The one with a lot of pictures- July to November 2016

Instead of a lot of words, here are a lot of pictures. 

I mean, you're still stuck with words, because it's a blog. Whatever. Enjoy various snapshots of life outside the hospital!

July--

The Army of Ants outside of our apartment--coffee grounds are our deterrent.

If they can make it through the maze of coffee grounds, they may pass.

September--

September 15--Independence Day Student Parade

What's Independence Day without beautiful skirts and typical music?

Or ballerinas dancing to Survivor's Eye of the Tiger?

Bilingual School represent!

October--

Left to Right: Third wheel/ Birthday Girl/ Master Quinceanera Planner

Red House (Singles) Harvest Party

November--

When the road washes out and needs to be repaired. we wait.

La Ceiba Dock

Also a popular fishing spot

Sightseeing before the grocery shopping adventure begins

As the two youngest, Brenda and I designated this "our park".

Thanksgiving Prep with the roommate and the adopted little brother from up the hill.

Thanks for keeping up with me!

The Hebrew Herbal Guru from Kentucky

He called ahead like so many of our patients do. Some call from the city closest to us, La Ceiba, wondering if they can bring their ailing family member from the public hospital. They tell stories of how the doctors have told them there is no hope for their loved one—there’s nothing they can do. Some come from hours away to our hospital that they’ve heard about from a cousin of a friend of a neighbor of a grandmother’s friend’s sister. “Can you help us? Can we come?” 

They call ahead because we’re so far away from anywhere convenient for long-distance travelers. What an even greater discouragement to travel so far, only to be turned away. Unless it’s for something specific that we simply cannot offer (like an MRI, CT scan, neurologist, etc.), I rarely hear anyone be turned away. 

I was working at the nurse’s station on a Sunday. The phone rang. Surprisingly, an English-speaker called this time. The rock-star nursing assistant who was working with me that day, Elsa, answered the phone and tried to speak with the mystery caller. I overheard the usual: “I’m sick and I need help,” “people in La Ceiba say they can’t help me,” And “Can you help me? Can I come?” Dr. Peter, our Emergency Medicine doc, was standing there with us, writing new orders for a patient, and he and Elsa switched places at the phone. 

My exhaustion—emotional from a very full census the previous week and losing two patients, despite our best efforts; physical from a non-stop morning, from not having eaten in a while, from not having slept well the night before, and on and on my excuses go—screamed, “No! No more patients—we’re full! We can’t take care of more. I can’t take care of more.” 

However, I am so thankful that so many things are much bigger than I am--the Bad Attitude-Hypocritical-Self Righteous-Self Absorbed Lizzie. We discharged 4 patients in the next 3 hours, providing more than enough time and space for another person. 

That patient was really sick. After a conversation with Dr. Peter, he ended up at our doors, accompanied by his wife. The patient looked distraught, hopeless, defeated, and weary. He embodied how I felt that Sunday morning. After eating some food, drinking some water, praying for an attitude check and a better perspective, I stepped back into the chaos and finished my shift--the Second Chance-Forgiven-Redeemed Lizzie.

We admitted the patient that day and I returned the next day to work my shift. It was also a shift of locura—craziness, but not quite the mass chaos it was on Sunday. At one point, my Honduran coworker and fellow nurse (also named Elizabeth) told me she had tried to give a medication through one of our patient’s IVs and was unable. She asked me to look at it and see if his IV was still working. 

If we can stop right there and slightly happy dance together at the fact that my coworker deemed me competent enough in parenteral medication administration to evaluate a peripheral IV—a specific skill that was not a part of Lizzie Nelson’s competency toolbox 4 months, barely even 2 months ago. I’M LEARNING, GUYS! There sure are great teachers here and it seriously has taken a whole international village to teach this child. 

Enough rejoicing (for now). 

Normally, we refer to our patients by their first or middle names—or by “Newborn *Last Name* *Second Last Name*” (because almost everyone here has two last names or might go by their middle name). However, it occurred to me as I walked into the patient’s room, none of us nurses had really referred to this patient by his name. It was always, “El paciente norteamericano” or “El paciente en 4A”—our nothamerican patient or the patient in Room 4, Bed A. There were 3 names on his chart and we had no idea which to call him.

We're a predominantly Spanish-speaking hospital. So this particular patient, as sick as he was, would light up every time someone would speak to him in English. Our encounter was no different. I explained to him what I was there to do, asked how he was doing, and got my supplies ready to check out his IV. He was sitting on a chair at the foot of his bed, liver cancer and hepatitis C and all, patiently waiting for me. I brought a chair next to him and started talking to him. 

I’ve had a bad habit for the majority of my life of hearing people in conversations without the intention of listening. It’s as if I had been merely waiting on my turn to talk. This needs to end. So I asked questions, looked him in the eye (when I didn’t need to be looking at his veins), and closed my mouth. He told me about how he was feeling: the discomfort, the lack of energy, the diarrhea, the side effects of all the medications we were giving him—everything. He told me about where he was from—Kentucky and how he’s lived in Illinois. His eyes grew sad with regret when he spoke of his children, but lit up when I asked about his grandkids. We talked about central Illinois and how he ended up in Honduras. He talked about his interest in herbs and botany. We talked about his Hebrew faith and how he had been ordained to be a rabbi several years before. He told me about he had been mistreated because of his faith and how he had walked away from God. He told me how he had been hurt by some who had claimed the Christian faith. He expressed intrigue with the hospital, because he knew we were a Christian hospital and we seem to be living what we say we believe. We talked about that. We also talked about hope and God and how through this experience he had a desire to walk with God again and to seek out his purpose. 

 By this time, I had removed his old IV, successfully started a new one, given him his medicine, and hooked up his bag of IV fluids. We had covered a lot of ground in a short time, but I'm sure we could have kept talking for much, much longer. 
Before I walked out of the room, it dawned on me this was the same patient I had dreaded admitting on Sunday. If he never would have come, I would have missed out on the most sacred, life-giving conversation I had had all week. I listened to his heart, hurts, regrets, philosophy of life and religion, and his questions about God and redemption (and even tried to answer a few). What a privilege! This humble, sweet man, who kept apologizing for all the work he was causing us (which he had no clue how easy of a patient he ended up being), was so thankful for everything we did, as if he was somehow unworthy of such care. I’m more of the impression that I was unworthy of caring for him.

“Oh, by the way, what do you prefer to be called?” I asked, before opening the door.

“Well, my wife calls me Dawid—it’s Hebrew for David.” 

“Do you like that? 'Dawid'?”

The Second Chance-Restored-Hopeful Dawid smiled as he said, “Yeah, I do.”

I smiled back and said, “Okay. Thanks, Dawid.” And I meant it.

Learning the Things

I've been learning about REST when I'm thrust into busyness; WAITING on God's timing and purpose; DEEP BREATHS because oxygenation is good for you; LOTS OF PRAYING because I really don't have everything figured out; TRUST in knowing my Creator, who holds me in the palm of His hand, does have everything figured out; SIMPLICITY because the biggest lies are the ones I tell myself and breed ingratitude; THANKFULNESS in all things, in all times, especially the hard ones; ENCOURAGEMENT and how deeply out hearts need to give and receive it; PEACE when crippling loss is all around; and PATIENCE with myself and not jumping the gun when things don't come immediately that can only come in time. 

And here's a picture of a lake, because it reminds me of all those things. 

I can't believe I get to do this

Back in 2012, in the secluded practical nursing program corner at good ole Itasca Community College, 22 of us sat behind our desks and tried to follow our instructor's PowerPoints. Some days were easier than others. However, more than once, I'd zone out from the lecture as the reality of this whole situation hit me: I am in nursing school. I have the incredible opportunity to learn how to take care of people. Wow. I can't believe I get to learn this. I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe I get to do this. 

I was 16 when I was accepted into that practical nursing program. Between the moments of awe and surreal wonder, there were quite a few tears (or hysterical sobs), giggles, panic attacks, pep talks, and borderline mental breakdowns. I don't pretend to know the depths of my fellow classmates' lives or the hardships they've experienced, but I feel confident in saying that year was one of the hardest for all of us.The perpetual stress drove us forward and frazzled us at the same time.

And still, maybe it was God's grace for strength for one more day, while whispering into my head: I can't believe I get to do this.  

Fast-forward to age 21 and I'm still thinking the same thing. The setting has definitely changed more than once since that classroom at ICC. The wonder still hits even after the most chaotic of shifts--like my first night shift back after traveling to the States for 2 and a half weeks for a conference and a wedding. I'm not trained in Labor and Delivery or in the Emergency Room. I'm also still learning how to take care of the admitted patients. Wouldn't you know on that first 10-hour shift back with just 2 of us nurses: 9 admitted patients, 1 laboring mom, and 1 ER patient? By morning, we had 12 admitted patients. My excellent Honduran coworker had the misfortunes of working with not only someone who has only worked with one pediatric ICU patient since she's been at the hospital, but also lost her voice right before heading back to Honduras.

It could have easily been one of my worst shifts yet, but we chose to laugh instead. We were behind almost all night. In the rare moments that our paths would cross, we would laugh, say "Ya casi!" ("Almost there!") and then keep running to the next patient, the next medication, the next blood pressure. The shift eventually ended. As I walked home on the rickety bridge, it hit again: Wow. I can't believe I'm here. 

Some moments are no-brainers for those surreal feelings.
-When I sit on my hammock with a cup of coffee, listening to the howler monkeys, waking up after working a long night shift.
-When my roommate and I decide to go to the beach and end up taking 20 kids under the age 12--babies and all-- from the Children Center and their fabulous dorm parents. We splash and run away from the waves. We get buried in sand and drink all the water we brought.
-When I stand with the other missionaries as we sing in our hot little meeting room about how great our God is, how faithful He is, and how loving He is--after we had to re-intubate our patient for probably the third time.
-When my roommate agrees to walk all the way up to the water tower with me just catch the last glimpses of the sunset.

Water tower: Sunrise/sunset watching place of choice

For now, the next shift starts soon. The plethora of what I've been learning at the hospital would be overwhelming and extensive. So I'll leave a lighter list of non-medical things that I've had to learn.

-How to use a HAM radio
-How to use a French Press (my roommate received one as a housewarming gift, and very kindly lets me use it)
-How to enjoy cold showers
-How to light a non-automatic pilot gas stove and oven. (we just upgraded from matches to a long-handle lighter)
-How to get cobwebs out of toasters (still accepting suggestions on that one)

The real MVPs at Loma de Luz.
Eat those bugs, guys.

Favorite tree in bloom;
View from the back porch hammock

Thank you, WikiHow and multiple YouTube videos

Thank you for walking this journey with me! It's also so surreal to have people praying for me and partnering with me--thank you for being a part of all this!

Writing Notes, Holding Ropes, and Shoveling Driveways

The past couple Wednesday nights have been surprising. 

I get the privilege of hanging out with high-schoolers every Wednesday night at my church. At the end of one particular night, while putting away my Nerf gun, a grade-schooler walks up to me and hands me a folded piece of paper. 

She catches me off guard. I'm pretty sure I awkwardly mutter a sincere thank you and question if I should open it. 

I'm all about being smooth and cool around kids. Obviously. 

Written on this piece of paper was the sweetest note of encouragement. 

I had nervously shared about Loma de Luz in front of my church the previous Sunday. This neat girl had written to tell me she was praying for me and that I did a good job on Sunday. How kind is that?

The note currently lives on my wall, alongside its neighbors, a green card and an index card which reads, "for nothing is impossible with God. Luke 1:37" 

*Fast forward to 2 weeks later* 

Another young grade-schooler approaches me as I duel a high-schooler in a riveting game of ping pong. She hands me a card. You would think after previously being approached a couple weeks before, I would have this whole recipient-of-a-written-item-from-a-grade-schooler conversation thing down. Yeah, no. 

Awkward strikes my life again. 

I open the bright, green-colored card and read it while holding five $1 bills as this dear girl pretty much tells me what it says. She shoveled her neighbor's driveway, earned a little money, and gave it towards my "missions trip". Not to play favorites, but those were probably my most cherished $5 I've ever been given.

The $5 bumps me up from 17.5% of my 'outgoing' goal to 17.625%. Every dollar gets me closer to meeting my future coworkers, listening to a heart beat, giving a smile or hug, telling about God's love, or documenting a blood pressure. That's an important $5.

Outgoing Goal: 17.625%
Monthly Goal: 0.75%

For fundraising, I have two goals I have to meet to get to Balfate. One is called 'outgoing' and the other 'monthly'. When people commit to give a certain amount every month, that starts to fill up my 'monthly' goal. This goal makes sure I have money to eat, pay rent, live, visa details, etc. when I'm in Honduras. When people give an amount once or anytime before I leave, that goes toward the 'outgoing' goal. This pays for my ticket to Honduras, makes sure I can leave when I need to, training, etc.

 Both Sydney's note and Emily's gift and card help me get down there. The road to being a missionary isn't just raising money. It's learning. It's preparing. It's also going. However, it's knowing that you have people behind you, holding your rope. They have your back. Two grade school girls helped me remember a whole lot of people who have my back; who are praying me through this process.

I could continue writing of how much those girls made an impact on me those Wednesday nights. I could write of how their timing was so perfect. I could write how overwhelmed I was feeling about the amount of money it will take to get me to Balfate. I could write how guilty I felt because I feel like I should be doing a better job fundraising while working long hours. I could write a lot of things. 

For now, I'll write a genuine thank you to the parents, grandparents, teachers, AWANA leaders, Sunday school teachers, and any other humans who have invested into those two girls. 

I'm not kidding when I tell you these girls are going to change the world. They've definitely made a difference in mine. 

To the encouragers, Kingdom-builders, world-changers, rope-holders, prayer warriors, and driveway-shovelers, I am every so thankful for you too.

The Next Chapter

I am the extrovert among four introverts in the Nelson Squad. You can ask any of my immediate family members who the loudest/most obnoxious/sassiest member of our family is. 10 times out of 10, they will tell you it's me. I have that trophy.  I like to think of it as "wittiest and funniest" too. However, I'm sure my family would also say that would be coupled with "delusional" and "no, you're not".

When you get your own blog, family members, you can say what you want. Until then...

Well, I'll settle for the most obnoxious for now.

Lizzie and some of her favorite introverts

This 'special' trait intensifies with long car rides. I spazz out when my family would rather process life in peace and quiet. This past year we had the opportunity of 'enjoying' a long car trip from Ohio to Texas and back again. I'm pretty sure I covered almost every converseable topic known to man, much to my parent's exhaustion. However, on one of the rainy, late-night ramblings, I shared about all these exciting dreams and goals that I wanted to do with my life, but I had no idea when (or if) they would all pan out.

Months later, as it turns out, they were listening on that rainy night.

Since moving to Northern Minnesota, I get to see my parents every 3-7 months. We go to coffee or eat food as a 'special date with Mommy and Daddy'. I love quality time with my parents.
One afternoon they were in town, we went to the Chinese Buffet restaurant. Nothing like the smell of soy sauce and white rice to stir conversation.
We spent hours talking about life and what goals and dreams I had for the future. We wrote each one on a different-colored post-it note. Pink for academic goals, orange for career goals, yellow for ministry goals, etc. My daddy is so creative. He brought a plain piece of white paper, wrote, "Lizzie's Life Timeline" on it, sketched some lines to represent units of time, and slid it across the shiny wooden table with the obnoxiously-colored post-it notes. I must have given him a look that said, "Now what?" He said, "It's your life. Put the post-it notes where you want to." Guys, my timeline ended up going into Fall of 2030.

I chose some normal dreams/goals. I chose some weird ones too.

Lizzie to Lubango, Angola--CHECK!

I wanted to travel to Europe for a longer trip.
I wanted to go to Angola in May of 2015. (CHECK)
I wanted to finish my Bachelor's degree.
I wanted to go to grad school at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago for their Spiritual Formation and Discipleship program.
I wanted to be a wife and mother one day.
I wanted to take ACLS and PALS (you can just google it).
I wanted to spend 6-12 months in Balfate, Honduras as a nurse.

That last one has been a dream for years. Originally, I had stuck the "Balfate" note AFTER grad-school when I'd have more experience as a nurse and some Bible training, as well. However, going to Balfate was also a dream I'd always plan on doing while I was single. Grad school might be in 4 years, it might be in 14. I don't know.
The beauty of post-it notes is that you can move them around on your timeline and it doesn't devalue their worth. They're still partially sticky/partially not pieces of paper. They're still dreams and goals.

And this particular dream is happening. 

After many emails, questions, prayers, conversations, forms, and phone calls, an opportunity has come up to go to the Loma de Luz Hospital in Balfate, Honduras for this year. I'll be working as a nurse, alongside existing Honduran nursing staff. I could not be more excited. My estimated timeline for departure is Spring of 2016. By Spring, I mean April-June. Estimated duration of this chapter: 12 months.

From Minnesota to Honduras

Balfate is on the northern coast of Honduras. Jungle on one side, ocean on the other. The closest city, La Ceiba, is around an hour away to the west. Grocery shopping and such is done in La Ceiba. It's 6-7 hours by car from where my parents live in Siguatepeque. Even though it's a ways away, I'm still excited about the thought of living in the same country as them (my mother squeals when you ask her if she's looking forward to me being semi-nearby--not really, but it's pretty close to a squeal).

Loma de Luz is a mission hospital, with an outpatient clinic, surgical suite, ER, lab, pharmacy, eye clinic, and clinic for visiting visiting dentists. Because of the limited amount of nursing staff available, only a certain amount of admitted patients can be cared for safely. My hope is to be an extra set of hands for the staff at Loma de Luz. I'm hoping to learn as much as they'll teach me, to develop relationships with the nursing staff, to see what nursing is like in a medical missions context, and to help the Honduran and volunteer staff share God's amazing love with the 20,000 patients who walk through the hospital doors each year.

Family Christmas Visit to Loma de Luz

In November of 2015, I joined Camino Global, a sending organization out of Dallas (the same one my parents and grandparents have been a part of) to help me get to Balfate. Because I'll be going as a volunteer, I'm responsible for raising money with Camino Global to help with expenses for the 12 months I'm in Balfate. I also definitely need people praying me through my time getting ready for Honduras and then when I'm on the ground in Honduras.

Camino Global New Members!
November 2015

Check out Loma de Luz's website to see how God is working through them.
If you want to partner with me financially, you can go here. You can also go to Camino Global's website, go to Give > Give to a Missionary > Enter 'Elizabeth Nelson' > Give.

Have questions? Want to send me a note? You can email me at enelson@caminoglobal.org--I'd LOVE to hear from you!

Future Coworkers!

Front Gate at Loma de Luz
Dios Obra Aqui
God Is At Work Here