Along with the nine of us PDs who live at the Manna house, we have two more inhabitants - two Rottweilers named Sydney and Cola. Nicaraguans are terrified of Rottweilers, and Sydney and Cola can be viscious if they don't like you, so they provide some extra security at our house as well as keeping us company. They're great dogs, but have a habit of attacking any other creature that moves around the yard. Here's an picture of Sydney with her last kill (in the grass to the right), an unlucky iguana:
And thus began last night's situation: a large cane toad, who had been taking a swim in our pool, hopped out of the pool. Sydney jumped on the toad and bit/licked it, but instead of killing the toad and being proud of herself, she instead began foaming at the mouth a lot, while the toad hopped away to safety (we think). Cane toads, which is our best bet of what she got her teeth on, are incredibly poisonous toads and are capable of killing dogs and humans with their venom. We called a Nicaraguan vet whose number we had, and told him about the situation. There was a shot which we could get for Sydney, he told us, but it was almost certain she was going to die even with the shot. We could also try feeding her charcoal to absorb some poison and potentially induce vomiting. However, despite the low likelihood of her surviving, he was willing to meet us to administer the shot. Our van had broken earlier in the day, but with the help of some friends, we got Sydney to meet the vet and get the shot. On the ride there, she vomited all over Jesse (one of my fellow PDs) and the back of the pick-up - disgusting, but it may have saved her life.
After Syd got home from the vet, she seemed to be doing okay at first. I really thought that we were in the clear, until I walked outside about half an hour later and heard her panting frantically and gasping for breath. She was barely able to walk, and had almost no control of her back legs. For a dog who tends to snap at people when they try and pet her head, she was incredibly calm and too weak to argue with us about anything. The hallucinatory effects of the poison were evident, and she seemed intent on going into the pool which she is normally not interested in at all. We got the contact information for another vet, an American who has been down here for around 8 months teaching at a university and doing mission work. He graciously agreed to drive 20 minutes to come over and check on Syd, even though it was around 11pm by this point. He did a physical exam on her, gave her another injection, and explained more to us about what was happening to her. He left yet another dose of the "antidote" with us to administer later in the night, and explained to us very honestly that we should prepare ourselves for her death. She was in grave condition, as he explained, and very close to death when he saw her. He also told us, however, that he hadn't lost a patient yet in Nicaragua, and that there was definitely hope.
We spent the next 4 hours sitting with Sydney as she rested. She was so, so weak, that she wouldn't even open her eyes or lift her head when we touched her face. At multiple points, she seemed to stop breathing for 10 seconds and I truly thought she had died. At around 1am, Christin and Maggie went to make muffins, and I stayed outside with Sydney. I sat next to her with my hand on her side so I could feel her breathing and let her know, if she was conscious enough to notice, that someone was with her. At some point, I came to accept that we had done everything that we could do for her. It was out of our hands, and literally all I could do was sit there and lay my hand on her side and pray. As I stared at the stars and prayed for her to keep breathing, I think I learned something deeper about what surrender means. I think there's often a negative connotation to the word surrender, and people associate it with giving up. The truth is that it's not giving up - it's handing the situation over to God and recognizing that we're not the ones who can solve the problem. There was literally nothing I could do except sit and pray, a fact which would often stress me out. But I wasn't stressed out - I was at peace with the fact that I had played my part, and that I couldn't play a part bigger than me. As I sat there alone and prayed with Sydney, one part of the Passion of Jesus kept repeating in my head. "Stay here and keep watch with me." That was literally all I could do for Sydney last night - watch and pray.
As I go about my daily life here, I see situations which I need to approach with an attitude of surrender. The stories I hear and the poverty I see are not always things that I can fix. I can play my part, whether that be an English class or a conversation or some oatmeal and milk. But once my part has been played, all I can do is watch and pray. If I approach this year thinking that I can fix every poverty, physically and spiritually, that I see, I will end up frustrated, discouraged, and helping no one. By recognizing where my part in the bigger picture ends, I am able to focus on nothing more than doing my part to the best of my ability, and accepting that many situations are ultimately out of my control.
Surrendering, recognizing that a situation is beyond me, doesn't mean that I walk away - in fact, I think it means the exact opposite. So what does "stay here and keep watch with me" mean in my everyday life here? Compassion. The Latin root of the word compassion means "to suffer with". With Sydney last night, I was able to be more compassionate once I was able to surrender - instead of focusing on all the things which I wanted to be able to fix, I was able to focus solely on thinking about how she was feeling and being with her. That's all I could do, and maybe that's just what she needed me to do. In my interactions with community members, or with friends and housemates, am I able to do this? When I refuse to surrender, I spend my time trying to fix a problem which is out of my control, instead of letting go and making myself free to focus on walking through the difficult situation with the person. When I recognize that I can't feed every child in Chureca, I can shift my focus to sharing love with the people I do get the chance to interact with. When I recognize that I can't give a person a job or money to provide for her family, I can shift my focus to learning more about her and perhaps guiding her towards avenues that can help her or employ her. I am a small piece in a big puzzle, and my job is to be the best small piece I can be, not to try and become a bigger piece - in other words, to have the humility to surrender.
Sydney made it through the night, much to the surprise of many of us and the vet. As today went on, she started to regain her strength - and her personality - and is now interested in food and water again. She is going to be fine, and has hopefully learned her lesson about biting toads. It has been a roller-coaster for all of us, and we're all a little sleep deprived, but all is well. Sydney is healthy, and for that I am incredibly thankful. I got a new glimpse into what it means to be compassionate and to truly surrender, and I think that both these lessons will be important for me throughout the year.
Who knew I could learn this much from a dog who decided to bite a toad?
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