Behind the Veils of Yemen (14 page)

Jaden came close and leaned over us, wrapping his arms around both Madison and me. Jack joined us, stretching his little arms as far as he could around Jaden’s. Kevin watched from across the patio, his eyes glistening as he looked at mine.

“Mommy, my mouth is tingling again.” Madison’s eyes widened as her voice rose in alarm. She sat forward in my lap, with both panic and pleading in her face.

I rocked her back and forth. Jaden and Jack stepped away, their eyes widening with Madison’s. I struggled to hold back tears.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s right here.” I looked at Kevin. “What do we do?” I whispered.

“We can pray,” Jaden whispered back, quietly watching.

I stared at him. “Yes, honey. We can pray.”

We gathered around Madison. Kevin led our prayer. “Lord, please help Madison’s mouth to stop tingling. Help us find the help she needs, Lord. We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

We all looked at Madison. Jack played with his shells, making car sounds as he drove them around the table.

“We can pack up and take her to the hospital in Jibla, but it would be dark before we got there.” Kevin said. “They probably couldn’t do anything tonight anyway.”

“We can’t even call them!” Frustration cracked my voice. “The only phone is in the office, and it’s locked.” I held Madison more firmly. “I wish our cell phone worked here. What if it happens again?”

“I don’t know.” Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He sat down on the other side of Madison and encircled us in his arms. “We’ll have to wait for the men to get back from the mosque. We can use their phone and call Jibla.”

I nodded, gritting my teeth. I felt like I was groping in the dark.
Lord, help us through this!
I cried silently.

“How are you doing, honey?” I brushed hair from Madison’s face and gently massaged her back.

“Okay,” Madison whispered, leaning against my shoulder.

We waited on the patio an interminable hour before the men’s motorcycle roared noisily back into the compound. Kevin was at the office door before the motorcycle was. He came back twenty minutes later.

“I talked with Lisa in the pediatric ward,” he said breathlessly. “She said it sounds like Madison had some kind of seizure. She said to bring her to the hospital as soon as we can, but to wait until morning. We would get there too late tonight. Driving would be dangerous, too. People don’t use their headlights, remember? The mountain roads can be deadly.”

I nodded and exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. “At least we know what to do,” I whispered, seeing a faint beam through the storm.

I moved Madison from my lap to Kevin’s. “We need to get packed so we can leave first thing in the morning.”

After I finished packing I tried to force cheerfulness into my voice. “Y’all ready for some fun?” I grabbed a board game and a package of cookies.

We walked hand-in-hand down the lane to the tables under the trees, as we had done each afternoon. The breeze was no longer light and teasing. It had strengthened into a rough wind. Every move we made on the game board was doubled by the wind. Game pieces blew to the ground, mingling with sand.

“We’ll have to put rocks on the cards, won’t we?” I laughed. But I did not move to collect any rocks.

“I think the wind won this round.” Kevin gathered the scattered pieces and returned them to their box.

Jack left his chair to search for shells to add to his pockets, while Jaden studied a centipede crawling on the ground. Madison sat in her chair, watching a dog sleeping near the dining room door. I leaned back in my chair. The palm fronds overhead were dancing in the wind, rustling like stiff taffeta. Two black ravens, their eyes as sharp as their beaks, studied us from three feet away. They stealthily hopped closer to steal the children’s cookie crumbs. I waved my arms and shouted to chase them away.

Madison went to the brown, short-haired dog, offering him a piece of her cookie. She looked like a china doll, delicate and fragile. Her light hair was like a golden cloud as she bent to pat the coarse, gritty head of the dog.

“Not my baby girl, Lord.” I clenched my teeth. “Not my baby girl.”

Over the next four days we visited two doctors and two hospitals. A kind German doctor at the Baptist hospital in Jibla told us that seizures in childhood were not uncommon. He told us that Madison might never have one again. He patted my hand and sent us on our way back to Sana’a.

On our drive back, Madison screamed out with terror in her eyes. “Mommy, my mouth is tingling again!”

I reassured her that it would pass, reaching back to hold her hand from my front seat. I ignored the pain in my arm as I held it for several hours.

The scene repeated itself the next day. Eyes wide and full of panic, Madison ran to me from her play. “Mommy! Mommy! It’s doing it again!”

I held my trembling little girl in my lap and soothed her tears while gently massaging her neck and shoulders. “Mommy’s right here, honey.” I kissed her cheek. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

I kept my voice calm to soothe the terror in hers. But my own emotions raged inside me like lava deep in a volcano. I wanted to stop my daughter’s suffering, but I could not. I could only hold her through it.

Two nights later Madison’s screams cut through the quiet of our fitful sleep. “Mommy! Mommy! Make it stop!” I flew from my bed to hers, struggling to catch the breath I had left behind. Kevin stumbled in beside me, switching on the overhead light.

I put my arms around Madison. “What it is it, honey?” I fought to keep the panic from my voice.

Madison stamped her foot on the floor and rubbed her hand. “My foot’s asleep, and it won’t wake up!” she wailed. She slapped her foot again on the tile floor.

“My hand’s asleep, too, Mommy. It tingles. So does my back. Up and down! Make it stop, Mommy!” Her tears streamed onto her nightgown. “Make them wake up!”

I sat on her bed and pulled her gently into my lap, my eyes locked on Kevin’s as I held her.

“There, there, honey,” I said, forcing a calm I did not feel. “Maybe you slept on them wrong and they went to sleep along with you! Silly foot! Silly hand!”

I massaged her foot for several minutes and then gently propped it on her bed as I massaged her back along her spine. “Is this where it’s tingling?” I asked.

Madison nodded, sniffing. Again my eyes locked on Kevin’s. I slowly rocked Madison back and forth in my arms as I rubbed her back. I sang a lullaby I had sung to her as a baby. I fought to keep my trembling voice even. I wiped away tears dripping down my cheeks so that Madison wouldn’t see them. I talked calmly, but I was wrestling a whirlwind in my heart.

Help my baby!
I screamed silently at God.
Please make this stop! Why are You letting this happen to her? Why?

I continued to rock my daughter, singing softly until she relaxed in my arms and fell back asleep against my shoulder. She shuddered once and sighed as Kevin helped me lay her gently back in her bed. She rolled to her side, drifting deep into sleep. Kevin tucked her comforter around her shoulders, bending down to kiss her forehead. Barefoot on the cold tile floor, I shivered.

“You need to get under the covers,” he whispered, turning out the light. “I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

I followed Kevin into our bedroom. “What if something’s really wrong?” I asked. “This is getting worse. I don’t like this tingling in her spine. I’m worried, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded. “Me, too.” He climbed into bed beside me. “We’re going to have to trust God and try to find better help.”

I nodded, but inwardly I was screaming at God.
I do trust You! Why are You letting this happen? Haven’t we been through enough? Why, Lord? Why?
And I tossed in anger, wrestling my pillow until dawn streaked light into the inky black of the night.

We saw the only neurologist in Yemen. He introduced himself to us in his Sana’a hospital suite and then hooked Madison to an ancient EEG machine. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he taped each lode to her head.

“I am sorry about this equipment,” he said in perfect English. “It is outdated and almost useless. In Iraq we had better than this.”

“Iraq?” I asked, stunned.

“Yes, I am from Iraq.” He was busy over Madison’s head.

I swallowed and looked warily at Kevin, who had raised his eyebrows. Memories of the wars loomed.
The only neurologist in Yemen and he’s Iraqi,
I thought to myself.

The doctor sensed our discomfort. “I am grateful for America,” he said, attaching the last electrode to Madison’s head. “They helped our country get rid of a madman. Now people like me who had to leave or be killed can go home.” We nodded, quietly exhaling relief.

“Cool hairdo.” I smiled at Madison, gesturing at the electrodes sticking out all over her head.

“You can probably talk to Mars,” Kevin teased.

“Daddy!” Madison’s worried eyes began to smile.

The neurologist told us that the EEG revealed an abnormality in the left temporal lobe of Madison’s brain. He could not tell us what the abnormality was, but he recommended that an MRI be performed in a place with more adequate health care. He suggested that there might be a lesion. He apologized again for his primitive equipment and gave us the EEG printout.

We reported the neurologist’s recommendation to the medical director at our IMB headquarters in Richmond. A regional meeting scheduled in Cyprus was twelve days away. The medical director recommended that we take Madison to a neurologist there. The appointments were arranged for us. We braced ourselves for the possibility of a tumor in Madison’s central nervous system and pondered what that would mean to her eight-year-old life.

As we waited for the appointments in Cyprus, I barricaded myself inside our home. I battened down our doors and closed my family inside, shutting everyone else out. I felt like we were bobbing on hostile waters, caught in a storm that raged during the night and seethed during the day. The rage of the storm thundered in every tearful whimper as Madison’s tingling continued. But the eye of the storm cracked like lightning inside my seething heart. I was angry with God.

In quiet times alone, I sipped my tea and screamed at God.
Why? How could You let this happen? Why?

In every chore I absently performed, I ranted.
I trusted You, Lord! Haven’t we been through enough?

In the dark of endless nights, I sobbed uncontrollably.
She’s my little girl, Father. Please don’t take her away.

And I flipped through the pages of my Bible looking for the explanation I continually demanded from God.

I avoided my colleagues and I quit language study to stay home with my children. I declined Fatima’s invitations to visit friends, explaining that Madison was ill and we would be leaving for medical care.

“Ma’a sha’allah.” Fatima whispered. “Ensha’allah Madison will be well soon, and she will be healthy and strong.”

“Ensha’allah [God willing],” I responded.

I wanted to see Fatima; I missed her. But I did not want Fatima to see my anger toward God. I did not want to jeopardize the seeds I had planted in her life.

I tried to focus on the Christmas holidays. I overdecorated the house with trimmings from our crates. I played carols and sang them with the children, sounding out a joy I did not feel. I decorated cookies with the children and made paper chains. I played on the floor with Madison and her stuffed animals. I wondered if this Christmas would be her last one with us.

When the day finally arrived, we left eagerly for Cyprus. We flew into Nicocea and took a charter bus to our hotel. Madison’s neurological appointments were scheduled for the third day of the conference. We were expected to participate until then. I read the schedule with reluctance. I was disinterested and wanted to skip the sessions and wander the rocky seacoast at the hotel’s edge. I went involuntarily to each session smiling at others, but I was not interested in their introductions or in giving my own.

Each morning I met with the prayer group I had been assigned and listened to the women share their needs. I prayed along with them. I told them about Madison and asked them to pray, but I would not reveal my own need for prayer. My hurt was raw and deep, and I would not share it with those who could condemn what they might not understand.

I went through the first day of the conference and into the second, stealing away to the beach during an afternoon break. Salt spray stung my face as waves crashed on the rocks at my feet. Navy blue sea stretched beyond me until it became sky on the horizon. I searched for boats far away, looking for those floundering in the endless blue, caught in waters too deep and dark to navigate. I shivered. The salty wind was sharp and brisk, biting through my thin jacket like a cold, steel blade. I glanced at my watch and trudged back to the conference hall for the evening program.

It had already started. I was late again. Every row in the auditorium was filled with singing people. I searched for the top of Kevin’s balding head. I pushed my way through smiling faces to slip in beside him.

“Where have you been?” Kevin whispered, clapping his hands to the beat of the praise song in motion.