Who's the Missionary

I'm starting my 7th month in the clinic, newly designated as Day-hospital, and fretting about supplies: we have 1 gauze roll (count 'em), a couple dozen pads, 1 1/2 working blood pressure cuffs. 

There's a second doctor newly arrived, a German woman with her two school age children, and I'm wondering whether there's enough work for the 2 of us.  Not to worry: I'm there past closing most nights finishing patients, writing notes 'til past dinner.  Maybe word is finally out, I'm here long-term; or they just want to try out the new doc. Still trying to set up the next surgical team visit.
   
All my concerns were blown away today.  My last patient was a 12-year-old girl, born with a severe skin disease: bullous epidermolysis, similar to Pemphigus.  She has painful boils all over her body, gradually healing until new ones arise.  The sloughing skin cuts off circulation, so she has gradually lost all her fingers and toes. 
   
Her family faithfully cares for her, changing dressings daily, treating her just like her 6 sibs still at home.  I saw her for an unrelated problem (intestinal parasites), while she and her (healthy) 12-year-old friend giggled secrets.  As she left, she smiled and extended the stump of her right hand for me to shake. 
   
No tears came, but my eyes were a little moist later.  I usually feel confident taking care of patients - good thing, too, no backup here.  But then someone like Maria comes along, bearing a burden most of us can't even imagine, with a smile.  Makes me wonder who's the missionary bearing the Good News - me or my patients.  We do what we can, and God sorts out the rest.