The "tin city" is a refugee camp built by the Red Cross for Filipinos whose rickety ramshackle shelters in the inner city were destroyed by the last typhoon. About an hour outside the city, in a huge dirt field, hundreds of uniform wooden tin-roofed shelters sit in neat rows, hiding the chaos and despair of the families surviving inside.
As soon as our van pulled into the "city," flocks of refugees--mostly women and young children--swarmed to the feeding station, with worn plastic bowls and bottles in hand. They waited under the sweltering sun in a long line, eager for just one bottle of clean water and a scoop of rice soaked in canned tomato sauce and corn.
I helped another young woman take out our first aid kit. Within minutes we were surrounded by hurting people. It was overwhelming. One of the young men stepped up to help us translate. He would name the ailment--cough, fever, rash, toothache, pink eye, etc.-- and I would start looking through bottles as I asked, "For how old?"
Most of those suffering were children, many under two years old. We simply did not have any medicine for children so young, so I had to turn those mothers away as they looked at me with pleading desperation. The others I tried to help as best I could. I applied bactene to flea-bitten arms and legs, visine drops to red gunky eyes, and dressed a deep gash wound on a woman's thigh. For fevers, coughs, and toothaches I prescribed over-the-counter painkillers.
There were so many people that I could only give out 1-2 days' dosage, maybe 3 if it looked severe. We had no bottles or containers to put the medicine in, so I started cutting the fingers off our extra plastic gloves and using them as miniature baggies.
Little did I know I would soon see much worse suffering.
One of the Filipino pastors took the two of us and the first aid kit to one of the homes. It consisted of one room, maybe a 15x15 foot square with a dirt floor. In one corner was a single wooden cot. In another corner was a small stack of plastic dishes and old water bottles.
In the corner nearest us was a middle-aged woman slouched on a plastic tarp. Her coarse, gray streaked hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her thin gray cotton shirt did not quite cover her distended belly or the gauze bandage protruding from her neckline. Her swollen limbs, hands, and feet were spotted with blistering sores and wart-like growths. Her sunken yellow eyes told us of her excruciating pain, though her slightly parted lips said nothing...only breathed raspily.
Standing nearby were her four or five children, the eldest a girl of 19. She told us her mother had been suffering like this from breast cancer for about a year. She had received no medical care besides the Christian mission teams that sporadically come to the camp.
We sat on the mat next to the woman. Unsure of what to do, we layed hands on her and prayed. We prayed for healing, for comfort, for relief from the pain. We prayed that she would know Jesus. I don't remember what else we prayed for...it was one of those times I felt so overwhelmed that I almost could
not pray, but in His grace the Holy Spirit must have given me some words.
Next, we prepared to change her dressing. Krystal prepared the supplies while I tried to maneuver the woman into a sitting position. However, she clutched my arms and made silent groans, pleading with me to let her remain upright. So I did.
Caution: the next paragraph is a little bit graphic. If you get queasy at the thought of blood, don't read it.
Using gloves, I carefully removed the tape and bloodied gauze. Yellow pus and blood encrusted the old bandage to her wound, where the cancer, completely unchecked, had eaten away her left breast, leaving a bloody mess. When I finally got the old gauze removed, I used clean gauze to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. I went through several sheets, all soaked in blood. Krystal prepared a new dressing with ointment and we taped it on. The whole time I talked and prayed with the woman, who was too weak to cry out or make any response.
Finally, we gave her brave daughter all the painkillers we had left, with basic instructions.
Then we left.
Meanwhile, Kalan was with the rest of the team distributing blankets, toiletries, and toys. No one wanted to wait in line, no one wanted to share. It reminded us that physical needs are only the beginning of the solution. What they ultimately need doesn't come in a first aid kit. They need hope. They need redemption. And that only comes through a person-- Jesus Christ.
