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815 is the number of days that have elapsed since I was last in Africa. I know because I’ve counted them. I have thought about Africa 815 times since I have left. Every day for the last 2 years, 2 months, and 25 days. I don’t know what significance this day holds, but it’s a day where I feel like I’m at a threshold. Although I came back to Australia for a purpose, I feel at the same time that I’m testing to see how long I can go without returning to Africa before lose it. I feel like I’ve tested every sinew of my patience. I’m tired of waiting. God give me strength and more patience.

It doesn’t matter how many times I watch Ari Vatanen’s record attempt at the Pikes Peak Hillclimb it never gets old.

… at least it was today while riding through the mountains.

Nursing a patient who is palliative it a pretty big uphill struggle, emotionally. This emotional struggle is always uphill. It never relents. It never plateaus or levels out. It’s uphill. Always. It’s a very real reminder that none of us are infallible, that we will at some stage pass away from this life. It certainly makes one walk away from a shift with a greater appreciation for life. Take nothing for granted. Not even waking up tomorrow, because some people won’t have that privilege.

No sooner do I finish a mountain of uni assignments, seminars, and exams my thoughts are immediately defaulted back to this place. These are the rolling hills overlooking the township of Kabale in South-West Uganda. I took this photo from Makanga, in a spot not too far from were we were living. I miss it. A lot.