The Freaky Mennonite

As I have said before, I love nurses. One good nurse is worth 20 overpaid suits . . . or 100 bad journalists. And these past nearly-eleven years on the road, I have met many Nightingales that I am grateful and very proud to call friend.

It's one of the fringe benefits of being booted out of your hometown on your ass, I suppose . . . right up there with never having had any money to put into 401K's and investment portfolios that suddenly went "poof" overnight . . . or going bankrupt because all the Medicaid patients cannot possibly pay the bills. The long and short of it is that I cannot miss what I never had.

Anyway, on this assignment, I have made the acquaintance of an LDRP (Labor/Delivery/Recovery/Postpartum) nurse like no other I have ever encountered, EVER. And I just adore her.

"M" is a Mennonite. She wears the cap and the hose and the dress/sensible shoes. She's about my age . . . never married/no children/takes care of her elderly Mom. Like me, she struggles with her weight. We go to the same gym.

Now, in my day I have made friends with Amish folk, and Mennonites and Moravians (the more "peaceful" branch of Christianity's tree), but "M" is the most worldly Mennonite I have ever met.

It's because she wasn't always a Mennonite. As "M" tells it, she "converted", or more accurately progressed from Catholicism to Agnosticism (as a lapsed Baptist, I laughingly told her, "Well hell, we all do that.") to Mennonitism (I'm not sure that's a word) as a young adult.

During her Agnostic phase, at one point she actually worked as a bartender. We had some pretty deep conversations about Asheboro's recent alcohol referendum.

Oddly enough, "M" found her faith in nursing school, as she studied the female reproductive system. She tells me that it just didn't make any sense that there was no Divine Hand behind what is clearly a miracle every single time it happens . . . or that life somehow began from an accidental "zap" to an ancient puddle of mud.

I get that. During my own young-adult crisis of faith (exponentially exacerbated by the death of a beloved cousin), I entertained a lot of spiritual notions . . . bought all the books . . . did all the reading. In fact, one of my senior biology dissertations in college mused on how life likely began with an accidental "zap" to the primordial soup (damn those Commie-Pinko-liberal-universities!). When I worked in New Orleans, I liked to joke that I had a license to practice medicine and voodoo. Indeed, I still have a large voodoo doll that I purchased there fifteen years ago - hanging on the door leading to my den. It's made of Spanish moss and should have disintegrated a long time ago. But it still looks like the day I found it in the French Market (in short, it's freaky). And my new home library (right now, still a work in progress) is actually going to have a fairly large section devoted to "The Craft" and darker arts (which I have a very healthy respect for).

You see, I believe that evil walks as a very real presence in our world.

I'm also very fond of black cats;)

But as I've said before, as much as I read, and as enlightened as I tried to become, nothing . . . and I mean NOTHING . . . ever came close to a personal relationship with a Living Savior who loved me before I was born.

So to answer Fec's latest question, Jesus is the answer to, "Who loves ya, baby?"

I've digressed again. "M" has been all over the world on medical mission trips. This Mennonite has seen and done it all. Sitting and waiting on "bad" babies to be born . . . or in the aftermath of a resuscitation/transport . . . or just having coffee in the morning when I check-in on the ward . . . we've had some wonderful conversations about our respective life experiences.

Although very world-weary, she laughs a lot. Common sense and compassion ooze from her pores.

She is one of the reasons I decided to stay with this assignment.

The other nurses like to tease her sometimes. For instance, when she loses her temper, she's "The Angry Mennonite" . . . and when she shares knowledge or experience that your average Mennonite is not going to have, she's "The Freaky Mennonite". But it's all done in affection and fun.

Now our "M" was being all freaky the other day . . . during a lull in the unit's action . . . researching something called "Bloodroot" and/or "Black Salve" on the Internet. Apparently, someone she knew was using the salve in a homeopathic attempt (remember, we're in Eastern North Carolina) to draw out badness . . . in this case, a lump on the breast . . . and the application of the salve had resulted in a first-degree burn.

"The badness" stayed in.

Very concerned, "M" put on her freaky cap (actually, she already had one on), pulled up some info off the web, copied it, and asked me what I thought about it.

Mulling it over for about ten seconds, I chuckled and said, "It looks to me like one of my Great-Grandma Blanche's mud poultices . . . but with a spell cast on it."

That started a fairly spirited (get it?) conversation about the "ugly"/"evil-looking" root, witchcraft, books of shadows, and the TV showed "Charmed". The nurses participating in the conversation raised their collective eyebrows over my knowledge of things wiccan & pagan - and the dark arts.

Then, putting on my doctor's face, I said to "M", "Seriously, your friend needs to see a doctor . . . like yesterday."

"M" said that her friend had an appointment the following day . . . to get a biopsy of the mass.

Here's the thing about that. Her friend, also a Mennonite, is 28 years old and about 3 months pregnant. There is no known family history of breast cancer. She has four children - the last one born two years ago. She breast-fed that baby (as a kind of birth control - she does not use the Pill) until she got pregnant again. She, of course, does not smoke or drink. In terms of all the things that are supposed to play in a woman's favor when it comes to developing breast cancer, she would be considered very low risk.

(Both much older and childless, the Mennonite and I are "higher-risk".)

"M's" friend developed the (painless) mass in one breast a short while back. It grew fairly rapidly, but the overlying skin did not dimple or blister. She tried the black salve at her Mother's urging.

You see, "M's" friend does not have medical insurance.

The biopsy results are back. "M's" friend has metastatic breast cancer. It is presumed to be "Stage 3". I say presumed because the definitive radiological studies that need to be done cannot be done because she is pregnant.

And abortion is not an option.

"M's" friend has already consulted specialists. The first doctor wanted her to have an abortion as a prerequisite to treatment. She moved on for a second opinion. The second oncologist is willing to begin chemotherapy in two weeks . . . with the goal of saving Mother and baby. Of course, no guarantees can be made as to the health & well-being of the baby during or after chemo, but the second doctor is cautiously optimistic.

The chemo (just the chemo), even at a "non-profit" tertiary care center with special funds in place for such situations, is going to cost in excess of $30,000.

I cannot imagine a more nightmarish medical scenario.

The Angry/Freaky Mennonite is a mighty warrior & patient advocate, and is already energized to help her friend fight this fight. Fire is in her eyes and hope burns in her heart. I expect we shall be looking into fundraising and other efforts to make her friend's journey easier.

I say "we" because any friend of the Freaky Mennonite is a friend of mine.

And that, you see, is why I believe in things unseen . . . like God.

Please pray for both my friends.

Update (January 19): "The Freaky Mennonite" clarifies a part of the story (which, in fact, makes it even more heart-rending): Her friend did not use black salve because of lack of insurance, but because her adoptive mom started using homeopathics after her first born developed encephalitis courtesy of the old DPT vaccines.

They were doing what doctor knew best, and their beautiful normal newborn daughter became a completely helpless cripple, who today is 30 years old and still requires complete care. The family calls the child their "Jewel", and love her very much. Nevertheless, they lost confidence in conventional medicine, so the decision to entrust this daughter to chemo was not an easy one.

The lack of insurance is a choice we all make to trust in God, and help each other. It's not really a bad idea, considering that many insurance plans do not cover chemo, according to the oncologist. It does take faith to look to God to cover outrageous medical bills, but according to the Bible, He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, so it looks like it might be time to sell a few cows.

I am blessed indeed to have a friend such as this. If fundraising efforts solidify, and the young Mother/her family are amenable, I will post information as it becomes available.