I meant to spend a relaxed
afternoon in Chachapoyas running errands, seeing friends, and eating good food.
But instead, I had an unfortunate change of plans when I learned that my host
brother Lucho was in the hospital in Chachapoyas with his wife Bremilda and
Marlleli, my god-daughter. The last time I saw Marlleli was yesterday when she
had a cough but was otherwise running around. I hoped they were overreacting
bringing her here but nonetheless, hopped in a taxi to go to the hospital.
When I got there, Lucho was waiting
outside and walked me to the ER. He told me she has bronchitis and possible pneumonia.
In the ER room I greeted a tear-filled Bremie and a sobbing Marlleli with her
oxygen mask. It was so sad, poor baby. But she had all the color in her face
and besides looking scared, she looked alright. When the nurse came in to
change her to nasal canula, Bremie asked how long she’d need it. The nurse
impatiently replied “your baby needs this or she will die.” I’m not kidding.
Bremie asked again. She replied “Senora, we don’t know how long.” And left the
room. We all know that cranky and tired nurses exist everywhere, and for the
amount of time I’ve spent with nurses, I of course know and understand the
impatience. But this case was different. This time I knew that the patient
hadn’t finished primary school. This time I knew that this was only the second
time she’s left Chocta. This time I really understood how scary it must be to
in a big new place with a sick child and without answers. This time I realized
how valuable a little compassion can be.
My second rant is when a doctor and
his resident came in to listen to Marlleli’s lungs. They mutter to each other
“nada” after listening, ask Bremie again why she came in, and said Marlleli
needs to be hospitalized for the night. Then left. No answers, no reassurance.
Bremie looks at me with huge swollen eyes and asks why they kept saying “nada.”
From the perspective of a hardly educated, scared mom, you can imagine how that
sounds without explanation. I told her it’s a good thing. The doctors should
hear clear breaths without any other sound. If they heard any other sound it
would mean something is wrong. The tension left her face. How many times did I
do that when I was working with another nurse? Probably a lot. With how many
patients did I care enough about to get to know their personal back-story? Not
a lot.
I was recently reflecting with a friend on how slow it is going starting our projects. We felt like after almost 6 months (in June) we have nothing to show for ourselves except for some Spanish skills and a bit of personal growth. I may not have birthed a baby or established behavior change (yet) but I feel like in 6 quick months I have learned so much about myself, gained invaluable perspective, and will not come back the same.
