Sometimes, it’s the Ebola patients who offer comfort

Tonight, on a sticky and slightly humid evening in Freetown, Sierra Leone, I met Patrice, a nurse practitioner who has returned from working in the Red Cross Kenema Ebola treatment centre. Six weeks ago, she left her family, her job, and her 60 kilogram Great Pyrenees-Mastiff mix dog, to become part of a team that is combating a deadly disease that threatens the fabric of this and surrounding countries.

Patrice, a Canadian Red Cross volunteer, has responded to a number of disasters around the world and said this mission has been both the most remarkable and the most stressful. Red Cross workers in the Ebola treatment centres take extraordinary precautions in their work to ensure a safe environment. Before each shift in the high risk area, Patrice and her colleagues  spent about 15 minutes dressing in layers of personal protective equipment and being checked by a Sierra Leone Red Cross Society volunteer to ensure that no trace of skin was showing. In temperatures that exceed 40 degrees Celsius inside the suit, Patrice spent one hour at a time with patients confirmed to have Ebola. Wrapped in layers of Tyvek, she fed a one year old baby, held a frightened six year old and sang him “O Canada”, and shared news with other patients, while encouraging them to take in the liquids that could save their lives.

Smiling, Patrice told me how eager the patients were to talk to her each day. She brought them stories from the outside world, as well as messages of encouragement and hope from her friends. Ebola experts indicate that rapidly seeking treatment at the onset of symptoms, consuming 4.5 litres daily of oral rehydration solution daily, and having a sense of hope, are all factors that increase Ebola survival rates. For Patrice, being the bearer of well wishes from her generous-hearted friends was a gift.

Her eyes water, remembering one particular experience. She had received news the day before that a young man whom she’d known all her life, a friend of her son, had died suddenly of an unknown cause. As she entered the treatment centre, Aruna, a 26 year old Sierra Leone man who had battled Ebola for three weeks approached Patrice, asking where she had been the previous day; for patients, staff are lifelines not only in the clinical sense, but they become friends who spend their rest time standing at a safe distance on the outside of the centre, chatting with, and encouraging, patients.

Upon hearing Patrice’s story, Aruna, who was slowly recovering from the fight of his life, took her double-gloved hands in his own and looked through her goggles into her eyes. He asked her to send a message to her son and to the family of the young man back in Canada: “You have cared for us and brought us messages of support. Please tell them that Aruna sends his love and his condolences to them in their time of need.” Patrice remembers her goggles beginning to fog with tears, touched and overwhelmed that someone in such great pain and need could focus his attention on a family a world away. This is humanity.

Speaking with Patrice, I recognized my good fortune. I was one of the first to offer her psychosocial support just through listening. And I have seen the light of generosity: her gift of expertise and caring and Sierra Leone’s great spirit of survival and caring for others. If you see Patrice, give her another hug from me.

Catherine Kane is a senior communications officer for the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies. Based in Geneva, she was recently deployed to Sierra Leone to support beneficiary communications initiatives as part of the Red Cross response to the ongoing Ebola outbreak. IFRC.org

Lucky in love

I'm lucky in love. This year, I'm learning to love more in many ways. It is so easy to see a world where one is all alone, no one cares, and slights are deliberate. Today, I feel the love. I want to recognize it, because there is no value unless it's shared.

Last week, I was at a conference 3500 miles from my flat and a challenge arose involving regie (fearsome dragon-like creature that controls real estate in Geneva), neighbor, dogsitter, and two friends, including one who had just been in an accident and was at hospital. To make a long story short, Desmond was lonely, and the dog sitter had been robbed, and my neighbor came to the rescue, simultaneously offering to care for my dog and to call the police if I didn't hand the keys over. We've subsequently (phone calls/texts/emails/apologies from dogsitter/large bunches of flowers) worked things out, and Desmond has a new fan.

A kind friend whom I have not seen for months due to competing schedules stepped in to the breach, at the expense of work time at her finance job for a fancy company. Not only did her sweet demeanor diffuse the neighbor's harangue, but she kept sending reports back to overanxious me. My hero.

When confronted with visa issues, my boss and friend trusted me to take her place at a conference, presenting on behalf of our organization. It was a conference of skilled American Red Cross communicators. I lurk on their closed Facebook group and am a steady admirer of their work and friendship. They welcomed me back warmly, and I made some new friends, in addition to strengthening bonds with long-standing friends and colleagues.

Life in the J Peterman Catalog

The 'Rio de Janeiro' dress was described thus:


We Weren’t Born to Follow
Wonderful, terrifying, possibly clairvoyant. Knocks you out with a glance. Laughs when you can’t get up. Oh yes.

She’s imperfect, real. Flawed but very close to beautiful.

Clear-eyed, knows more than she really wants to. Protects the innocent. Teases the powerful.

“Indecent,” she whispers as she gathers this dress from your warm outstretched hands. “After all these years.”

She gets up around noon and does whatever she does. When she shows up, she’s late. When I put my foot down, she laughs.

When I met her in Rio de Janeiro, she was wearing this.

It whispers with or without a breeze.

Trust me.

The catalog describes a life that doesn't exist for most of us, but its playful escapism makes me smile. So does this charming anecdote.

Geneve, I think I like you | Genève, je commence à vous aimer

The plaque I pass daily
without noticing

Tonight, I began to like Geneva a bit more. This evening's walk was punctuated by cannon fire. Yes, you read that correctly. Ambling through the streets of the Vielle Ville, admiring the glow of illuminated snowflakes against the deepening nightfall, we were startled by a loud sound. Curious people (and pup), we walked toward La Treille, where several hundred people were watching and participating in a commemoration of Geneva's release by Napoleon's troops in September 1813 and its declaration of independence on 31 December.  (They were speaking French, but of course Americans speak English...)

Why did this tickle me? I find the Genevois habit of commemorations quite charming. That these secretive and upright people will tog themselves out in historic finery, seemingly at the drop of a hat, shows a touching homage to tradition. The uniforms come complete with furry high hats that remind one of British bobbies, as well as furry backpacks, with blankets (yes, Swiss Army blankets) and tin pots attached.

An Angel Gets Her Wings

Tonight, as I was changing the lights on my Christmas tree (favorite lights+wrong current=poor idea), I kept accidentally ringing the bells that are nestled on several branches. Each time, I thought of It's a Wonderful Life, where Clarence announces that each time you hear a bell, an angel gets his wings.
For the past month, my friend and former coworker Dawn has been on my mind. She was diagnosed at the beginning of November with late stage cancer that had thoroughly invaded her body. I was invited by one of her dearest friends, another coworker, to join Hugs for Dawn, a Facebook group.

Customer Service... Not

Signal #102 that living in Switzerland is different: customer service is about the commercial entity, not the customer.

I called my bank to make a request (email takes several weeks to receive an answer). I need to go in to the bank in person to accomplish what I need. In the particular bank, there are no appointments, so one must go, and there may be a wait, said the receptionist.

Then, I called the rental agency. The one person who handles my rental is out till later. I was asked to call back later (no voicemail and no message-taking on their end).

A wooden leg named Smith

Last night I finished an eleven day conference. As I was pushing my scooter from its parking spot, a car turning the corner ran into me, knocked me down, and ran over my foot. In contrast to my last accident, which happened days before my brother's wedding, this has been a relatively easy experience. The Swiss health care system was incredibly efficient.
My coworkers have been lovely. One escorted me to the hospital and then to my house, where he took Desmond out and even gave me a lesson in how to use crutches. Another took care of bringing my scooter to the office, and yet another took the computers I was carrying. The Danish Red Cross team witnessed the accident, and they gave police statements and cared for me while I was waiting for the ambulance.
Last weekend at TEDxRC2, I saw a presentation by a doctor from Afghanistan who ran a prosthetic clinic. He told us about an afternoon when the streets of Kabul cleared suddenly, leaving only a man, Mahmoud, in the middle of the road. The man had no legs and only one arm. Although the doctor's clinic had been closed by the government as "non-essential," Dr. Cairo asked Mahmoud to meet him there the following morning. The leg-less man, with a line of others, were queued before the doctor arrived.

After Mahmoud received prostheses and learned to use them, he returned to the clinic, asking for a job. He said that he was tired of begging and wanted to do something that would make his family proud. He didn't want a hand-out; he wanted work. The doctor was skeptical, but gave Mahmoud a week's trial. Mahmoud became the most productive worker in the artificial leg factory. This instigated a policy of "positive discrimination," wherein the clinic proactively tries to hire people with disabilities to create opportunity and hope for others. (P.S. Keep an eye on www.tedxrc2.com for the touching video of Alberto's story.)