – you have to feed them?
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Last Updated ( Tuesday, 14 April 2009 )
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