faith the size of a mustard seed

it was just starting to get dark when i heard a voice on the radio. i automatically perked up as there are only two people who get called after dark, one of which is carmenza, the other of which is me. no one called to me that i was wanted so i stopped listening to the rest of the call. carmenza came out into the courtyard a moment later and had her bag slung over her shoulder. like the eager future med student that i am, i asked her if she was going to the hospital and why. she said a child had been bitten and it was really bad. i, of course, told her that i was going to go with her. as i threw on a t-shirt i wondered what kind of a bite would be bad enough to call the expat doctor after hours. we had recently had a snakebite that had been near-fatal, so i thought maybe it was that. then again, there were also scorpions and all kinds of sketchy dogs around. all i really cared about was it not being a spider bite. on the ride to the hospital i asked carmenza what had bitten him. she replied "the father". i say "his father BIT him?" and she says "no, bit, bit" in a spanish accent and makes a punching motion with her hand. i say "beat?". she nods. i slink down in my seat realizing that this is not going to be fun at all. i want to get out and walk home but it's after dark and we're not allowed out after dark. we arrive at the hospital and enter the pediatric ward to find several people bustling around one bed. we step in and i almost vomited. a 9 month old baby lay, unconscious, on the bed. his father "accidentally" beat him in the head with a stick while he was "fighting" with the baby's mother, the staff tell us. i say "using the word 'fighting' implies that there were two active participants, which i somehow doubt, and can someone please explain to me how you ACCIDENTALLY beat an infant unconscious with a stick?". there's no answer, and i'm not surprised. carmenza gets to work checking the baby and with each discovery she looks more and more distraught. she checks his pupils and tells me that one is completely dilated, while the other is the total opposite. he has no response to pain and his hand stays limp as the nurse digs for one of his tiny veins to start the iv. part of his skull, a part that should be bony, is soft to the touch. carmenza tests his reflexes and he has none on the right side of his body. the baby's mother sits at the opposite end of the bed, perched tensely on the edge, watching with desperate eyes. i stood beside her and unconsciously put my hand on her shoulder. she surprised me by quickly reaching up and grasping my fingers. at one point i notice a man standing nearby and all of a sudden i realize that i am about to lunge at him. "is this the father?" i ask, and someone says no, so i decide to spare his life. one of the nurses tells me that the father was arrested right after the accident, so drunk he could barely stand. i tell them that if one more person refers to it using the word "accident" i am going to officially lose it. finally the iv is started, the examination is finished, and the staff clears out. i ask carmenza if he's going to make it and she says that it would be a miracle if he survived the night. we talk quietly, knowing that his mother can't understand us, and we agree that maybe for his sake it would be best for him to just let go. this isn't a country that takes care of its weak. those who are physically handicapped, comatose, brain-damaged or anything beyond the scope of normal are burdens to be borne. this is a country where people (around 20 children in habillah alone) with any sort of psychiatric issues are chained to a tree in the yard all day long. yes, you read that right.
the baby lay at the top of the bed, naked, unmoving. i gently prodded his mother closer to him, and showed her that she should talk to him, touch him, hold him. she was hesitant, but i sat beside her and stroked his arm, and told her that it was ok. as we sat there, just the three of us (carmenza had walked away), i wanted to pray for him to be healed but i hesitated. i knew that God could heal him, but a part of me just didn't believe that He would. maybe if it was some amazing Christian who knew what he/she was doing it would work, but i knew it wouldn't work for me. finally i decided that i had nothing to lose so i lay my hand on his head, over the part of the skull that had been caved in, and i prayed. i prayed that he would be healed and that he wouldn't suffer for the sins of his father. i prayed for compassion for the man who had almost killed him. maybe he's always been a violent alcoholic and is worthy of nothing but contempt, or maybe the events of the last few years have so emasculated him, and so destroyed everything good in him, that he can't help who or what he's become. maybe he was once good and noble and kind.
we arrived home that night and parted ways. carmenza went to bed to cry and i paced around the courtyard too full of some overwhelming emotion to stay still. i took a cold shower to cool off and angrily told God that i was done here and i was going home. i'm done being the witness, i'm done seeing this kind of crap, why do You keep calling me to these places? have i wronged You in some way, because i'm REALLY sorry if i did. forget my pride, forget not being a quitter, forget probably never working for msf again, i don't care what people think. i'm done. i went to bed early and put on my worship music (always guaranteed to chill me out), and at some point i must have fallen asleep and ground my teeth all night as i woke up with an aching jaw. we woke up the next morning and were surprised that no one had radioed during the night to say that the baby had died. we arrived at the hospital and were stunned to see that the baby was breastfeeding! the nurses told us he had opened his eyes briefly, then floated in and out of consciousness. i sat down again and smiled at his mom and she smiled back with a look of such relief i almost cried. i lay my hand on him again and prayed again. ok God, this was a start, but we both know You can do better than this. each time i came back to visit them, he was doing better and better. his mom and i became friends and we would sit on her bed and i would show her the pictures in my digital camera and she and the mother of the young boy in the other bed would sit and laugh delightedly. two days later the baby was awake and alert. physically he seems to have returned to normal. he's a bit young to ask him if he knows what day of the week it is, or where he is, but i have faith that in a few years he can answer those questions.

p.s. if you think you have some medical explanation for this, i don't want to hear it :)