Sitting outside the surgery, I surveyed my surroundings. I was still wearing a long green surgical gown, and a hairnet was haphazardly jammed over my head wrap. It was about 7:30 on a Sunday evening. Darkness had fallen, and the mosquitoes were out. I sat in a plastic chair praying and waiting for word about Hadassah’s operation. This is how I had spent the last hour, just sitting and waiting and praying—lots of praying.

It had been just another lazy Sunday morning in Kangaba. As I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, I thought about what I needed to get started on for the day. Should we have beans or lentils for lunch? The living room really needed sweeping since the rainy season had tapered off and there was a lot more dust. How many water bottles should Neil take on his regular Sunday village visiting rounds? Was there water in the filter? Absorbed in these thoughts, I finished stacking the clean dishes in the drainer and filled the water filter, just in case.

The kids—where were they? They usually spent Sundays outside all day playing with their friends. I could hear Clay but not Hadassah. “Where’s Hadassah?” I called to Clay.

“She’s inside,” he called back. “She says her stomach hurts.”

Going to check on Hadassah, I found her lying under her mosquito net. “How are you, Honey?” I asked her, “Clay said your stomach was hurting.”

“Yes, it hurts. I just wanted to lie down,” she groaned. I thought about giving her some charcoal, our usual remedy for stomach ailments, but I decided to wait and see what she felt like after she rested. I was concerned though. When I was six, I had woken up with abdominal pain in the middle of the night and ended up with an appendectomy and a week in the hospital. It can’t be that, I told myself. Stop imagining the worst. She will feel better in a little while. I told Neil about Hadassah’s pain. When I checked on her about 10 minutes later, she had fallen asleep.

The relief I felt that Hadassah was sleeping disappeared, however, when she woke up about 20 minutes later and said the pain was worse. “Where does it hurt, Honey?” I asked her. She pointed to the right lower part of her abdomen. Uh oh, I thought.

I pressed gently on the area, and she cried out in pain. “What’s wrong with me, Mommy?” she sobbed. “I’m scared.” I couldn’t let her know that I was afraid too, so I gave her a gentle hug and smoothed back her hair. “I don’t know what is wrong, but I know Jesus does. We will ask Him to help us,” I told her. After we prayed together, Hadassah was calmer so I went to find Neil and tell him to put his village visits on hold. We had to make the two-hour drive to Bamako.

The rest of the morning was a blur of preparing for our trip and trying hard not to freak out. I never dreamed that one of my children would need surgery, in Mali of all places. But as the morning wore on, we could tell that something was very wrong with Hadassah, and we needed to get her to a hospital as soon as possible. By the time we were ready to go, she couldn’t walk, so I carried her to the car. We laid her in the back seat and put a bag of ice on her abdomen. Neil’s dad, our doctor on call for all medical questions, had suggested ice as a way to ease some of Hadassah’s abdominal pain, and thankfully Neil had been able to find some in town.

On our drive into Bamako, I remember looking out the car window and praying for God’s help. I knew Hadassah would need surgery, and I was frightened about what might happen. At some point during the trip, my parents called, and they had prayer with us, which we deeply appreciated. We knew more people had been notified about Hadassah’s condition, and knowing people were praying for her gave me some peace.

At the clinic, things proceeded fairly smoothly. An ultrasound confirmed that Hadassah’s appendix was enlarged. Then we had a consultation with the surgeon who had been called in from home. Finally the blood work came back showing en elevated white cell count. At about 6 p.m., the surgeon recommended that Hadassah undergo surgery immediately.

“Stay with me, Mommy!” Hadassah cried. I assured her that I would be with her until she went to sleep.

We were given a hospital room, and an anesthesiologist started an IV in Hadassah’s hand. As he prepared to take her to surgery, he said it would be better for us to stay behind. “No way,” I told him. “I promised I would be with her until she fell asleep.” He didn’t argue with me, which I appreciated. “Fine,” he said, gesturing for me to pick up Hadassah. In the operating room’s outer area, I helped Hadassah get undressed and put on the operating gown. Then I carried her into the operating room. As I laid her down on the operating table, I continued to pray, asking the Lord to help her to be calm and go to sleep easily. After she was asleep, I left the room, sat down outside and continued to pray. Neil had stayed in the hospital room with Clayton. I prayed and prayed, and then I prayed some more. I’m so glad that God never gets tired of our prayers! I tried not to picture what might be going on in the operating room.

After about an hour, I was called back into the operating room. Fearful there might be a problem, I hurried in. I was greatly relieved when the surgeon told me all had gone well and showed me the offending appendix. It was hard for me to believe that such a little organ had caused all that trouble. The surgeon assured me that Hadassah would be back in the hospital room soon. I went back to the waiting area thanking God.

We continued to thank God in the days that followed as Hadassah recovered. I stayed with her in the clinic for four days until she was discharged. We stayed in Bamako at a guesthouse several more days, just to make sure she was all right. She was able to do more and more every day, and we were all glad to go back to Kangaba about a week after her surgery. Soon Hadassah was playing just like she had been before, with only a small scar to remind us of the frightening episode.

Currently, as our family waits here in the States for the political unrest to die down in Mali, I think back to experiences like these. The Lord helped us through that stressful time, and He is helping us now as well. We are encouraged as we reflect on His blessings. Please continue to keep us and the people of Mali in your prayers! We hope to return to our project soon.

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