Thursday morning brought market day in Uspantan with my friends and I. Walking the few blocks into town and into the hazy maze of blue tarps overhead and bags of chile powder, sixteen cent calalillies and live chickens everywhere, we were covered in confetti by children within minutes of our entrance. Running into a peace corps member, he said he´d been in the town nearly a year and still ended up with colorful paper in his pants in the market. All would consider the giggles and joy a happy event, but no one noticed the man sleeping facedown in the cement of the sidewalk that morning.
Opened mouthed and breathing heavily, he seemed to be sleeping deeply as if he´d done so in the very same spot most of his life. His pants were torn and falling off his legs, which were rivals of the Holocaust survivors of 1945. His black hair, matted and greasy was an unkempt mop above his guant face and tattered, purple exucuse for a sweatshirt on his back.
Hours later, after a local breakfast of eggs, beans and fresh coffee for as little as three dollars, he appeared again. Awake this time, I could see his mentally handicapped state as he aimlessly meandered through the confetti stand and stared at raw chickens in their freshly slaughtered cases. His dark eyes held no light behind them and an emotionless expression was painted upon his brown face. His pants were falling off his waist as the elastic was worn and he had no shoes for his blackened feet. He carried a deflated, broken yellow balloon in his hand. He walked slowly past me, but lacked any kind of dilliberance in his step.
The following day, he found me again. Donning the same clothing, he sat hugging his legs upon the cobblestone road, rocking slightly. His sunken eyes were fixed on the bright yellow of the corner fruit stand. His wrinkled balloon, which I now realized was trailing its shredded blue leash of a ribbon was clasped tightly like a teddy bear.
I shuddered deeply for the third time as I walked past him.
How many opportunities does it take us, as a human race to act upon common sympathies and emotions? I left school to work with medical teams, and I see a man in the street and walk by him three times before I spent a single quetzal, which in terms of dollars is the equivalent of sixteen cents. Recieving only an empty stare as I asked if he wanted fruit, he was handed a bag of pineapple. Yet I gave him no money thereafter. I had 100Q in my pocket, which is far more than many have - particularily this man of 30 something. While this human being had lunch for the day, I had ample money left over. Who would feed him next time? His state hardly allowed coherence and cetainly no means to care for himself. Yet people walk by. The woman with the fruit stand had undoubtedly stared at his face for some time before I walked into their presence. He needs to be clothed and taken care of and loved. These are pieces of human dignity that need no sort of earning. These are all things that I´ve been handed in my life. Yet I walked away, only having spent sixteen cents. I did not do more, and perhaps am as guilty as the people who see him day after day and walk by.
Saturday, many of the team members hiked to a magnificent waterfall on the side of a cliff in the mountains adjacent to the town. We rode in the back of a pickup back to the hospital. He found me again. In the middle of the highway along what would have been the yellow line of the road, sat the man and his yellow latex companion. The cement of the road was his chair as chicken busses whizzed past his unsensing face, inches from catastrophe. One of the local women with us, shook her head with a chuckle and lightly told me he was, on the most basic sense, the village idiot. My heart broke.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Friday, February 9, 2007
Middle class?
It amazes me slightly, how a few minutes on AOL instant messenger can change the course of your entire day. It was refreshing to hear news directly from home yesterday and to talk with friends long missed. Valentine's Day is this next week. What? It just dawned on me yesterday. I hear many of you are dealing with subzero temperatures and for that, I feel for all of you. In contrast to popular belief as well, I have hardly a tan. When I'm in the villages I have to remain covered and in the city I am often inside. So sorry, but I probably will not be a nice brown that is assumed. Besides, that's not at all what I'm here for. I just keep hearning it in messages and thought I might set the record straight.
I've been reading much lately. The Little Prince is something I'm appalled I've never read by now - but it was absolutely refreshing. I just started Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff, and it is absolutely hilarious. A memoir author origincally from Canada, he reminds me of David Sedaris. It's nice to be able to cross some of these books I've been meaning to read off my list of things to do.
I will be leaving Guatemala City again on Sunday morning. This time the we're headed to Uspantan, a mountainous village with a drastically more temperate climate. My job for the week will entail the surgery paperwork for each patient who comes through the OR. A good friend of mine, Becky, typically does this job and makes sure all is filled out to code. School has called her back to her master's program however, and thus I get to care for this large job. Additionally I get to organize and count each paper for each patient that will come through the hospital doors in this upcoming week. Which means I will be the grand owner of 2,000 pieces of essential paper. I'm slightly nervous about the whole thing and will likely call Becky half way through the week. Even still, I'll keep my fingers crossed and enjoy the idea of having an official task. I'll hopefully get to translate some as well.
As for these last couple days we've spent in the city, Laurie (roommate and fellow staff member) and I have been spending time with friends we've met here. Alexa is a translator for helps and will be working with us on many of the teams through May. Her mother is from Ohio and her dad is from Guate, and thus she's a dual citizen of both countries. It's been wonderful and she's been showing us around the city and welcomed us over to her house. She graduated from the German school here in October and is interviewing with many colleges for the fall. I remember the process well. This morning she took us to Cafe Barista and I had one of the most amazing cappucinos I've ever tasted. She brought us to an antique store that her friend's mother owns, and I couldn't help but think of my own mother as she would have loved to put the entire place into our own home in the States. Perhaps I get my love of old things from her. We also stopped by Alexa's grandmother's house and chatted for a time. She's a charasmatic little woman with frizzed brown hair and tons of stories. She spoke of growing up in Guatemala, the government and her own interest in medicine. She was very interested to know what we've been learning and was appreciative of our time here. Greeted and bid goodbye with kisses and hugs, it reminded me much of my grandmothers back home and made me want to stop by their similar homes for a visit as well. I guess that will have to wait until May.
It often amazes me, the distinct difference between the villages and the city. Seeming to be the difference between a place like Minneapolis and a shanty town, the drastic division of wealth is apparent. People either have more than my middle class family or nothing at all. Knowing what I have at home and how little many have here, it often makes me feel guilty for being comfortable and riding in nice cars with friends in the city. I have to remind myself that I spend more than half of my time on a cot in a sleeping bag. But doing the little math of which my mind is capable, I also realize the two bags, pack and camera I carry around this country with me could feed more than one Guatemalan family for a year in the village. It's distorted, the balance here. There really is nothing equating the middle class, either you're comfortable or you have nothing.
My time here often has its ups and downs. For as much as a person can expect, you never realize that sometimes being away is hard and lonely. But then the moments happen where you whitness a birth or a burst of colored flowers sprouting over an enclosed wall or a little child latches to your hip and kisses you as you bend over to ask about their day. It changes everything. I often catch myself thinking, even when things aren't ideal, that I must be one of the luckiest individuals on the world. I'm making the time now, to do what many wait until their middle ages to do. Regardless of the bad that sometimes creeps in, I feel assured in the feeling that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be in this particular moment of my life.
I've been reading much lately. The Little Prince is something I'm appalled I've never read by now - but it was absolutely refreshing. I just started Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff, and it is absolutely hilarious. A memoir author origincally from Canada, he reminds me of David Sedaris. It's nice to be able to cross some of these books I've been meaning to read off my list of things to do.
I will be leaving Guatemala City again on Sunday morning. This time the we're headed to Uspantan, a mountainous village with a drastically more temperate climate. My job for the week will entail the surgery paperwork for each patient who comes through the OR. A good friend of mine, Becky, typically does this job and makes sure all is filled out to code. School has called her back to her master's program however, and thus I get to care for this large job. Additionally I get to organize and count each paper for each patient that will come through the hospital doors in this upcoming week. Which means I will be the grand owner of 2,000 pieces of essential paper. I'm slightly nervous about the whole thing and will likely call Becky half way through the week. Even still, I'll keep my fingers crossed and enjoy the idea of having an official task. I'll hopefully get to translate some as well.
As for these last couple days we've spent in the city, Laurie (roommate and fellow staff member) and I have been spending time with friends we've met here. Alexa is a translator for helps and will be working with us on many of the teams through May. Her mother is from Ohio and her dad is from Guate, and thus she's a dual citizen of both countries. It's been wonderful and she's been showing us around the city and welcomed us over to her house. She graduated from the German school here in October and is interviewing with many colleges for the fall. I remember the process well. This morning she took us to Cafe Barista and I had one of the most amazing cappucinos I've ever tasted. She brought us to an antique store that her friend's mother owns, and I couldn't help but think of my own mother as she would have loved to put the entire place into our own home in the States. Perhaps I get my love of old things from her. We also stopped by Alexa's grandmother's house and chatted for a time. She's a charasmatic little woman with frizzed brown hair and tons of stories. She spoke of growing up in Guatemala, the government and her own interest in medicine. She was very interested to know what we've been learning and was appreciative of our time here. Greeted and bid goodbye with kisses and hugs, it reminded me much of my grandmothers back home and made me want to stop by their similar homes for a visit as well. I guess that will have to wait until May.
It often amazes me, the distinct difference between the villages and the city. Seeming to be the difference between a place like Minneapolis and a shanty town, the drastic division of wealth is apparent. People either have more than my middle class family or nothing at all. Knowing what I have at home and how little many have here, it often makes me feel guilty for being comfortable and riding in nice cars with friends in the city. I have to remind myself that I spend more than half of my time on a cot in a sleeping bag. But doing the little math of which my mind is capable, I also realize the two bags, pack and camera I carry around this country with me could feed more than one Guatemalan family for a year in the village. It's distorted, the balance here. There really is nothing equating the middle class, either you're comfortable or you have nothing.
My time here often has its ups and downs. For as much as a person can expect, you never realize that sometimes being away is hard and lonely. But then the moments happen where you whitness a birth or a burst of colored flowers sprouting over an enclosed wall or a little child latches to your hip and kisses you as you bend over to ask about their day. It changes everything. I often catch myself thinking, even when things aren't ideal, that I must be one of the luckiest individuals on the world. I'm making the time now, to do what many wait until their middle ages to do. Regardless of the bad that sometimes creeps in, I feel assured in the feeling that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be in this particular moment of my life.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
La Tinta, A Place Nearly As Hot as the Fever I Ran
I've spent the last week in the middle of the jungle. We had a six hour bus ride with more than half that across a dirt, mountainside road. I'm impressed that more vehicles don't fall of the side off these cliffs. One slip of the wheel at nearly any moment and we would have sidelonged in various gorges, catching trees and barbed wire fences along the way. From the moment we stepped out of our air conditioned buses, it was over 90 degrees with Minnesotan humidity until we took the buses back up the dirt road and neared Coban, further north of our location. The bugs were twice as large as you'd ever find in the states. Giant lizards rambled around with horns and green skin. Moths were beautiful and larger than my fists, I found a praying mantis crawling up a wall and scorpions crawling out of my suitcase. Thankfully I avoided being stung.
Sunday night, I started running a fever. By Monday evening all was full fledged. I was running a 102.2 temperature and managed to sleep for almost 48 hours solidly. I was wheezy and coughing and overall in miserable shape until midday Wednesday. However, I avoided an IV by drinking water by the liter. Dropping into the swing of things halfway through the week was slightly difficult for me. By this point, most have developed their position of work for the week and I was starting from scratch. I had ample reason to float for the rest of the week. I spent some time attemtping to translate in the dental clinic and popped in and out of the medical clinics as well.
One of the highlights was watching the marvelous Paul Schultz work. A plastic surgeon from St. Cloud and the father of a dear friend of mine, Meredith, Paul can put people back together like I´ve never seen before. I watched him work on a severe cleft lip and pallate Wednesday afternoon. One and a half year old Oscar suddenly had a new face, and I can´t even describe to you the look on his mother´s face when he came out of surgery. A woman in her young twenties who spoke only Kekche, a native dialect, she couldn´t speak and just kept looking. Awestruck at her son´s closed lips and with another newborn baby on her hip, she stayed near him for the next several days. It was entirely joyful to see Oscar squeak and dribble food from his mouth a day later. He had to figure out how to eat all over again. I can´t help but realize how close to my own age his mother was and how frequently that is the case. A little girl from the village asked if I had a boyfriend and was shocked when I told her I was twenty and flying solo. That doesn´t happen in the villages here. You get married and have a family, and hope that your six or eight children make it past year five.
Because of one person, this little boy´s life will be so different. The work Paul does makes me crave the ability to impact others in an equally drastic manner. I just don´t think that I could live with myself in the states if I had to perform lyposuction and breast implants the other 345 days of the year when I wasn´t in Guatemala. But this man literally puts people back together. He can give a man who´s fallen in a fire and fused his hand shut, functioning fingers again. We´re even built with extra tendons in our hands, which, when transplanted into a faulty digit, create new opportunity for movement. It´s amazing, and while I´ve always been sure of my study, his work makes me consider other paths. The question was poised to me recently if I´d ever considered the medical field. I gave my blanketed no, I was satisfied to solely watch. However, I suddenly am not so sure.
I´m beginning to realize I´m learning much more than I ever anticipated I would. Of course I subconciously knew that would happen. It´s amazing what happens when you have a crappy week out in the field. I was in a wretchedly hot environment for a week. Sweating while sitting at eight o clock in the morning is not my idea of a great time. Yet I spent a week there. The difference is that I had the option to leave. These people living in literal shanties, don´t have that option. That´s the difference between my situation in La Tinta and theirs. I have hot summers as well, but I have a functioning stove, an air conditioner... My six membered family lives in three separate locations, and my gradmothers add an additional two. We have floors. We have vehicles. We have ice. Now place these eight people in a tin walled, eight by ten foot space and you have the dwelling place of my individuals I saw along that dirt road this week.
And as we passed by in our air conditioned busses, and the gringos (slang for Americans) took pictures out the window, people ran down the road and families smiled out their dimly lit doorways. Dirt covered kids with torn tshirts or no tshirts at all, played with each other in the street and waved us on, grinning.
Sunday night, I started running a fever. By Monday evening all was full fledged. I was running a 102.2 temperature and managed to sleep for almost 48 hours solidly. I was wheezy and coughing and overall in miserable shape until midday Wednesday. However, I avoided an IV by drinking water by the liter. Dropping into the swing of things halfway through the week was slightly difficult for me. By this point, most have developed their position of work for the week and I was starting from scratch. I had ample reason to float for the rest of the week. I spent some time attemtping to translate in the dental clinic and popped in and out of the medical clinics as well.
One of the highlights was watching the marvelous Paul Schultz work. A plastic surgeon from St. Cloud and the father of a dear friend of mine, Meredith, Paul can put people back together like I´ve never seen before. I watched him work on a severe cleft lip and pallate Wednesday afternoon. One and a half year old Oscar suddenly had a new face, and I can´t even describe to you the look on his mother´s face when he came out of surgery. A woman in her young twenties who spoke only Kekche, a native dialect, she couldn´t speak and just kept looking. Awestruck at her son´s closed lips and with another newborn baby on her hip, she stayed near him for the next several days. It was entirely joyful to see Oscar squeak and dribble food from his mouth a day later. He had to figure out how to eat all over again. I can´t help but realize how close to my own age his mother was and how frequently that is the case. A little girl from the village asked if I had a boyfriend and was shocked when I told her I was twenty and flying solo. That doesn´t happen in the villages here. You get married and have a family, and hope that your six or eight children make it past year five.
Because of one person, this little boy´s life will be so different. The work Paul does makes me crave the ability to impact others in an equally drastic manner. I just don´t think that I could live with myself in the states if I had to perform lyposuction and breast implants the other 345 days of the year when I wasn´t in Guatemala. But this man literally puts people back together. He can give a man who´s fallen in a fire and fused his hand shut, functioning fingers again. We´re even built with extra tendons in our hands, which, when transplanted into a faulty digit, create new opportunity for movement. It´s amazing, and while I´ve always been sure of my study, his work makes me consider other paths. The question was poised to me recently if I´d ever considered the medical field. I gave my blanketed no, I was satisfied to solely watch. However, I suddenly am not so sure.
I´m beginning to realize I´m learning much more than I ever anticipated I would. Of course I subconciously knew that would happen. It´s amazing what happens when you have a crappy week out in the field. I was in a wretchedly hot environment for a week. Sweating while sitting at eight o clock in the morning is not my idea of a great time. Yet I spent a week there. The difference is that I had the option to leave. These people living in literal shanties, don´t have that option. That´s the difference between my situation in La Tinta and theirs. I have hot summers as well, but I have a functioning stove, an air conditioner... My six membered family lives in three separate locations, and my gradmothers add an additional two. We have floors. We have vehicles. We have ice. Now place these eight people in a tin walled, eight by ten foot space and you have the dwelling place of my individuals I saw along that dirt road this week.
And as we passed by in our air conditioned busses, and the gringos (slang for Americans) took pictures out the window, people ran down the road and families smiled out their dimly lit doorways. Dirt covered kids with torn tshirts or no tshirts at all, played with each other in the street and waved us on, grinning.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Back in the City For a Few Days...
Salsa dancing until 1:00 and a 3:00am wake up call is a bad combination. I'm exhausted. We left Antigua at 4:00am to ensure that the San Cristobal team would catch their flight home on time. It's difficult to know that I'll be starting another team with entirely new faces next week and to see that this team, with whom I've spent the past ten days conversing, realizing and relating, will not be traveling with me to my next destination: La Tinta.
I had a wonderful few days in Antigua Guatemala. A 24 hour hour bout of dehydration put me out for some time, but if anything it gave me an excuse for some time on my own. It was well warranted time as I relished in my walk around the city and took a few pictures.
Antigua is a very old city and for as much of a tourist trap as it is, its history and beauty remains. It's about 20 by 20 blocks big and you can see it's entirety if you make a walk up to "La Cruz." It's a short walk to the city's boundary and a hike up a hill where an immense stone cross has been standing on the hillside in a grassy, clear opening. From it's base there, words really dimminish the meaning of the view. One can hear distinct voices of people in courtyards, and hear horses and cars clipping down the city's cobblestone streets. From its height, one has a direct sight of the opposing volcanic mountain side that shadows the city in its valley. Morning mist lifts higher and higher. I shared this moment with two friends, John and Anna Boyle on Tuesday morning. As we woke early and strolled across the city to the base of the cross together, John recounted his stay in the country the year previous. We got breakfast in a small coffee shop and afterward I took my stroll in the city.
Iron casts over the windows of every buildling to protect from rocks and larger, more human predators, houses and shops alike blend into one wall that is divided only by sky blue, marigold and salmon hues. Roofs are flat and clay eaves hang down to connect them. Sidewalks are tall and treacherous. Often unkempt and barely wide enough for the extended windows from the buildings to cover, it is easy to clip one's shoulder or head. The cobblestone of the street is just as much of a challenge however, as uneven rocks produce bumpy bicycles and vespas rides alike.
The center square is filled with trees - the canopies of which you can see from La Cruz. Benches adorn their concrete walkways and a massive fountain with nude women etched into its stone chatters among the street vendors and shoe shiners. Charming as it is, these shoe shiners make their living here. It is not so much like the men in airports who ask for tips. As you walk down the street every so often, a coffee shop's aroma fills your nose or fresh oranges and papaya make your mouth water. Children run around with yellow and magenta ice cream as drips eagerly fall create mess on a shirt.
Ruins of old churches immerse with the architecture and color of those still upheld. A great yellow arch containing a clock is ahead, beckoning ones eyes to the matching Catholic church behind it. During Semana Santa (Holy Week) these streets will be filled with intricate carpets, colored and designed with sawdust. They are a reverence to the Holy parades that take place and holy the ground the float bearers walk upon. In either direction one looks, mountains and volcanoes surround, as a sky turns pink and the clouds streak blue.
I had a wonderful few days in Antigua Guatemala. A 24 hour hour bout of dehydration put me out for some time, but if anything it gave me an excuse for some time on my own. It was well warranted time as I relished in my walk around the city and took a few pictures.
Antigua is a very old city and for as much of a tourist trap as it is, its history and beauty remains. It's about 20 by 20 blocks big and you can see it's entirety if you make a walk up to "La Cruz." It's a short walk to the city's boundary and a hike up a hill where an immense stone cross has been standing on the hillside in a grassy, clear opening. From it's base there, words really dimminish the meaning of the view. One can hear distinct voices of people in courtyards, and hear horses and cars clipping down the city's cobblestone streets. From its height, one has a direct sight of the opposing volcanic mountain side that shadows the city in its valley. Morning mist lifts higher and higher. I shared this moment with two friends, John and Anna Boyle on Tuesday morning. As we woke early and strolled across the city to the base of the cross together, John recounted his stay in the country the year previous. We got breakfast in a small coffee shop and afterward I took my stroll in the city.
Iron casts over the windows of every buildling to protect from rocks and larger, more human predators, houses and shops alike blend into one wall that is divided only by sky blue, marigold and salmon hues. Roofs are flat and clay eaves hang down to connect them. Sidewalks are tall and treacherous. Often unkempt and barely wide enough for the extended windows from the buildings to cover, it is easy to clip one's shoulder or head. The cobblestone of the street is just as much of a challenge however, as uneven rocks produce bumpy bicycles and vespas rides alike.
The center square is filled with trees - the canopies of which you can see from La Cruz. Benches adorn their concrete walkways and a massive fountain with nude women etched into its stone chatters among the street vendors and shoe shiners. Charming as it is, these shoe shiners make their living here. It is not so much like the men in airports who ask for tips. As you walk down the street every so often, a coffee shop's aroma fills your nose or fresh oranges and papaya make your mouth water. Children run around with yellow and magenta ice cream as drips eagerly fall create mess on a shirt.
Ruins of old churches immerse with the architecture and color of those still upheld. A great yellow arch containing a clock is ahead, beckoning ones eyes to the matching Catholic church behind it. During Semana Santa (Holy Week) these streets will be filled with intricate carpets, colored and designed with sawdust. They are a reverence to the Holy parades that take place and holy the ground the float bearers walk upon. In either direction one looks, mountains and volcanoes surround, as a sky turns pink and the clouds streak blue.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
I Don't Smoke and I Don't Chew, and I Don't Go With the Boys That Do.
Alright, so I figure the title is just kind of catchy. It was one of my quotes from the day from a 70 something nurse I was working triage with this week. I decided it was worthy of writng down.
I just arrived this afternoon in Antigua, Guatemala after a week in the highlands of San Cristobal, Guatemala. The week was wonderful: complete with unflushable toilets, and not enough water in the hospital to shower everyday. Plumbing is an interesting concept in Guate, many times it's not uncommon to see people on the side of the roads, using the ditch as their plumbing. But if you're like me you'll find a toilet more proper. However, pipes and sewers are not equipped here to handle toilet paper and thus paper products go in the garbage. There is a policy on every team: "If you flush it, you fish it." And they're not kidding. So folks, be grateful that you can throw things down the toilet, you have enough water to take more than a freezing navy shower and that your plumming is equipped to handle even goldfish.
I plan to hop into another internet cafe and blog again tomorrow, as it's beginning to darken and it's not safe to walk down the street to the hotel by myself.
Before I pay my internet cafe dues and such, I thought I'd give a quick run down of what my actual job here entails. HELPS international has approximately 11 medical teams from the United States flow through Guate every year, my job is to make each of their trips flow smoothly. So, for instance, the next team flies into GUatemala City next Saturday evening. My job before that it to shop for their groceries, mind you the cooking portion of the staff is cooking for more than 100 people and recovering patients for a week. So as you can imagine, 500 rolls of toilet paper and 70 pounds of carrots is standard number. So we shop, and then we pack the food so it's easily trasportable for that team. We also have various project around the warehouse. Come Thursday, the crew will be packing the trucks with medical equipment, which mean anesthesiology equipment, dental chairs (Dad, all of your supplies were put in the proper hands, you have nothing to worry about and I took care of your bag), overhead operating lights, toolboxes for the mechanics, portable shelves and other units of power and medical devices. We typically have three moderately large, almost semi trucks worth of equipment for these teams.
Now the people who fly in are a slew of dentists, plastic surgeons, gynecologists, general practitioners, cooks, mechanics or mcgyvers, (sp?), pharmacists, nurses, general surgeons, translators, triage persona, and various other odd jobs tha occur around the hospital. It's quite the crew. So they fly into the city on Saturday night. I'm part of the welcoming committee that comes and lets them know about tour information after their weeks worth of hard work, and other specifics about the area we're traveling to and the rules involved there (i.e. the toilet paper). Sunday morning we load onto two or three large busses, travel to our location and set up the hospital. We work Monday to Saturday morning: surgeons prforming hysterectomies, herinias, many cleft lip and pallate surguries and various lumps and bumps. This week there were a total of 109 major surguries completed (discluding lumps and bumps). Meanwhile, the General practicioners are seeing patients - giving out worm medicine and lots of ibuprofen and vitamins. That's right, not everyone can afford basic pain medicines, and most of you don't spend your days working in a field or washing clothes my hand or carrying a week's worth of laundry on your head. The dentist are completing cleanings, fillings, a few crowns and a lot of pulling. Some small children have so much decay they have all four from teeth pulled out. THe pharmacy is pumping out drugs and the recovery room is filled with groaning babies, worried mothers, and vaious women and men. One woman this week, asked Dr. Schmidt, a gynecologist if he was the surgeon who put her in so much pain after her hysterectomy. He said yes. She replied "Thank you" with a kiss as she took his hand.
Friday comes and the town throws us a fiesta, complte with incredible typical food, and men dancing with fireworks strapped to their backs.
Saturday we tear the hospital down, and end up here. And by the next week, I'm set to do it all over agian.
Hopefully I'll have a few moments to add stories tomorrow. I think of all of you frequently, for various reasons. Today I'm wearing brown and baby blue, so Benjamin Bradley popped into my mind. It's small things like that that remind me from where I've come and how blessed I am to have such wonderful friends and love in my life.
Te quiero mucho,
Kelsey
I just arrived this afternoon in Antigua, Guatemala after a week in the highlands of San Cristobal, Guatemala. The week was wonderful: complete with unflushable toilets, and not enough water in the hospital to shower everyday. Plumbing is an interesting concept in Guate, many times it's not uncommon to see people on the side of the roads, using the ditch as their plumbing. But if you're like me you'll find a toilet more proper. However, pipes and sewers are not equipped here to handle toilet paper and thus paper products go in the garbage. There is a policy on every team: "If you flush it, you fish it." And they're not kidding. So folks, be grateful that you can throw things down the toilet, you have enough water to take more than a freezing navy shower and that your plumming is equipped to handle even goldfish.
I plan to hop into another internet cafe and blog again tomorrow, as it's beginning to darken and it's not safe to walk down the street to the hotel by myself.
Before I pay my internet cafe dues and such, I thought I'd give a quick run down of what my actual job here entails. HELPS international has approximately 11 medical teams from the United States flow through Guate every year, my job is to make each of their trips flow smoothly. So, for instance, the next team flies into GUatemala City next Saturday evening. My job before that it to shop for their groceries, mind you the cooking portion of the staff is cooking for more than 100 people and recovering patients for a week. So as you can imagine, 500 rolls of toilet paper and 70 pounds of carrots is standard number. So we shop, and then we pack the food so it's easily trasportable for that team. We also have various project around the warehouse. Come Thursday, the crew will be packing the trucks with medical equipment, which mean anesthesiology equipment, dental chairs (Dad, all of your supplies were put in the proper hands, you have nothing to worry about and I took care of your bag), overhead operating lights, toolboxes for the mechanics, portable shelves and other units of power and medical devices. We typically have three moderately large, almost semi trucks worth of equipment for these teams.
Now the people who fly in are a slew of dentists, plastic surgeons, gynecologists, general practitioners, cooks, mechanics or mcgyvers, (sp?), pharmacists, nurses, general surgeons, translators, triage persona, and various other odd jobs tha occur around the hospital. It's quite the crew. So they fly into the city on Saturday night. I'm part of the welcoming committee that comes and lets them know about tour information after their weeks worth of hard work, and other specifics about the area we're traveling to and the rules involved there (i.e. the toilet paper). Sunday morning we load onto two or three large busses, travel to our location and set up the hospital. We work Monday to Saturday morning: surgeons prforming hysterectomies, herinias, many cleft lip and pallate surguries and various lumps and bumps. This week there were a total of 109 major surguries completed (discluding lumps and bumps). Meanwhile, the General practicioners are seeing patients - giving out worm medicine and lots of ibuprofen and vitamins. That's right, not everyone can afford basic pain medicines, and most of you don't spend your days working in a field or washing clothes my hand or carrying a week's worth of laundry on your head. The dentist are completing cleanings, fillings, a few crowns and a lot of pulling. Some small children have so much decay they have all four from teeth pulled out. THe pharmacy is pumping out drugs and the recovery room is filled with groaning babies, worried mothers, and vaious women and men. One woman this week, asked Dr. Schmidt, a gynecologist if he was the surgeon who put her in so much pain after her hysterectomy. He said yes. She replied "Thank you" with a kiss as she took his hand.
Friday comes and the town throws us a fiesta, complte with incredible typical food, and men dancing with fireworks strapped to their backs.
Saturday we tear the hospital down, and end up here. And by the next week, I'm set to do it all over agian.
Hopefully I'll have a few moments to add stories tomorrow. I think of all of you frequently, for various reasons. Today I'm wearing brown and baby blue, so Benjamin Bradley popped into my mind. It's small things like that that remind me from where I've come and how blessed I am to have such wonderful friends and love in my life.
Te quiero mucho,
Kelsey
Saturday, January 6, 2007
And So It Begins...
My last three days have been exhausting, exciting, and a million things at the same time. The flights were smooth, and I'm discovering that my spanish needs exercise... terribly. I must say, however, after three days I'm already fighting the urge to write to you in Spanish, or spanglish in the least.
I've been trying to keep track of things I learn each day. For instance, at 5:30am on Thursday morning I learned that Starbucks is a heck of a long hike from Councourse E in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. I also learned that the grocery store (El Paiz) carries everything from laundry detergent to shirts and ties and bras and underwear to apples and good wine. Driving here, as Megan Albertson (the Team Coordinator and my boss) quite accurately put it, is always a contact sport, and the lane lines... are merely a suggestion. I commend her greatly for her skills at mangaging a manual Toyota Land Rover and a cell phone at the same time. I've also found that boys tossing fire in the streets is a common novelty that can be paid in either granola bars or pudding.
However, the greatest things I've learned, or was reminded of rather, is the difference between Cansada and Casada. While I knew both words previously, their difference is between being married and tired. My seat neighbor, Juan, was a kind man from South Carolina with gold embellishments on his teeth. After learning where I was going and what I was doing in Guatemala, he asked me kindly if I was married. Thinking he had asked me if I was tired, I said of course. That was slightly embarassing. But after a little confusion, we got our differences figured out and made for a most enjoyable flight. He was going to visit his mother, and I was embarking on something I've never done before.
Yesterday, I learned that the Bodega (HELPS warehouse) is extremely dusty, and that my allergies will have a hay day in this country for the next five months. Bugs also are extremely attracted to dried celery. Kory and I found some friends while packing food yesterday afternoon, but don't worry Dad, we got rid of it and no one will be cooking with such a seasoning. I also found that Banks are located in malls. And that none of the banks in Guatemala accept Visa traveler's checks. There is also a national money shortage, and the banks are stingy when it comes to buying quetzales (Guatemalan money). Supposedly the man in charge forgot to order paper to print the money. Ooops.
I am staying at a wonderful place called Seteca. It's kind of a monestary/hostel, and is far more acommodating than I had expected. The compound is surrounded by a tall, cement, fence with circular barbed and electric wiring around its top. A guard carefully mans the gate and no one is let in or out without their safe knowledge. There are open grounds, basketball courts and soccer fields, a few small courtyards with garden benches and breezy windows. Any venture outside the compound however, is surely dangerous. It's amazing how the demeanor can change at a finger's snap. The first night I had a large eight legged friend first out my window and then above my head. He soon became good friends with the bottom of my shoe. Now normally I'd capture and bring him outside, but I was in my pajamas, and knew he probably was familiar with the way to enter again.
Well, I can only nab so much time in an internet cafe in Antigua. Tomorrow I'm off to church and possibly a little frisbee game with Kory and Rudy (a member of the HELPS staff). But for now, I'm off to the market, lunch and probably a glance at a pair of new earrings. Granted, nothing will be bought until later as my money is a sketchy situation. My parents were glad to hear I was still alive yesterday afternoon when I called, and my dad's cold seems to be clearing up well. I, on the other hand, may have to send for some allergy medecine. El polvo, or dust is a big problem.
I hope all is well in the states, and you aren't too cold in the snow! I apologize for my spastic writing, but it's been quite the jumble the last couple days.
Te amo mucho,
Kelsey
I've been trying to keep track of things I learn each day. For instance, at 5:30am on Thursday morning I learned that Starbucks is a heck of a long hike from Councourse E in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. I also learned that the grocery store (El Paiz) carries everything from laundry detergent to shirts and ties and bras and underwear to apples and good wine. Driving here, as Megan Albertson (the Team Coordinator and my boss) quite accurately put it, is always a contact sport, and the lane lines... are merely a suggestion. I commend her greatly for her skills at mangaging a manual Toyota Land Rover and a cell phone at the same time. I've also found that boys tossing fire in the streets is a common novelty that can be paid in either granola bars or pudding.
However, the greatest things I've learned, or was reminded of rather, is the difference between Cansada and Casada. While I knew both words previously, their difference is between being married and tired. My seat neighbor, Juan, was a kind man from South Carolina with gold embellishments on his teeth. After learning where I was going and what I was doing in Guatemala, he asked me kindly if I was married. Thinking he had asked me if I was tired, I said of course. That was slightly embarassing. But after a little confusion, we got our differences figured out and made for a most enjoyable flight. He was going to visit his mother, and I was embarking on something I've never done before.
Yesterday, I learned that the Bodega (HELPS warehouse) is extremely dusty, and that my allergies will have a hay day in this country for the next five months. Bugs also are extremely attracted to dried celery. Kory and I found some friends while packing food yesterday afternoon, but don't worry Dad, we got rid of it and no one will be cooking with such a seasoning. I also found that Banks are located in malls. And that none of the banks in Guatemala accept Visa traveler's checks. There is also a national money shortage, and the banks are stingy when it comes to buying quetzales (Guatemalan money). Supposedly the man in charge forgot to order paper to print the money. Ooops.
I am staying at a wonderful place called Seteca. It's kind of a monestary/hostel, and is far more acommodating than I had expected. The compound is surrounded by a tall, cement, fence with circular barbed and electric wiring around its top. A guard carefully mans the gate and no one is let in or out without their safe knowledge. There are open grounds, basketball courts and soccer fields, a few small courtyards with garden benches and breezy windows. Any venture outside the compound however, is surely dangerous. It's amazing how the demeanor can change at a finger's snap. The first night I had a large eight legged friend first out my window and then above my head. He soon became good friends with the bottom of my shoe. Now normally I'd capture and bring him outside, but I was in my pajamas, and knew he probably was familiar with the way to enter again.
Well, I can only nab so much time in an internet cafe in Antigua. Tomorrow I'm off to church and possibly a little frisbee game with Kory and Rudy (a member of the HELPS staff). But for now, I'm off to the market, lunch and probably a glance at a pair of new earrings. Granted, nothing will be bought until later as my money is a sketchy situation. My parents were glad to hear I was still alive yesterday afternoon when I called, and my dad's cold seems to be clearing up well. I, on the other hand, may have to send for some allergy medecine. El polvo, or dust is a big problem.
I hope all is well in the states, and you aren't too cold in the snow! I apologize for my spastic writing, but it's been quite the jumble the last couple days.
Te amo mucho,
Kelsey
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Cumulonimbus and the Birth of a Filly.
It's 2:00 A.M. and I'm refusing to pack.
Maybe my trouble is that I've refused to process anything past Wendesday the 20th for the last three or four weeks. Consequently, my last final occurred eight hours ago and I am thus at a complete loss. I understand my clothing isn't going to jump into suitcases and my lamps and notebooks aren't going to arrange themselves according to their size, filling tupperware containers just so... but I'm sitting here, listening to Drew Gordon plunk a geniusly crafted tune out on the piano, and don't particularly feel inclined to move. A terrible situation I've found myself in.
I'm not paralyzed in fear of my trip, or in fear of moving back to St. Cloud for two weeks. But perhaps, for the first time, the reality of my leaving is settling in. I've been saying "goodbye! Have a good semester! I won't be here!" with excitement endlessly. I never really know when the last encounter with a friend will be. Sometimes they show up less than 24 hours later and I have to say goodbye all over again. I'm always guessing.
However, tonight was just slightly different. It's my last night in Minneapolis for an extended period of time, and my last night with the proximity of many I care about. It's just a little more real than it's been before. I suppose in my logical, relational sort of brain I'll come to the conclusion that not packing isn't going to make the morning come any more slowly. But part of me wants it to. Yet I know it will all be here, waiting, when I get back to the states. And I'll get a glimpse of the city lights on the 4th of January when I drive to the airport at 4:00am.
Drew Gordon is still playing.. but it's now his song called "The Birth of a Filly," and I can't help but remember his apparent mantra as the eighth notes dance on top of his swinging 3/4 measures. For those who have never heard of him, Drew was an accompanist in the dance program and was dearly loved. He passed away early this past fall, and the Barbara Barker Center for Dance will always resonate with his quirky charms, enthused rhythms and endless, genuine love. He was a man of passions: never allowing the hurt of the world to reflect his nature and attention for the individual. I guess his mentality, subconciously, somehow has supported my desire to travel and do something that will make a direct impact. Because in so many senses, that was what he was about too. It's good to know someone else shares my passion for people. However, I am going for five months. Drew was "going" his entire life.
So maybe going is good. Not that I ever thought it wasn't. And maybe I'll start packing. After all, it is now closer to 2:30 than when I started and the clock will keep on keepin' time.
Maybe my trouble is that I've refused to process anything past Wendesday the 20th for the last three or four weeks. Consequently, my last final occurred eight hours ago and I am thus at a complete loss. I understand my clothing isn't going to jump into suitcases and my lamps and notebooks aren't going to arrange themselves according to their size, filling tupperware containers just so... but I'm sitting here, listening to Drew Gordon plunk a geniusly crafted tune out on the piano, and don't particularly feel inclined to move. A terrible situation I've found myself in.
I'm not paralyzed in fear of my trip, or in fear of moving back to St. Cloud for two weeks. But perhaps, for the first time, the reality of my leaving is settling in. I've been saying "goodbye! Have a good semester! I won't be here!" with excitement endlessly. I never really know when the last encounter with a friend will be. Sometimes they show up less than 24 hours later and I have to say goodbye all over again. I'm always guessing.
However, tonight was just slightly different. It's my last night in Minneapolis for an extended period of time, and my last night with the proximity of many I care about. It's just a little more real than it's been before. I suppose in my logical, relational sort of brain I'll come to the conclusion that not packing isn't going to make the morning come any more slowly. But part of me wants it to. Yet I know it will all be here, waiting, when I get back to the states. And I'll get a glimpse of the city lights on the 4th of January when I drive to the airport at 4:00am.
Drew Gordon is still playing.. but it's now his song called "The Birth of a Filly," and I can't help but remember his apparent mantra as the eighth notes dance on top of his swinging 3/4 measures. For those who have never heard of him, Drew was an accompanist in the dance program and was dearly loved. He passed away early this past fall, and the Barbara Barker Center for Dance will always resonate with his quirky charms, enthused rhythms and endless, genuine love. He was a man of passions: never allowing the hurt of the world to reflect his nature and attention for the individual. I guess his mentality, subconciously, somehow has supported my desire to travel and do something that will make a direct impact. Because in so many senses, that was what he was about too. It's good to know someone else shares my passion for people. However, I am going for five months. Drew was "going" his entire life.
So maybe going is good. Not that I ever thought it wasn't. And maybe I'll start packing. After all, it is now closer to 2:30 than when I started and the clock will keep on keepin' time.
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