Since the day I observed the first cleft palate and cleft lip surgery, my mind has been running the gamut of how to describe to you what I saw and felt. Previously, I mentioned Dr. Gamy, the plastic surgeon who performed all the cleft palate surgeries. These pictures shouldn't be very gnarly, but don't look if you think it will bother you. Dr. Gamy was only with our group for the first week of our mission, but during those few days, the number of lives he dramatically changed cannot be counted. To say a number of surgeries he did would be guessing, but the children and family members surrounding those kids will forever be changed.
There's an in-detail story on the medical-mission.org website about one of these children, Jayden. I was standing right by Rommel, who wrote the blog post about Baby Jayden. I could feel the massive impression that it was making on Rommel since he had undergone that procedure many years ago. We both stood side by side, never spoke, and I think we were barely breathing. I wasn't sure where his head was, so I said nothing. It was a highlight for me to be able to go in and observe surgeries like this with my medical background - none.
Here is the operating room I told you about where they were able to perform more than one surgery at a time. There's Dr. Manny in the center back - he is handling both anesthesia applications. This is an unusual situation, but it shows you that this group did everything they could with whatever they had. That is the mantra I heard from members of the team over and over.
Prepping this little girl for surgery... she was calm, or maybe that anesthesia was kicking in...
Here's a close up look at the case. It is a single cleft palate and lip procedure, and Dr. Gamy tells me there is nothing uncommon about it. After watching several of these surgeries, they all look totally and completely different to me. I can assure you, this is not something I see everyday.
Dr. Gamy is very capable and usually prefers to work alone. He likes to grab his own tools. He likes to move the light to the perfect place. He moves quickly and smoothly. This local nurse/or resident, has no idea how lucky he is to be standing there learning from the master.
It is a bit hard to see exactly what is happening here, but it is shortly after the procedure started.
This is still part of the "release," as Dr. Gamy explained it to me. I was told there is no cutting. Gosh, I have a lot to learn. Some of the most interesting things that I learned about myself during watching all these procedures and surgeries involved the lack of any "ick" factor. Nothing bothered me. Nothing made me want to turn away. I never felt nauseated. I wanted to see more. I wanted to watch more. I wanted to hear and understand more.
In fact, as the days progressed, I would have team members approach me and ask me to go "work some magic with Dr. Gamy" to see if we could fit in 'one more' surgery. He never told me no. He would say, "what do you have?" I might say, "she's a 9 month old with a double." He would follow me out front to do a quick evaluation. He never told me no. One of the most touching stories was a patient who had a cleft palate and cleft lip. After his initial exam by one of the doctors, it was determined he had a heart murmur, and that meant he would not be a candidate for surgery to repair his cleft palate and lip. He was being shown the door when I saw this child with a cleft palate and cleft lip heading outside, instead of down the hall to the operating room. I felt a tug. I went up and asked them where they were going. When they told me they were leaving and why, I said, "Can you hang on just a minute?" They stood perfectly still. I said, "Please wait here." (This is where not knowing what is going on can play to your advantage.) I broke into a full-out run toward the back of the hospital where the operating rooms were. By now, Dr. Gamy knows my system, and he knows that I am going to be asking for something that only he can help accomplish. Quickly and succinctly, I explain that there is a patient with a single cleft lip and palate, under the age of 12 months, and the child has a heart murmur. I ask, "Does that completely eliminate him from the surgery?" He tells me to bring the patient back to the surgery area. Being carried by his uncle, Dr. Gamy listens to the child's chest, back, and immediately, he hears the murmur. He says, "It's an 'xyz' kind of murmur." He turns to the anesthesiologist, Dr. Manny, and asks him to listen. They are in complete agreement. They discuss it for a couple of minutes. One asks if the other feels confident enough about proceeding. The other says, "I do, if you do." After a bit more discussion, they smile at each other. It happens. He didn't tell me no. In a matter of a few minutes, this child's life could have been one way, and things totally flip, and the child with the murmur gets the surgery. After that kind of surgery, the kids spend one night in the hospital. The next day, the little boy's uncle tracked me down. I think I hugged him tightly, and I was trying not to cry. I will remember that little boy for the rest of my life knowing his life will be better, only because Dr. Gamy didn't tell me no.
There were stories like this every day. That's the kind of impact the mission made.
I have to go back.
