Walking into the Lions' Den

A number of times in my life, especially during the years of work among the war refugees, there were moments that felt surreal. How did I, a girl from Whitewater, Wisconsin, get here? I would ask myself as something particularly bizarre was happening. But that was a long while ago and life, while still interesting, has not felt particularly strange lately.

Until last week, that is, when once again there was a very surreal feeling to my life as I found myself at a Liberian hospital at four in the morning, hanging rubber boots upside down on sticks poking up out of the ground, while rain poured on my head and then ran over my neck and down the back of my scrubs. Until last Thursday night I had never once worn scrubs, but yet there I was. In retrospect, I should not have been overly surprised.

Two and a half months ago the first Ebola case in West Africa was confirmed. The virus, which is thought to be found in fruit bats and infects people who touch a diseased animal, spread across the border through people traveling to visit Liberia's health facilities. A collective shudder shook West Africa and, although it took a while, eventually all the proper protocols were put in place and trained people traveled from around the world to help fight the epidemic that appeared imminent. I felt God wanted me to volunteer to help, should there be something I could do, so I was trained to be a helper at the ELWA hospital. Following the training there were a few scattered possible cases around Liberia—and then several weeks of nothing. The gathered health teams returned to their homes in Europe and America and the Liberians breathed a big sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

Then last Thursday my friend Nancy, a missionary with SIM, called with surprising news. An ambulance had brought two patients to the ELWA Hospital the night before. One was pronounced dead on arrival and the other, a deathly ill young woman, was admitted with what was assumed to be, and was later confirmed to be, Ebola. Nancy, who was trained for the same job for which I had volunteered (and had helped train me), had been awake and dealing with it for more than a day and a half. Could I come? 

And so I became one of three “bleach ladies.” My friend, a Liberian nurse and I took shifts, making sure the multiple steps necessary for the medical staff to be thoroughly protected were followed. Besides Tyvac suits, the doctors and nurses wore masks and two pairs of gloves (each duct taped on separately) when entering the unit. Then after their time with the patient, the process was reversed and they took off their suits in a very slow, deliberate fashion to keep safe after leaving the ward. The process, done one person at a time and taking five minutes or so, involved a lot of spraying of bleach water and multiple hand washes. Rubber items such as boots, aprons and goggles were placed in trash cans filled with bleach water and the Tyvac suits, gloves and masks were placed in lined trash cans, to be burned later. In addition to our “bleach lady” jobs, we acted as runners, making excursions to the hospital’s pharmacy when needed and generally acting on behalf of the staff who, once they entered the contaminated zone, could not do any running around for themselves.

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Very sadly, after three days in the hospital, the young lady succumbed to Ebola  I had so hoped she would be in the 10% that survive this virulent strain. She wasn’t. 

But this whole ordeal has gotten me thinking about our Western view of danger. We assume we are to walk, if not actively run, away from it. The protection of our lives is considered of utmost importance. But the truth is that often God calls His people to walk into the lions' den, so to speak. Rather than run, they do radical things like the missionary doctors, with the help of many others, have done here in Liberia. By creating an Ebola unit they actively encouraged Ebola patients to come and, in doing so, brought upon themselves hardship and danger. In a very real way they have mimicked Christ, who with eyes straight forward left the ultimate physical security—heaven—and walked purposefully toward a cross. (See Luke 9:51.)

And so we wait. Yesterday I heard of another death and another confirmed case of Ebola  I don’t know where new cases will be treated or if I will have the opportunity to be a part of their treatment. But this I do know: if it is God who has asked me to do this or anything else, the strength is from Him.

Even if it feels like I am walking into the lions' den.