It's time

Time is a valuable commodity. More valuable than almost any living person can fathom. We want more of it, yet waste so much of it. It's been two years since I met Amelia. I've had two years to process and conceptualise what I saw, felt, did and didn't do. It's time to write about her life from a different perspective. One that has had the time afforded to it that her life didn't. I have had two years of explaining my 'Amelia' tattoo in a very sheltered way in an effort to contain my profound sense of loss and deep saddness. I have choked back too many tears to prevent others from feeling a sample of grief that the raw entierty of her story brings. I have chosen to keep my original blog post and add to it.

My neonatal death experience toll is at one. Not something I would wish upon anyone. 

I had the pleasure of seeing a woman deliver naturally a breech (bum first) presenting baby. She was planned for a Caesar, but between mum and bub, they decided to forgo it. The baby was a mere 29 weeks. In Australia, with good NICU care, that's a very viable baby. In Nepal, the youngest baby in NICU (in regards to weeks from conception to birth) was 31 weeks. Two weeks makes a lot of difference! 29 weeks here is incredibly fragile. The doctors gave her a 50% chance of survival. That's a big statistic so I'll assume that's her chance if she had the best care possible in NICU for several moths. Her birth was marked with uncertainty and fear of the unknown.

I had hopes and assumptions that this baby would end up in NICU. To see someone die when there was every chance of them living is beyond painful and frustrating. Four days later I found out that the baby girl was alive, but not in NICU. Both mum and bub were on the postnatal ward. What I learnt after that changed my world.

Babies aren't made to leave the womb at 29 weeks and survive on their own. I was told that the baby was not receiving care because the family couldn't afford it. I asked a nurse if the baby was a boy, would they beg, borrow and steal money to keep him alive. Her answer was honest and unforgettable. She had shame written all over her face as she nodded and quietly said yes without looking me in the eyes. Treatment in hospital is not free like it is in Australia. You are required to pay for your care, however there is a well known fund for those who cannot afford care. In the instance where you cannot afford care, you receive it for free. This beautiful, premature baby required care. Not only did the family refuse to pay for that care, they also refused free care. 

Unfortunately, the mother was 19 and the men in the family make the decisions. I learnt that when babies are not wanted by the family, the mother is starved with the aim to prevent her breastfeeding, thus starving her child. That is what happened in this case.

It was only days later when I was looking through the birth records book that I saw NND, meaning Neonatal Death, in red pen next to that babies birth details. I had heard doctors mumble "Passed" when doing morning rounds one day. No more, no less. I'm sure that baby was a trooper. She fought for every moment she had a chance at holding. She didn't even have a name. 

I can't comprehend the amount of guilt I felt at the time and continue to feel. I contemplated fleeing the country to come home with her to ensure she had the chance at life she deserved. I imagined the legal loop holes I'd need to jump through to make it happen. I thought about being a 20 year old mother, forgoing my own dreams for her needs. I was too late. I have cried more tears for her than I have for any other human. I am committed to sharing her story in its raw, unjust nature. I also apologise to anyone with whom I have shared this story with and not detailed it in full. I selfishly struggle to repeat what was an upsetting experience. So

RIP baby Amelia. Thankyou for being my first breech birth and unfortunately my first 'neonatal death'. Thankyou for fighting. You gave me so much and I have a lot to thank you for. I have so much admiration and love for you baby girl. Happy birthday xx

My habitual grossness

Its true when people say you need to learn to love yourself, because you are the only constant thing you'll have through out your life. My time in Nepal taught me alot of things and I appreciate every lesson an experience. However, it forced one lesson upon me. At home, its hard to learn to love yourself as you are. You are constantly compared either by yourself or others. Despite the fact you are the best version of yourself, there always seems to be someone who appears to live your life better. You are surrounded by similar people.

Nepal thrusted upon me the notion of washing once a week, not wearing makeup, spending 60 seconds flat on my hair daily, not washing my hair for 7 days, hairy legs, baggy eyes, epic regrowth and wearing trackies and thermals out to dinner. None of that was terribly acceptable prior to me leaving Aus. I'm not sure when it kicked in, but sometime around the 5-6 week mark it became liberating to have marriage proposals and general attention despite the fact I thought I looked disgusting. It definitely kicked in when I cam home 48 hours ago. Mainly because I wasn't in a hurry to change how I looked. I'll admit to hastily getting out of the trackies and thermals I'd been wearing for 3 days because I looked 100% homeless in them. But, I still went out to the shops that first afternoon with dirty hair, unshowered, no make up on, my usual grossness. It felt freaking liberating. Sometimes thats all you need- to feel liberated. Thankyou Nepal.

I'm happy to say though that I now shower daily, despite it feeling like an absolute chore and my solid list of excuses holding me back such as "It takes too long", " I just dont have time", "Its too much effort". I clearly haven't fully rehabilitated yet, but know that I am doing well.

The day dreams come true

I can't begin to describe how amazing my last 24 hours in Pokhara were. But, I'll try my best to do so. 

I woke up and couldn't help but shake my heads. When did it get to be the 20th February 2012? When did it get to be my last day in Pokhara? I didn't have plans. I've grown not to have plans in Nepal. I just knew I wanted to buy some pants and get a scrumptious, fresh apple juice from my favourite cafe near the lake. I had 9 hours to complete my task. I think I could manage. 

After buying all my bits and bobs, I sat down for my apple juice and met one of the loveliest blokes around. It's a tad unfortunate that the tourists here aren't that friendly to each other, but e was a dime a dozen! It gets lonely eating on your own and I was so thankful to have a fabulous Aussie to chill with. 

I had spent my morning thinking about a conversation with a local Tibetan guy a few days earlier. He was telling me about a local midwife who looks after a whole village. At the time I couldn't help but think if I had more time, I'd love to meet her and try and get some details in case I came back. After finishing my apple juice I walked home for the last time, shedding a tear because locals were smiling at me. I was accepted. I made it my mission to leave some kind of a note for this guy to contact me in regards to the midwife. Boy is God good. 

I walked into the camp and he was sitting outside his uncles shop. Already winning. Asked him if I could give him my details so he could send me the midwives details. No probs. He upped me. "Want to go visit her?" Royal flush. 

Not even an hour later I was on the back of his bike riding 45mins out into the beautiful country side of Pokhara. It was too far away from where I was staying to be able to travel this distance everyday. I doubted. It was beautiful though. Winding up a very steep mountain and feeling the chill in the air, we arrived. Five meters one side, mountain goes down, five meters on the other side, mountain goes down. I am literally perched at the top of the world. I am in love!

I am filled in that there are three midwives who look after a village with a population of 10,000 people. It's estimated that there are 312 pregnant women at any one time. They aren't backyard midwives. They work at a small health post run by the government. If the women need further attention, they go by ambulance to hospital. Otherwise, they deliver at the top of the world at the health post. The midwives are on call and work in a threadbare work place. I'm flat on my back. This is home! I have a 90 day visa, I can stay for another month no problems. 

I had the chance to ask the main midwife what they need in hope that I can gather some funds and send stuff to them every so often. Although the health post is government funded, the funding is slow and pathetic. They need everything, from baby clothes and blankets, a cot, gauze, sterile gloves, umbilical cord clamps, equipment, a heater (imagine laboring at the top of a mountain, at midnight, in winter, being naked and only having a few coals for heating!!), everything. I can help. 

Next, there is a guest house fifty meters down the road. Someone get me a cup of tea, I'm home. To top it off, fill out a simple form, post it to an office in Kathmandu, get approved (relatively simple) and your free to volunteer. Oh man. Just when I thought this trip was over, with no idea of where to go next doing what I've dreamt of doing, this comes along. God is good. Beyond good. Faithful. 

I can't be more glad that I took that chance. I'm in awe. 

The day dreams come true

I can't begin to describe how amazing my last 24 hours in Pokhara were. But, I'll try my best to do so. 

I woke up and couldn't help but shake my heads. When did it get to be the 20th February 2012? When did it get to be my last day in Pokhara? I didn't have plans. I've grown not to have plans in Nepal. I just knew I wanted to buy some pants and get a scrumptious, fresh apple juice from my favourite cafe near the lake. I had 9 hours to complete my task. I think I could manage. 

After buying all my bits and bobs, I sat down for my apple juice and met one of the loveliest blokes around. It's a tad unfortunate that the tourists here aren't that friendly to each other, but e was a dime a dozen! It gets lonely eating on your own and I was so thankful to have a fabulous Aussie to chill with. 

I had spent my morning thinking about a conversation with a local Tibetan guy a few days earlier. He was telling me about a local midwife who looks after a whole village. At the time I couldn't help but think if I had more time, I'd love to meet her and try and get some details in case I came back. After finishing my apple juice I walked home for the last time, shedding a tear because locals were smiling at me. I was accepted. I made it my mission to leave some kind of a note for this guy to contact me in regards to the midwife. Boy is God good. 

I walked into the camp and he was sitting outside his uncles shop. Already winning. Asked him if I could give him my details so he could send me the midwives details. No probs. He upped me. "Want to go visit her?" Royal flush. 

Not even an hour later I was on the back of his bike riding 45mins out into the beautiful country side of Pokhara. It was too far away from where I was staying to be able to travel this distance everyday. I doubted. It was beautiful though. Winding up a very steep mountain and feeling the chill in the air, we arrived. Five meters one side, mountain goes down, five meters on the other side, mountain goes down. I am literally perched at the top of the world. I am in love!

I am filled in that there are three midwives who look after a village with a population of 10,000 people. It's estimated that there are 312 pregnant women at any one time. They aren't backyard midwives. They work at a small health post run by the government. If the women need further attention, they go by ambulance to hospital. Otherwise, they deliver at the top of the world at the health post. The midwives are on call and work in a threadbare work place. I'm flat on my back. This is home! I have a 90 day visa, I can stay for another month no problems. 

I had the chance to ask the main midwife what they need in hope that I can gather some funds and send stuff to them every so often. Although the health post is government funded, the funding is slow and pathetic. They need everything, from baby clothes and blankets, a cot, gauze, sterile gloves, umbilical cord clamps, equipment, a heater (imagine laboring at the top of a mountain, at midnight, in winter, being naked and only having a few coals for heating!!), everything. I can help. 

Next, there is a guest house fifty meters down the road. Someone get me a cup of tea, I'm home. To top it off, fill out a simple form, post it to an office in Kathmandu, get approved (relatively simple) and your free to volunteer. Oh man. Just when I thought this trip was over, with no idea of where to go next doing what I've dreamt of doing, this comes along. God is good. Beyond good. Faithful. 

I can't be more glad that I took that chance. I'm in awe. 

To miss or not to miss

I can't help but write a list of things I'll miss and things I won't miss. It seems appropriate to give you some context to my time here. 

I won't miss the noise- bus horns, car horns, scooter horns, bike horns, bloody horns, the praying with drums and cymbals, the dogs barking, the alarms, the doors banging, people spitting. Everywhere. 

I won't miss my bed. My knees, hips, pelvic bone, neck and shoulders hate me for sleeping here every night. I won't miss the carpet 'mattress' that has unleashed endless amounts of bruises on me. I also won't miss the glowing Buddha above my bed. 

I won't miss the feeling of numb feet inflicted upon me courtesy of the squat toilets. I won't miss being able to have a front row seat at my own waste disposals show. I won't miss the compulsion to steal extra sheets of toilet paper when at restaurants to use at home. I pray that doesn't stick with me. 

I won't miss being stared at, honked at, yelled at, or come at by Nepali guys. I'll take being invisible any day! Although I have discovered an antidote. Whack on a pair of sunnies and headphones. Walking down the street like this with people staring at you makes you feel like your in a film clip. 30 minutes a day is an appropriate dose. 

I won't miss my weekly hair and body wash. The concept of a daily shower as routine, as opposed to a weekly wash as a  privilege, feels so foreign. 

I won't miss dal bhat. Not. At. All. 
I won't miss vegetables and two minute noodles for breakfast. I won't miss any Nepali foods made from refined white flour. 

I won't miss the need for my nose to constantly filter the horrid air I breathe 24/7. I owe it a holiday. 

I won't miss the close calls I have with necking myself on the clothesline in the backyard. 

I will miss sharing every piece of land here with the cows and buffalo. I'll miss seeing them stop traffic or just poo in front of me. They are a great reality check. 

I'll miss having and sharing a double bed. Dutch ovening someone else is much more fun than inflicting your own horrors on yourself. 

I will miss being with women every day. I'll miss being apart of their lives during a season they'll never forget. I'll miss the smiles of the women and their families as their faith in me grows. I'll miss all the newborn cuddles and the chance to pray for minute old babies. That they will find and love God, be healthy and happy, and do good in this world. 

I also need to thank a few special people. First an fore-mostly, Thankyou to my steri strips for rescuing me from the terrifying need to go to hospital here. I can't thank you enough. Thankyou cheap travel pillow. You've been a nightly companion when I only expected you to be there for me on the plane. You've gone above and beyond your duty. Thankyou to my 14 pairs of undies. If you weren't such a large team I would've had to double wear you more often. You and I are both better because of your great existence. 

The moments that matter

Now that my time at the hospital has ended, I feel I can choose a favorite memory. Like all experiences in life, they never turn out how you expect and the ones that you assume won't be profound, in fact are. 

It had been weeks of tirelessly working at being accepted and welcomed by Nepali people. Day after day my efforts of being warm, caring, gentle and helpful seemed as though they had amounted to nothing. In a world where language counts for so much, I was struggling. It took 3 weeks until I had made friends with the nurses, 4 for the doctors and forever with the patients. It felt like I was wasting my time. Attitude is everything though, so I decided that I would eventually be rewarded and paid back in full. Indeed I was. 

It's a blessing to have two favorite memories. Both happened without any initiation by myself. I was given a few moments break from working at being accepted. 

It seemed like any other morning. I checked the patient bed list board. It was a full house. I wandered the corridors to see who was an old or new face. Then, like every other day I wandered down to delivery. I sheepishly opened the door, not knowing who was or wasn't in there. I wasn't having a particularly good morning. I was beginning to grow tired of all the effort and the lack of return. I had no idea what awaited me. As I lifted my head, this petite, worn, sun beaten woman (who was the mother of a labouring woman) quickly stepped towards me, smiled warmly and joyfully from ear to ear, and very respectfully bowed and said "namaste". That was it. In all her simple glory, she noticed, respected and welcomed me. 

Another memory I can't forget was the day I saw three natural deliveries, one after the other like some crazy production line. The first woman had delivered and it was a matter of minutes until the second delivered. It was frustrating watching two very inexperienced interns attempt to deliver her baby of the second woman. She was given an episiotomy and still struggled. Fundal pressure was applied, along with a strong hand to her face. She was so strong and determined. She gave birth to a baby boy. 

I was watching the first woman, who also had an episiotomy, be stitched up. It had been around 45 minutes since she received her poorly administered local an aesthetic and it was wearing off fast. I could see her face crease and body flinch. The last time I had attempted to comfort a woman in that room, I had eyes burning holes into the back of my head and ended up getting kicked out of the way. Not what I would call positive reinforcement. I have learnt to tread carefully the fine line between working with the staff how they want me to and meeting the needs of the women. In this case I couldn't watch her be alone in pain. I stood by her and calmed her for ten minutes, sweeping my hand over her head and holding her hand. My poor attempt at Nepalese meant I was only able to tell her how good she was doing and that she was finished. I genuinely don't care if I'm hated for being emotionally supportive. Those women were and are amazing, and in that moment they needed assistance to prove it. I was in the right spot at the right time, and was presented with the privilege of assisting them in doing so. I can't and won't take that for granted. 

Just as the first woman was finished being stitched up, the second woman was part way through her stitches. She appeared much like the subtle face of bravery before her- creased face with an open hand reaching out. She didn't need me, but she needed something. It was beautiful. She let her guard down and I saw her pain, but she was still so strong. Once again, my terrible Nepali could barely covey the fact that she was strong and that I was proud of her. I couldn't help but wonder if she has ever heard words like that before. 

The intern stitching up the second woman gave me permission to let go of her hand and watch the delivery of the third woman who had just been wheeled in. I tried to explain the concept of too many chiefs and not enough Indians. I left only for a few moments to prepare for the baby- turn on the warmer, gather gauze pads to wipe her with, find a measuring tape etc. But I knew the local was wearing off and her pain was increasing. I stayed, because in that moment, she needed me more than I needed myself, my agenda and to be another spectator at a birth. Few people have my respect quite like Nepali women. 

It truly is a beautiful thing to be what you are needed, at the time when you are needed. 

The best kind of first

I will forever and very fondly remember this year of my life as the year I delivered my first baby! I so wish that I had a life changing and thrilling birth story to share, and although each birth is different, nothing was wildly exciting. 

She was an average Nepalese woman who laboured quietly. Something that immediately earns my respect mainly because I don't think I ever could. It was her first pregnancy and first birth. She had two bozo interns looking after her, assuming they would deliver. When it took them 5 minutes and a third year nursing poster to decide that 'Station: 0' meant halfway between station -2 and +2, I knew I had to do this delivery. And do the delivery I did!!

She crowned, I told her to push in my dodgy Nepali, I looked her in the eye and with the warmest smile possible, I told her she was doing really well and she could do it. Then we had a baby. Welcome to the world princess. I'm proud to say I caught you. At the end I was able to tell the mum how proud I was of her. I later wondered if anyone had ever said something like that to her before. I know one thing for sure. After 5 weeks of being at the hospital, it feels good to know that at least one woman was given support that was more than just perineal!

Def. Amelia: work; effort; striving

My neonatal death experience toll is at one. Not something I would wish upon anyone. 

I had the pleasure of seeing a woman deliver naturally a breech (bum first) presenting baby. She was planned for a Caesar, but between mum and bub, they decided to forgo it. The baby was a mere 29 weeks. In Australia, with good NICU care, that's a very viable baby. In Nepal, the youngest baby in NICU (in regards to weeks from conception to birth) was 31 weeks. Two weeks makes a lot of difference! 29 weeks here is incredibly fragile. The doctors gave her a 50% chance of survival. That's a big statistic so I'll assume that's her chance if she had the best care possible in NICU for several moths. 

I had hopes an assumptions that this baby would end up in NICU. Later on I found out that wasn't the case. The baby girl was alive, but not in NICU. Babies aren't made to leave the womb at 29 weeks and survive on their own. I was told that the baby was not receiving care because the family couldn't afford it. I asked a nurse if the baby was a boy, would they beg, borrow and steal money to keep him alive. Her answer was honest and unforgettable. She had shame written all over her face as she nodded and quietly said yes without looking me in the eyes. 

It was only days ago when I was looking through the birth records book that I saw 'NND' in red pen next to that babies birth details. I'm sure that baby was a trooper. She fought for every moment she had a chance at holding. She didn't even have a name. 

RIP baby Amelia. Thankyou for being my first breech birth and unfortunately my first 'neonatal death'. Thankyou for fighting. 

Ladies and babies

Yesterday was so exciting. Mainly, because we had three deliveries in three hours, but really because it was my first chance to really assist a Nepali woman through labour. There are so many brick walls I face daily when attempting to work with women- the language barrier, other staff, women being confused by a blonde, white person, indifference, a lack of trust, cultural barriers, along with everything else that comes with a labouring woman. A smile is universal and it's always a good indicator of my welcomeness. Today I was blessed. A woman returned my smile and needed assistance getting comfortable. Usually the family provide a lot of help, but only her mother was present and appeared frail. Next thing I knew all doors were open and she tried to communicate with me. I spent time helping her move, rubbing her lower back and holding her hands during and between contractions. 

I've become aware of the fact that interns on an OB/GYN placement usually hate is. One commonly voiced reason is the mess, but an underlying factor seems to be the lack of control they have over the situation. Today I loved the fact that my entire agenda for the day flew out the window because that woman needed to hold my hands and have me be with her while she laboured. It's not that I need to be needed, but that I thoroughly enjoy being what is required by the woman in her time of need. 

Update: currently all 3 mothers and babies are doing well.

Week 2: Stark realisations

Monday was exciting. Not because of my first delightful experience with 'travellers bowels' for the trip, but because we met our host families. Honestly, I was more excited to be able to unpack my bag and not have to pack it again for another 7 weeks! My family is beautiful, I'm sure I'll have more stories to share along the way. 

What marked this week more though was my experience in the Obstetrics/gynecology department at the hospital. I have seen physical and emotional abuse in all sorts of epic proportions. It's the sort of stuff no one should ever see, but mostly the sort of stuff people should never have to experience. Some people would openly share all the details publicly, but people have a right to not know information of they wish, just as they have a right to information if they want it. Just know that either you as a woman, or the women you know are so freaking blessed it's ridiculous. Most likely, you are treated morally and ethically well, and most definitely humanely, and not as a piece of meat. Also, being stoic throughout your stay is not a concern. Here, I have the utmost respect for the women undergoing dressing changes, c-sections, deliveries and abortions. I don't believe I have ever respected anyone quite as much. They need to go down as the definition of bloody troopers. 

Week one: Kathmandu

Problems quickly begin immediately after one lands. It's just how it works. I thought my luggage was lost, that the driver taking me to my hotel for the night way taking me down some back alley, then I was taken to the wrong hotel and knew no one. I now have fond memories of laying on that bed, arms sprawled out, crying and asking myself 'What the hell am I doing here?'

After picking myself up I got out of the hotel the next morning, found the right hotel and explored the city. Kathmandu, well Thamel anyway, is a 24/7 hustle bustle. So much is going on it actually drives you nuts. The horns, the music, the talking, the smells, the lights, are endless. I suppose that's why I ended up hating being in Kathmandu after a few days. I'm glad I arrived early and got to explore the city, but I'm not a lover of touristy check list destinations, and unfortunately that's exactly what Kathmandu is. 

I found some fabulous shops and incredibly cheap and beautiful food, but everything and everyone is in your face. It's a tough way of life for Nepalese people, but it's also tough for tourists. 

I look forward to visiting Kathmandu again. Mainly because this time it means I'm almost home. 

Xx

Eggs please!

So, I have arrived in Pokhara. If I had more time at the moment I'd catch you up on the last seven days but I don't, so instead I'll catch you up on a slice of today. 

One of the most unfortunate aspects of living in the 21st century first world is the inability to partake in or see first hand biblical concepts that seem primordial, but still exist in countries such as Nepal. I was given the unexpected gift of seeing such a concept today. 

On the bus ride from Kathmanu to Pokhara majority of the land is used for farming. Most of the ground has been ploughed and seed sown. That can't be said for one man along my merry way. He had two buffalo (now endearingly called 'buff' by me for the rest of my posts) yolked together, ploughing his land. My thoughts were simple- the buff worked so effortlessly and naturally together. I remembered Gods command to not be unevenly yolked with another, and the reference to the buff could not have been better. Without attaching an emotional, heart tangling story here (I make it sound more dramatic or realistic than it actually is), I, for once, had a simple and tangible image of a concept of how I'm meant to marry. Mind blown. 

On another note, I realized how at ease I am with being in a foreign country and not knowing anyone. Thats normal for some people I'm sure, but the contrasting factor is that my heart weighs heavily at home. Yes, my heart should be here. But, isn't it awesome that this feels so incredibly normal. I feel at home (mainly when the power, and thus hot water are working). 

Over and out from the glory that is Pokhara.
Xx

Don't dare call me lucky!

Firstly, my apologies if this does not relate to you as it is a ranty blog post.


So today I am T-minus 7 days until I leave. No, that's not scary, but possibly frustrating. Mainly for one reason only. The closer I get to leaving, the more people I have asking me how I know I want to be a midwife and work overseas in that role. It has been and always will be God's responsibility for bestowing me with that privilege, honour and responsibility. Some people also have the hide (or make the mistake) of telling me I'm lucky that I know my 'purpose' in life. Let me assure you that the two words "lucky" and "purpose" have never worked together and I doubt they ever will. There is no said "luck" attached to the fact that I have been chosen to serve childbearing women. None what so ever. If you, for example wanted to bake a cake, you purposefully planned that this morning you would bake a double choc cake, where is the luck in that? Maybe in the way the cake turns out- it might not taste that great, it might not rise as much as expected, heck it might just be a dud. BUT the plan to go and make a cake was never "luck", it was "purpose".


Now I can imagine an rebuttle that knowing what you want to do with your entire life is a slightly more weighty decision than how to spend your morning. I agree. However we are all presented with choices. Life is one giant box of chocolates (not plagiarising that, I'll reference somewhere), and each chocolate is a choice. Just as choosing how to spend one's morning is a choice, so is choosing how to spend one's entire life. Sure I may have had a giant arrow in life to point me in the right direction, but that is MY blessing. Let me assure you, you have yours too. Many a time people have voiced that I am lucky to know my purpose. I call it blessed. I don't call that fact that you have an entire family that is committed to following the Lord lucky, that is an absolute blessing that has purposefully been given to you. I'm sure alot of people are long time Christians because of their parents. For me, knowing my purpose is pivotal, and I'm sure God is very much aware of that. When I struggle with my faith, I can't help but remember that without God I have no purpose, that if I was to continue along the path set out for me, without God, it would be empty. That is my blessing, there is no luck in it. Your blessing is there too, you might not realise it though...

The final countdown (ba da da dum, ba da da da dum)

At this point, I can do nothing but laugh, and crap my pants. I leave in 14 days. When did that happen!?
I'm spending my time doing all the important things, like buying undies, writing instructions for my Ma on how to use my iPhone, teaching my hair how to last more than a few days without being lathered up and trying to decide on the best textbook to take that doesn't weight a million kilo's. Sounds easier than it is.

At the 4 week mark I decided that when it was 3 weeks to go I'd be getting jittery. Then 3 weeks came and went and suddenly it was "just over 2". Oh man, and now its 2. The scary thing about all this is that I almost forgot about Christmas. Who forgets Christmas? I'll be honest. The biggest worry thus far is not my safety, being home sick, the fact that I might not enjoy my time in Nepal, or anything like that. It's been money (Yyu know you're an adult when you have dollar concerns!). I have not worked regularly since September. I have relied upon around 20 hours total casual work since then and fundraising. I planned to work full time for the 5 weeks between finishing uni and jet setting. At this point, I can safely say that hasn't and won't happen. The shocking part about all this is that it took someone else to say to me a few days ago that this was a way of stretching my faith in God. WOAH I've never heartily concurred more with anything in my life. You bet this is stretching. And if it isn't stretching, then I don't know what "stretching" is! And why didn't I realise this earlier?

As days go on, I am given the opportunity to increase my faith. I thought my faith was decent in the beginning. When you get to the point of desperado-crying you realise your faith ain't quite what you thought it was. Once again, I'll be honest (I can't fool anyone anyway, I've always sucked at it), with 2 weeks to go, I have 1/3 of the money I planned on leaving with. That's kind of scary. Maybe even really scary. Yep, I'm going with the latter. However, there is one thing that I know, and know more than ever before. I am the daughter of a God that provides and always will provide for my every need. I am reminded of Matt 6 and how God provides for the birds daily, so how much more will he provide for us as His children. Conveniently I have 2 birds inked on my wrist. What a reminder of my blessing and provision!

A big thankyou to everyone who has helped out in some way, shape or form. I sincerely appreciate every last 5 cent coin, help or advice.

Until next time
xx

Update: I ended up lasting 4 weeks without straightening my hair. MIRACLE!

Matt 6:33-34
But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Shooting people

Another day, another blog, another story to share. I look forward to the day where I don’t have the finger muscle capacity to capture it all digitally for you. So in preparation for Nepal I have most definitely up graded my DSLR. There are three plans for Nepal- work with women (preferably almightily pregger ones), hike and take more photos than my CF card can handle. Now for the record I’m in no way, shape or form a photographer. I thoroughly enjoy taking photos and covering my walls with them, but I’m no better than the average person with an excellent camera. In saying that though, the only people I know that take more photos than me for the fun of it are paid photographers. I’m not sure of what to make of that. I mostly enjoy portraiture and macro photography. I do love a good sunset, or if I’m uber enthusiastic in the morning, sunrises aren’t so bad either. I have more photos of flowers on my portable hard drive than I know what to do with. They are usually my subjects purely because they are willing and Ma likes gardening so they are available. The way their colours react to morning and evening light definitely helps their case as to why they should be shot down by me.

It takes effort to shoot a sunrise or sunset. It really does. I have to get my boots on, trudge my way through the bush (so it happens to be next to my house but that’s beside the point), go to my little cliff face clearing and wait. Then, chances are the clouds will decide to audibly laugh at me by inhabiting the souls of kookaburras momentarily, followed by their congregation right over my focus point. Mother earth one, Kate zero. At this point I feel like my time is wasted. Not much good comes out of one massive clump of clouds. That is until I feel compelled to sit and wait around in silence. Alas, I get asked one question off hand, when no one is around more frequently than I ever imagined. “How do you know God loves you?”. Easy answer. One day God asked me what my favourite colour was- pink. From then on He has shown it to me every morning and every evening. The clouds might have ruined my photo opportunity, but if I wait around, I’ll see that God loves me. His love never fails.

On a whole other perspective, during one sunset shoot attempt. Conveniently a cloud smothered failure. I thought of how much I will miss the smell of eucalyptus trees and seeing the sunset over them in the evenings. That was until I remembered that no matter where I go, the sun will follow, and so will my pink sky. How beautiful it is that my sunset is someone else’s rise. That somewhere else in the world someone is pausing their to-do list to breathe in life and the glory that is God.

I am so excited to share portraits of worn, weary, yet joyful and appreciative faces with people at home. At the end of the day the Nepalese landscape is gorgeous, but it’s the people I am going for. If I’m blessed I’ll get a good face in front of a pink sky and know that God loves them too.

xx

Update: Nepal is turning me into a headband wearing woman. Currently I look like I’m wearing a turban. The fact that I have gone 12 days without a hair straightener is to be credited for this situation. I have to be honest, having the trusty old straightener die on me has been incredibly good practice for Nepal. I have also learnt that this trip is far more God ordained than I ever imagined it would be. My mind continues to be blown.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose"- Romans 8:28

Life giving juice

Anyone who knows me at surface level knows I'm into helping people in some way. Anyone who knows me below surface level knows I'm into donating what I have readily available to someone who doesn't. As I'm still a poor uni student, that means being a regular blood donor and being on the mone marrow donor registry. I have precious and healthy cells rocking inside of me, continuously being produced and thrown away. I have an abundance of them while a tonne of people don't. I'm aware not everyone shares a similar opinion, but I feel selfish keeping everything to myself. If you consider blood as you do money- you work for it, gain it, store it and then say goodbye to it by spending it, its sort of simplified. I feel it is my duty and an honour to help those in need. If a little old lady dropped her groceries, the good thing to do would be to pick them up. If the same little old lady dropped her groceries because she was so fatigued due to having a low red blood cell count, I'd stick out my arm in an instant (while picking the groceries up with my other arm).

Now, unfortunately hip young peeps my age don't get so see the effects of donated blood. It really is unfortunate, because that life giving juice does amazing work. I've seen many blood transfusions as a nursing student. It has literally given life back to people! I fondly remember a young man with a young family suffering from leukaemia. Many blood transfusions replaced the cells destroyed by cancer and kept him alive to be with his family. I wish you could see the good it does. Until you do, trust me, it's amazing. Doctors can't save people without blood.

What does this have to do with Nepal? Valid question I hear you ask. Two risks posed to me in Nepal (however minor) are Malaria and Rabies. If I do not have the Rabies vaccine, I cannot donate blood for 12months upon returning from my trip. I am up for around $350 to vaccinate myself against a disease that I am highly unlikely to contract. I can't stand the thought of knowing over a 12 months period, I could make 4 donations and take part in saving 12 lives. The comparison between $350 and an individuals life is incomparable! So, more needles it is.

I'm not into shoving this sort of thing down people's throats, but there are so many excuses as to why people don't give blood. Some are valid, definately, others not. I give knowing that there is a chance either my mum, aunty or brother will need blood at some point in their lives. That's a statistic. Until then I know I have helped someone elses mum, aunty or brother.

I'm going to let this daggy teenage guy do some of the talking for me. He sums it up real well.

http://www.donateblood.com.au/videos/i-do-blood

So today I have exactly 100 days until I leave for Nepal, and I can't imagine sharing anything more important than blood donation on my most pertinent countdown point. Im sticking my arm out in just under a fortnight and would be more than happy to have a blood buddy with me. Who knows, maybe we could have a free milkshake afterwards!

xx

I woke up today in a very simple way

I am incredibly grateful for the life that I've been given. I don't have everything served up to me on a silver platter, but I am aware that I have it alot eaasier than 95% of the worlds population. One thing that I am incredibly grateful for is choice. I'm not limited by time, people or education. Of course there are some times we have options, but the options choose us. That's life, thats God.

This is a season where I'm remembering everything that truly matters in life. I'm quite ok with the fact that I'm having this mid-life crisis season now, it means I won't waste tomorrow, but more importantly today. I could choose almost any path in life I wanted. I had the option of studying medicine, I've toyed with the idea of doing my PhD, I'd love to be a shoe designer, heck I'd even be a percussionist in a band if I could. The scary first world problem is is that they are all possible. The option to be greedy is there. However this beautiful season of simplicity has reminded me of one thing: I was born into this world to be 'with women'. Now thats  really ambivalent- I could be 'with women' serving coffee, down a mine shaft, in the Bahamas, anywhere! To be a midwife though, means to be 'with women'. Without going all passionate on you, I've always dreamt of being a caseload midwife. Basically being with women from the beginning of their pregnancy, right through to after the birth. Really WITH women. I plan on doing that. So I have the option of honours, PhD yada yada yada, but no, I want to be with mums and be a mum. All the other options are just distractions.

Another option I have at the moment is to live passively or actively. God opened my eyes to the fact I have been living passively lately and I decided to pick up my A-game. I am an incredibly acting dreamer and very passionate about my future, however I've taken today for granted so much so that it's become yesterday before I've realised. I'm enjoying the last couple of months as a teenager and have never been so excited about hitting my 20's. My bones are telling me that this is going to be a good decade. I'm incredibly exciting about owning a 4WD- something I've always wanted to do. I plan on splurging on something in my 20's before I save like a poor man for a house. I also get a bit too excited looking at houses for sale knowing that I can independently purchase a house. Now it would be more than wonderful to be married and have someone to share it with, but I'm happy to solo house hunt. I'll spare you the excitement of being a practicing midwife, but thats in the near future excitement basket as well.

Now I would like to say by living actively I'm taking every oportunity that comes my way, but I'm not. There are so many great ones out there, so many amazing people to be friends with, and alot to learn. Not everything that is good is good for God's plan. So in the mean time I am thankful for yesterday, hopeful for tomorrow, but living for today.

Keep running the good race.
xx

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

Welcome, welcome all, to a land where vanity is paramount. Are you used to seeing your reflection constantly? Yes? Good. Say goodbye to the mirror. Farewell thee.

I am reminded every time I have a shower that the rush of fresh, fluoride ridden, warm water pouring onto my face won't fit into my pack and be there with me in Nepal. Silky, clean hair won't fit either. It's a shame that my schedule and lack of showering have also forced my makeup to sit at home, twiddling it's thumbs waiting for my return. And my mirror? Well we've downsized. From several large wall mounted mirrors, to one little compact. This isn't a tough task to undertake, that is unless you are a vain or even slightly narcissistic. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't consider myself to be either. However, I would admit to taking pride in how I look and I cannot go to bed without a shower, under any circumstances. I enjoy doing my makeup and mascara is possibly the best invention- it makes me feel awake even when Im dead tired. I adore my BFF in my hair straightner. Where I would be without her, im not sure, but its safe to say it would be a messy, wavy, slept-with-wet-hair sort of world. I know I am not alone in this. And I also know this is very normal in the Western world.

I'm attempting to come up with strategies to combat my unsightly hair, face and skin while away. For starters, I'm searching internet dating sites for a short term boyfriend in headbands. I don't plan on keeping my hair down. Ever. If it gets a quick wash, I'll let the locks down, otherwise, they are under wraps. The compact mirror mentioned earlier will probably only get whipped out weekly to ensure the eyebrows aren't too unruly. All I can say is thankgoodness it goes against Nepalese culture to show the amount of skin we do in Australia. Phew, one less hassle.

If anyone has any good ideas, please, feel free to share. The more the merrier. My best idea thus far is to visit a day spa atleast once while Im there. That guarantees atleast one proper shower/bath, hair wash, massage etc. Actually, feel free to donate to the "Kate needs a shower fund". When I get back, I'll be sure to shower and scrub before I see anyone. Guess Ma will be the 'lucky' one to smell me when picking me up from the airport.

I could get all negative about the whole situation, but c'mon, at the end of the day it's my own choice. I can also have the satisfaction of saying that I legitimately immersed myself in the culture, even if that culture is unwashed hair and bucket washes.

This is a bit of a girls post. Sorry boys ;)
xx

A foreign exchange

So, here we are again. We must stop meeting like this. Too many late nights and thoughtful moments for our own good. Alas, here we are and we might as well make the most of it.


I've been thinking: Nepal is one helluva good escape from life. I mean how can leaving everyone and everything you know for 2 months not change things. If there was ever a way to forget, move on, appreciate, acknowledge, or make decisions about life, away from all you know sounds like the dandiest place to do it! In a foreign country, with new people and a new culture surrounding you, why not try and escape? Oh that might be because the one things that transcends distance, countries, cultures and people is your attitude. I'd love nothing more than to leave Australia with a good life, and return to a nicely 180 degree, Donna Hay, fluffy sponge cake life that is beyond magnificent and all thugs acceptable by the CWA.


Shame it is then, that I have the ability to make tomorrow a better day for myself just by choosing to do so. Jetting away would be so much more fun and exciting, but I suppose sometimes you just gotta do what you've just gotta do even when you don't feel like doing it. Bring on Nepal and all it's goods and bads, in all it's glory and misery. I'm sure by the end it will have seen my best an worst. I hope it brings me the dreams I'm forever chasing, but I know it's also up to me to keep on running hard and fast to reach them.


All I can say is, sometimes having insight into a situation is more painful than biting your own tongue and releasing blood. However it's definitely better for you ;)


Until next time amigos
Xx






So please forgive my little pessimistic moment. We all have them, I know, but you weren't obliged to hear it out

Hope... a fickle word.

So late last night I began the arduous task of cutting out pieces of my favourite fabric to make a small quilt to take with me to Nepal. Now I say 'arduous' because I like the end product, but not the actual effort involved in making it. It's truly evident when you look at it, it's not very good. Anyhow, I'm sure a piece of home will be welcomed as the days go on. The blanket is slightly sentimental in quite a daggy and selfish way. When I have been asked to make an item, I often give the client the final choice on what fabric they would like me to use. Frequently I have strange people that trust my judgement, but for those that don't, there are a few who choose my favourite fabrics. Now, to be a favourit fabric of mine is no easy feat. I have hundreds of pieces of fabric, and have only around 10 loves. If Big Brother had his watchful eye on me and deep voice surrounding me, he would be awfully concerned to see that I need a moment, or even several before I cut the fabric and give it away. Sometimes even shed a tear. Why? Because in it I assign hope that is attached to history. Some designs remind me of my grandmother, who, in my mind, is second only to Jesus. We share uncanny similarities and I wonder what she would've made with the fabric, if I make her proud, or if she has beaten Aunty June at poker yet. Simultaneously I find myself thinking about how I'd like to incorporate the fabric design into my wedding, how my children will be wearing an item I have made from the fabric for them, how my garden will be just as beautiful and as rich as the flowers imprinted upon the cotton, and how, when I'm old, I'll be able to give my loved material possessions, in every literal sense of the word, to someone I love and treasure.

Now I don't pride myself on being a thoughtful person. Frankly, if you have half a brain, and you can think, then you are a thoughtful person. However I do admit to stumbling upon evenings such as these where this is nothing that can resolve my 'situation' as I like to call it, but to write. I will promise you that this will all relate back to Nepal in some way or another, but be prepared for a round trip that takes 3,295 days on the road with flat tyres, hitch-hikers and can't-be-passed-up-because-they-need-to-be-surfed-with-a-piece-of-cardboard sand dunes!

It's said evening that remind my of my dream book. Its a gloriously handmade book from somewhere in the beautiful wide world, that has hidiously penned marks throughout it that are simple attempts of a young woman to convey hope and remind herself of the train tracks ahead. I will also admit to being scared to look at the pages in the beginning. I wonder if the person who penned those pages was out of her mind, in a state of complete faith, or me? Rereading those pages makes me tear up just like I do in the last 10 minutes of watching The Notebook. Written infront of me is all I've ever wanted. None of it is unattainable, but that's what makes it beautiful. There is beauty in simplicity and beauty is individual. Someone else may want more than I, but that is more than ok.

I learnt something pivitol to my life the other day. That is that hope can range from mere wishing to a strong desire for something. While faith is hoping for something, but a step further in that we are atiently waiting for it to arrive. So, I still have hope for the days ahead. Hope is apart of faith, they are borther. But I have FAITH that what is penned in my dream book will be fulfilled. They are in God's hands now because I have asked. All is left to do is wait, because I believe.

The amazing thing is that not only can I see glimpses of some dreams down the tracks of my life, but some have already come and gone in their full glory.
I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living Ps 27:13

So namaste, and keep believing.
Yours sincerely,
xx

P.S. Thanks to Ms Adele and Mr Mayer for accompanying me during this time