Diary of a Tsunami Doctor |
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February 7th, 2005 - 06:18AM |
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Photo: The IRC Banda Aceh, my last day here. Sitting on the plane with my colleague Rachel [Moresky], we're about two hours delayed. And it's "tidak ada masala," or no problem. We know we're going home, that we'll get there eventually, and that we definitely won't get there on time. . . . We noticed driving into Banda that it had changed. It was busier, active, cleaner of the waste and mud from the tsunami, although many twisted metal cars were still lined up on the sides of the roads into the city. . . . Ways that I think I've changed: my definition of poverty and the realization that the level of poverty is vast, but that people were very happy, despite this awful disaster. Makes me have a different set of eyes when I see my patients in Boston. I never see these types of diseases in Boston, unless they are immigrants or refugees, nor do I see this level of poverty, the absolute lack of anything material. But poverty in the United States is more of desperation, different than tropical and ravaged Indonesia. It's like the villagers don't realize that they are poor, because they have family, the faith, the village, they have relatives. They don't have electricity, running water, any possessions . . . but would always try to engage you in a smile, a wave. Kids would get the biggest kick out of me fumbling my Indonesian words, and would practically fall down laughing whenever I said maloumpa-aloom (phonetic and not actual spelling), the Aceh word for "see you later." Practicing in Boston, you also have really easy access to health for everyone, unlike here. When one of the patients would be sent home from the clinic, they often had many miles to go before they got home. Or, they would not seek care because they didn't realize how sick their child was. What am I feeling today? Like I got more out of this than I was able to give. There were days when I was sitting in the office trying to organize supplies or fill out forms, and patients would just stand there, trying to get my attention, waiting patiently, waiting for their turn, and it wouldn't end there always would be one more. Like the starfish story: a kid on the beach with endless stranded starfish. He's picking one up at a time and throwing them in the ocean. Someone comes along and asks him why he is doing this, when there's no possible way to save them all. The kid answers, "well, it makes a difference to this one" and promptly throws the starfish back in the ocean. One at a time, but at least you save one. I also felt that if I stopped moving, it would be hard to get started again because of the overwhelming nature of the things yet to do. . . . So I am bone tired and grateful to have had this experience. I'm grateful to my family and friends and colleagues who enabled me to go through work by taking my shifts or playing with the kids or making dinners for Ian. You know what you did, and thank you, terimah kasi. Hilarie Posted By: theirc | Asia, Diaries & Journals, Health, Tsunami Relief Permalink |
