I'm home in Massachusetts! I left Georgia on Thursday morning, drove to the Jacksonville airport, had a painful layover in Philly, and landed in Rhode Island. It was quite a journey, but definitely worth it. I've already been able to see all of my local family members and a majority of my friends from home, and I'll be heading to Philadelphia for New Year's Eve to see many of my college friends before flying back to Savannah on January 4.
I'm currently snowed in, which is quite annoying. However, I'm super grateful that I was accepted to both Emory and Tulane for a Master's in Public Health for next fall because it means I can escape at least a few more New England winters!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
El futuro del país
This morning, my mom called to tell me that a boy I went to elementary and middle school with was stabbed to death yesterday at 2am in Providence. We were never close friends; he was always a trouble-maker, so we didn't really hang around with the same people. Still, reading the article in the Boston Globe this morning immediately brought his face to mind. Unfortunately, and I say this with utmost respect, I'm not terribly surprised that this happened. If he was anything like the 8th grade-version that I remember, he probably didn't have a lot of direction in life.
Yesterday morning, just a few hours after this young (white) man was killed, the Senate voted to end discussion of the DREAM Act. They fell only 5 votes short, and 4 Senators abstained from voting. As I watched the final tally of votes appear on the screen, I immediately started crying. I was overcome with thinking about the youth who were suddenly told, yet again, that they mean nothing to our country. Many, if not most, of these young people have spent practically all of their lives in the United States and barely remember their "home country". They speak English, went to school here, and hope to build their adult lives here. Yet, with a quick vote by 100 people (mostly white men), their chances of becoming citizens of the United States were basically destroyed. And since Congress will become considerably more conservative for the next two years beginning next month, it will be a while before this piece of legislation is ever brought up again.
What message does this send to young people who were brought to the United States by their parents without the proper documentation? Does it say, "Study hard and work hard so that you'll get a good job and be able to contribute to society"? I don't think so.
Let's imagine a 6-month-old child who is brought to Philadelphia from Puebla, Mexico by her parents without legal documents. She grows up speaking Spanish at home and English at school. She is bright, making good grades and having exceptional communication skills, and wants to become a doctor. But when she wants to apply to college, she finds out she can't qualify for any federal loans. That's okay though; she gets accepted to a private university and is given enough merit scholarships so that she and her parents can pay for the rest of her education. She does very well in college, but now what? She can't apply to most graduate-level programs without a valid social security number. She can't apply for any decent jobs without a valid social security number. She can't apply to get a valid social security number without returning to Mexico (where she doesn't know anyone) and waiting the 15-ish years it takes to start the legal immigration process to the United States. So she's kind of stuck.
This is a true story. And there are hundreds of thousands of stories that are similar to it.
The DREAM Act wasn't an "amnesty bill." But it would've given this young woman, and many others, the opportunity to apply for citizenship in the United States if they had come to the US before the age of 16, lived here for at least 5 years, graduated from high school/got a GED, and completed at least 2 years of college/military service. After all those processes, the individual would still have about a 6 year waiting period. But it would've been an available path for young people to no longer be held responsible for the actions of their parents/guardians.
For me, the irony of tabling this bill is that our economy is a mess. And now there are lots of young adults who will be forced into unskilled labor, regardless of how smart and hard-working they are. Granted, even the most xenophobic people aren't suggesting we don't need unskilled labor in this country; after all, who would pick up our trash and mow our lawns and build our houses? But it might also be helpful to have more well-educated people who might be able to solve our financial/environmental/health/etc. problems.
So, why should undocumented youths stay in school? What is stopping them from dropping out of high school at age 16 and joining gangs or getting pregnant or working at McDonald's?
There are lots of issues related to our current immigration laws, and I do not think that the passing of the DREAM Act would've solved them. But it at least would've been progress, a step in the right direction.
I just pray, for all of those individuals who were directly affected by yesterday's quick vote, that they never give up their dreams. And for everyone else who feels that they have no direction in life, that they keep searching, preferably without the help of drugs and violence.
Yesterday morning, just a few hours after this young (white) man was killed, the Senate voted to end discussion of the DREAM Act. They fell only 5 votes short, and 4 Senators abstained from voting. As I watched the final tally of votes appear on the screen, I immediately started crying. I was overcome with thinking about the youth who were suddenly told, yet again, that they mean nothing to our country. Many, if not most, of these young people have spent practically all of their lives in the United States and barely remember their "home country". They speak English, went to school here, and hope to build their adult lives here. Yet, with a quick vote by 100 people (mostly white men), their chances of becoming citizens of the United States were basically destroyed. And since Congress will become considerably more conservative for the next two years beginning next month, it will be a while before this piece of legislation is ever brought up again.
What message does this send to young people who were brought to the United States by their parents without the proper documentation? Does it say, "Study hard and work hard so that you'll get a good job and be able to contribute to society"? I don't think so.
Let's imagine a 6-month-old child who is brought to Philadelphia from Puebla, Mexico by her parents without legal documents. She grows up speaking Spanish at home and English at school. She is bright, making good grades and having exceptional communication skills, and wants to become a doctor. But when she wants to apply to college, she finds out she can't qualify for any federal loans. That's okay though; she gets accepted to a private university and is given enough merit scholarships so that she and her parents can pay for the rest of her education. She does very well in college, but now what? She can't apply to most graduate-level programs without a valid social security number. She can't apply for any decent jobs without a valid social security number. She can't apply to get a valid social security number without returning to Mexico (where she doesn't know anyone) and waiting the 15-ish years it takes to start the legal immigration process to the United States. So she's kind of stuck.
This is a true story. And there are hundreds of thousands of stories that are similar to it.
The DREAM Act wasn't an "amnesty bill." But it would've given this young woman, and many others, the opportunity to apply for citizenship in the United States if they had come to the US before the age of 16, lived here for at least 5 years, graduated from high school/got a GED, and completed at least 2 years of college/military service. After all those processes, the individual would still have about a 6 year waiting period. But it would've been an available path for young people to no longer be held responsible for the actions of their parents/guardians.
For me, the irony of tabling this bill is that our economy is a mess. And now there are lots of young adults who will be forced into unskilled labor, regardless of how smart and hard-working they are. Granted, even the most xenophobic people aren't suggesting we don't need unskilled labor in this country; after all, who would pick up our trash and mow our lawns and build our houses? But it might also be helpful to have more well-educated people who might be able to solve our financial/environmental/health/etc. problems.
So, why should undocumented youths stay in school? What is stopping them from dropping out of high school at age 16 and joining gangs or getting pregnant or working at McDonald's?
There are lots of issues related to our current immigration laws, and I do not think that the passing of the DREAM Act would've solved them. But it at least would've been progress, a step in the right direction.
I just pray, for all of those individuals who were directly affected by yesterday's quick vote, that they never give up their dreams. And for everyone else who feels that they have no direction in life, that they keep searching, preferably without the help of drugs and violence.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
La Navidad
It's one week before Christmas and yesterday it was 71 degrees in Savannah. It kind of feels like October here; the leaves on the tree in our front yard are finally beginning to change colors. Last week it was actually quite chilly...then I realized that if I thought 30 degrees was cold, I will be in for a rude awakening when I venture back up to Massachusetts and Philly on Thursday. I think the only thing that reminds me that Christmas is looming is my house's beautiful holiday decorations and the music on the radio.
I don't think the commercialization of Christmas has ever bothered me as much as it does right now. When I get $100/month for personal spending, it's hard to justify buying gifts, especially the kind that you know the recipient doesn't need or even really want. Besides, now more than ever, I just want to be around my close friends and family. I want presence, not gifts.
I don't think the commercialization of Christmas has ever bothered me as much as it does right now. When I get $100/month for personal spending, it's hard to justify buying gifts, especially the kind that you know the recipient doesn't need or even really want. Besides, now more than ever, I just want to be around my close friends and family. I want presence, not gifts.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
La Virgencita
Wednesday was the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Although it's traditionally my second favorite holy day, I couldn't go to Mass because I was far too busy at the clinic. As I was secretly missing making fun of the people who sing "Breath of Heaven" to celebrate the day (which is commonly confused with the Annunciation), a very pregnant woman entered Good Samaritan. It turns out she is only one month from her due date and she recently learned that she has gestational diabetes. She is receiving her prenatal care elsewhere, and they referred her to a special high-risk pregnancy clinic for her diabetic care. However, she was told that she needed to bring $655 for her appointment at the latter location. She is currently not working and has two other kids, so, long story short, she didn't have the money and was hoping we could help her.
There really was nothing I could do in this situation. By law, Good Sam isn't allowed to serve women who are pregnant because of the liability involved. And although the fetus will eventually be a US
After the woman left, the volunteer had tears in her eyes as she said that throughout the long conversation, she couldn't help but think about the Virgin Mary looking for assistance as she was getting ready to give birth to Jesus. I think this was way more prayerful for me than going to Mass to remember Mary being born without original sin.
Today is the feast day of the Virgen de Guadalupe (the Church tried to move the celebration to yesterday because it's also the third Sunday of Advent, but whatever...). I spent Friday and Saturday evening at my parish to celebrate. It began with a procession from the soccer field to the church while we carried candles behind the framed picture of La Guadalupana, accompanied by mariachi music. Then there was Aztec dancing in front of the picture before Mass. Americas
On a side note, today is also Foundation Day for the Sisters of Mercy, so last night my community members and I went to Mass and dinner at the local convent. And tomorrow is the feast of St. Lucia
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Llena de miseria
For those of you who read Spanish, the title line of this blog entry probably worried you a bit. It translates in English to "full of misery," which probably sounds, well, miserable.
Actually, it is the full Latin translation of the word "misericordia", which is used in English directly as "mercy."
This week marks my fourth month in Savannah. It feels like home here: I know my surroundings, my community, and my place of service comfortably well. But for the past four months, I have been constantly searching for a definition of "mercy" that made sense for me within the context of the relationships here.
I actually stumbled upon this definition when I was reading something about the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of the four American church women in El Salvador on December 2. Although none of the women were Sisters of Mercy themselves, the publication was done by the Sisters of Mercy in the light of Advent. (If you need something to inspire you to be more merciful, read about the lives of Ita, Dorothy, Maura, and Jean.)
And finally, things are starting to make sense for me. I've seen a lot of "merciful" acts so far this year, with volunteers bringing volunteers for other volunteers at my clinic, with people wanting to support my community, with countless individuals being extremely patient with me, etc. But I had a feeling I was missing something.
Now, with this new definition of "mercy" in my head, the picture is a lot clearer. It can be summarized in the way I feel called to just sit and share in the suffering of the people who come to/call the Good Samaritan Clinic every day. There are a lot of things that no one in my clinic can do for people other than just listen to them. It's sometimes hard for me; I get antsy to finish filing charts or sending faxes or responding to emails. But I've become aware of the fact that if I am really supposed to be here as a Mercy Volunteer, then my biggest service to people has to be just being present.
This concept of mercy sounds kind of miserable, but that's not how I feel. Instead, I feel completely full of joy in understanding further each day how I am uniquely related to every other human being. Of course I get sad and frustrated on a regular basis, but sharing in peoples' sorrows also means sharing in peoples' joys. And through my own struggles and successes, I've become quite accepting of the way that everyone has both in life and that everyone deserves to share both with people who care.
Hmm...looks like I've also started to further define "solidarity" for myself in this attempt to sort out my thoughts on mercy.
Actually, it is the full Latin translation of the word "misericordia", which is used in English directly as "mercy."
This week marks my fourth month in Savannah. It feels like home here: I know my surroundings, my community, and my place of service comfortably well. But for the past four months, I have been constantly searching for a definition of "mercy" that made sense for me within the context of the relationships here.
I actually stumbled upon this definition when I was reading something about the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of the four American church women in El Salvador on December 2. Although none of the women were Sisters of Mercy themselves, the publication was done by the Sisters of Mercy in the light of Advent. (If you need something to inspire you to be more merciful, read about the lives of Ita, Dorothy, Maura, and Jean.)
And finally, things are starting to make sense for me. I've seen a lot of "merciful" acts so far this year, with volunteers bringing volunteers for other volunteers at my clinic, with people wanting to support my community, with countless individuals being extremely patient with me, etc. But I had a feeling I was missing something.
Now, with this new definition of "mercy" in my head, the picture is a lot clearer. It can be summarized in the way I feel called to just sit and share in the suffering of the people who come to/call the Good Samaritan Clinic every day. There are a lot of things that no one in my clinic can do for people other than just listen to them. It's sometimes hard for me; I get antsy to finish filing charts or sending faxes or responding to emails. But I've become aware of the fact that if I am really supposed to be here as a Mercy Volunteer, then my biggest service to people has to be just being present.
This concept of mercy sounds kind of miserable, but that's not how I feel. Instead, I feel completely full of joy in understanding further each day how I am uniquely related to every other human being. Of course I get sad and frustrated on a regular basis, but sharing in peoples' sorrows also means sharing in peoples' joys. And through my own struggles and successes, I've become quite accepting of the way that everyone has both in life and that everyone deserves to share both with people who care.
Hmm...looks like I've also started to further define "solidarity" for myself in this attempt to sort out my thoughts on mercy.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Las fábricas
Today as I was leaving work, I looked in my rear-view mirror and caught sight of what appeared to be city lights. I was really confused, since Savannah doesn't have a sky line. Then I realized that I was looking at the paper factory that I smell every time I go outside. I'm not sure I've ever paid attention to it in the evening, but it looks much prettier all lit up than it does during the day with all sorts of thick gray smoke surrounding it.
Factories are a very important part of my patients' lives. Many of them work in meat-packaging factories, which is another way of saying that they work in giant refrigerators. I get frustrated because those with the same employers all seem to have the same ailments: headaches, dizziness and stomach pains. They also complain of very dry, burning eyes and weird skin rashes. I would love to know the long-term side-effects of working in one of these factories 12 hours per day for several weeks/months/years.
Factories symbolize a lot for me. My grandfather went from working as a chemist in Italy to working in a factory in Massachusetts before he learned English. At that time, hard work in a factory meant being able to support one's family and potentially even "move up" in the world. Today, thanks to stagnant wages, full-time factory workers are generally still living significantly below the poverty line. This is bad enough in the U.S., but factory workers in most parts of the world have it much worse. And the argument about sweatshops is always a difficult one; after all, is it better to have a job making little money in bad conditions or no job at all?
Our society loves cheap goods that are made on assembly lines. Thanks to de-industrialization, most of this labor is out of sight and out of mind for people in the United States. Thus, we often don't think about the human price that is paid.
Factories are a very important part of my patients' lives. Many of them work in meat-packaging factories, which is another way of saying that they work in giant refrigerators. I get frustrated because those with the same employers all seem to have the same ailments: headaches, dizziness and stomach pains. They also complain of very dry, burning eyes and weird skin rashes. I would love to know the long-term side-effects of working in one of these factories 12 hours per day for several weeks/months/years.
Factories symbolize a lot for me. My grandfather went from working as a chemist in Italy to working in a factory in Massachusetts before he learned English. At that time, hard work in a factory meant being able to support one's family and potentially even "move up" in the world. Today, thanks to stagnant wages, full-time factory workers are generally still living significantly below the poverty line. This is bad enough in the U.S., but factory workers in most parts of the world have it much worse. And the argument about sweatshops is always a difficult one; after all, is it better to have a job making little money in bad conditions or no job at all?
Our society loves cheap goods that are made on assembly lines. Thanks to de-industrialization, most of this labor is out of sight and out of mind for people in the United States. Thus, we often don't think about the human price that is paid.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
El Día de Acción de Gracias
Happy Thanksgiving from Savannah! It doesn't actually feel like Thanksgiving here since it was 80 degrees and sunny. I actually went to the beach while the turkey finished cooking...
This was my first Thanksgiving without my family, which was kind of strange. It's also the first Thanksgiving I can remember in about a decade when I didn't have tons of homework to do after dinner. Instead I happily indulged in watching "Elf" and chatting around the table for hours.
We celebrated with Linda's children and grandchildren, which was pretty awesome. I really enjoy seeing Linda in the role of family matriarch :)
This year, I have so much to be thankful for. I have the perfect service placement, an amazing community, and beautiful surroundings. I think the best part is that last year at this time I NEVER would have predicted that I'd be where I am now. It makes me pretty excited to think about all the possibilities for between now and next Thanksgiving!
Thank you to all of you who are part of my amazing support system <3
This was my first Thanksgiving without my family, which was kind of strange. It's also the first Thanksgiving I can remember in about a decade when I didn't have tons of homework to do after dinner. Instead I happily indulged in watching "Elf" and chatting around the table for hours.
We celebrated with Linda's children and grandchildren, which was pretty awesome. I really enjoy seeing Linda in the role of family matriarch :)
This year, I have so much to be thankful for. I have the perfect service placement, an amazing community, and beautiful surroundings. I think the best part is that last year at this time I NEVER would have predicted that I'd be where I am now. It makes me pretty excited to think about all the possibilities for between now and next Thanksgiving!
Thank you to all of you who are part of my amazing support system <3
Monday, November 22, 2010
Caminando
I went to the vigil at the gates of Fort Benning in Columbus, GA for the first time when I was a freshman in college. I barely knew what I was getting involved with, but my roommate convinced me it'd be a good idea. I went to an info session hosted by WHINSEC, which is at the location of the former School of the Americas, and became a little confused about what I was actually protesting. I enjoyed the trip as a whole, but I felt full of questions on the 16 hour bus ride back to St. Joe's.
I was unable to go on the trip sophomore year because of an organic chemistry test that I wasn't allowed to miss. I was a little disappointed, but I got over it pretty quickly.
Then I studied abroad in Costa Rica during the summer between sophomore and junior year. One of the courses I took was on the history of Central America. My professor had studied at the UCA in El Salvador under several of the Jesuits who were later martyred and was therefore very passionate about teaching his students the role of the U.S. in the civil wars that plagued Latin America during la decada perdida (also known as the 1980s). The hardest question he ever asked me was why a building that was used to train many of the leaders of terrible war atrocities (aka the SOA) was still being used to train Latino soldiers. He understood quite clearly that the school's name had been changed in 2001 and that they no longer offered courses on torture tactics, but he also couldn't quite understand what good the school was doing for those of us (aka people paying taxes in the US) who were supporting it financially. For many places in Latin America, the school that is still standing represents torture, repression, loss of loved ones, and poor US foreign policy. Yet most people in the United States don't know of the school's existence.
Suddenly, the pilgrimage to Columbus made sense for me. Each year since then, as I've walked in solidarity with thousands of others to remember those who have died at the hands of SOA graduates, I've thought about the faces I know who have been most affected by the school's work. I've thought about stories of torture I heard first-hand in Guatemala and El Salvador, along with the countless terrible pictures I've seen of war atrocities done at the hands of graduates of the SOA, and I feel like as a US tax payer and voter, I have a responsibility to voice my criticisms of the school. After all, the people who have suffered the most no longer have voices to use. So in their memory, along with those who can't be present due to the failure of our immigration system or other miscellaneous reasons, I stand presente.
This past weekend, instead of taking a 16 hour bus ride from Philadelphia to Columbus, I made a 4 hour car ride with Regina across the state of Georgia. It was strange being there without many of my closest friends who have made the trip with me so many times before, but I enjoyed being with several wonderful Hawks for the weekend. I also got to experience the Golden Corral with the Sisters of Mercy, so I really couldn't ask for more. There were noticeably fewer people than usual at the vigil and rally, especially since the Ignatian Solidarity Network moved its teach-in to DC the weekend before. A lot seemed different overall, yet my reasons for being there were as strong as ever. After all, most of my patients at Good Samaritan Clinic are from countries that suffered at the hands of SOA graduates.
I don't necessarily agree with everything that happens at the rally at the gates of Ft. Benning. It sometimes feels like every organization present has its own agenda and like very person needs to feel like they are the most progressive one there. But when I get past all that and simply weep for those my government helped kill in places where I have left part of my heart, I know that I am in the right place.
I was unable to go on the trip sophomore year because of an organic chemistry test that I wasn't allowed to miss. I was a little disappointed, but I got over it pretty quickly.
Then I studied abroad in Costa Rica during the summer between sophomore and junior year. One of the courses I took was on the history of Central America. My professor had studied at the UCA in El Salvador under several of the Jesuits who were later martyred and was therefore very passionate about teaching his students the role of the U.S. in the civil wars that plagued Latin America during la decada perdida (also known as the 1980s). The hardest question he ever asked me was why a building that was used to train many of the leaders of terrible war atrocities (aka the SOA) was still being used to train Latino soldiers. He understood quite clearly that the school's name had been changed in 2001 and that they no longer offered courses on torture tactics, but he also couldn't quite understand what good the school was doing for those of us (aka people paying taxes in the US) who were supporting it financially. For many places in Latin America, the school that is still standing represents torture, repression, loss of loved ones, and poor US foreign policy. Yet most people in the United States don't know of the school's existence.
Suddenly, the pilgrimage to Columbus made sense for me. Each year since then, as I've walked in solidarity with thousands of others to remember those who have died at the hands of SOA graduates, I've thought about the faces I know who have been most affected by the school's work. I've thought about stories of torture I heard first-hand in Guatemala and El Salvador, along with the countless terrible pictures I've seen of war atrocities done at the hands of graduates of the SOA, and I feel like as a US tax payer and voter, I have a responsibility to voice my criticisms of the school. After all, the people who have suffered the most no longer have voices to use. So in their memory, along with those who can't be present due to the failure of our immigration system or other miscellaneous reasons, I stand presente.
This past weekend, instead of taking a 16 hour bus ride from Philadelphia to Columbus, I made a 4 hour car ride with Regina across the state of Georgia. It was strange being there without many of my closest friends who have made the trip with me so many times before, but I enjoyed being with several wonderful Hawks for the weekend. I also got to experience the Golden Corral with the Sisters of Mercy, so I really couldn't ask for more. There were noticeably fewer people than usual at the vigil and rally, especially since the Ignatian Solidarity Network moved its teach-in to DC the weekend before. A lot seemed different overall, yet my reasons for being there were as strong as ever. After all, most of my patients at Good Samaritan Clinic are from countries that suffered at the hands of SOA graduates.
I don't necessarily agree with everything that happens at the rally at the gates of Ft. Benning. It sometimes feels like every organization present has its own agenda and like very person needs to feel like they are the most progressive one there. But when I get past all that and simply weep for those my government helped kill in places where I have left part of my heart, I know that I am in the right place.
Monday, November 15, 2010
El altruismo
Disclaimer: This post will probably come off as pretty cynical.
A few months ago, someone asked me if I thought I was altruistic. I had no idea what she meant, so instead of me answering the question, the conversation turned into a philosophical debate about why some people care about others and why some prefer to only worry about those with whom they have close relationships. It then turned into a debate about whether or not altruism even exists.
Altruism: (n) The principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others (opposed to egoism) (Thanks to Dictionary.com)
Is it possible to do anything completely unselfishly? After all, each person has a unique set of personal needs, including the need to feel important and to have a purpose. And I would argue that most people who make their life revolve around service are gaining much more than they would ever be able to give. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, but it makes using the word "altruism" a little complicated, to say the least.
Currently, Extreme Makeover Home Edition is building a house for someone at the end of my street. My street is now blocked off to traffic and is full to the brim with trailers and random equipment. (I've never actually seen the show, so I'm not sure whether or not I've seen any famous TV personalities...)
I find myself frustrated by this presence. I'm not really annoyed about having to prove I live on my street or about the random noise...after all, it's only for a week. Instead, I feel like I am morally opposed to the show. After a lot of reflection over the past few days, I think the reason I don't like it is because it gives the sense that the people involved are altruistic, whereas my impression is really that those involved are seeking external approval and fame.
From what I've gathered, the premise of the show is that a family is chosen based on some cute sob story. They are then whisked away on vacation for a week while a team of 'round-the-clock volunteers knocks down their old house and builds a new one. The family is then brought back to their house and the cameras are rolling to show the rest of the country their reaction.
I don't find anything wrong with helping people rebuild houses. In fact, I've done it myself a few times, and they have been very transformative experiences. I was never on TV for doing it, and instead I faced a lot of criticism for "wasting my break" and "helping people who didn't deserve it." (Maybe this is where part of my frustration lies: after all, I bet people wouldn't have been so critical if I had been doing it on a reality TV show and if the family's story was a good tear-jerker.)
According to many different sources, in order to be selected for the show, the family needs to own their own land and needs to have a really compelling story (I guess my neighbor has a really sick child or something like that...) We are in an extremely nice area of Savannah...there isn't a high risk of crime or really any form of visible poverty until you cross several blocks. I guess this provides the various volunteers a way to feel good about themselves without being faced with questions about housing inequalities or problems in the education system or lack of access to health care...
I understand that what is being done for this family is nice. It's like that stupid parable about the starfish (moral: even if we can't help everyone, a difference is being made for this one individual). But I also think the show was created to make money, not to provide better housing. After all, if they wanted to do that, they might think to build more affordable housing.
Also, I am kind of frustrated by the waste that is incorporated in building this one house. They completely knocked down what appeared to be a solid brick structure. The house was a million times nicer than the average in the United States. I have no idea what the inside looked like, but I feel like it was unnecessary to knock it down in order to make it better. And so far the new house is completely over-the-top. I'm not trying to say that the family doesn't deserve an absolutely beautiful home...but when I see homeless guys lining up for lunch at a park about a mile away, I can't help but question peoples' priorities. Plus, I don't understand why this house needs to go up in a week. Have the producers of the show never heard the phrase "haste makes waste"? I know they're using a lot of volunteers, but I'm convinced that 90% of them just stand around in blue t-shirts and white hard-hats so that it looks like there's a large amount of community involvement while the other 10% are under a lot of pressure to get things done. I wish someone from the set would explain this all to me in a way that made sense, instead of just walking around acting like they own my neighborhood...
Who knows...maybe this show or lived experience in the neighborhood will inspire people to become more educated about different types of poverty and the reasons behind it...One can only hope...
Do I consider myself altruistic? No. I've learned and grown more by doing "service" that I can't even call it that seriously anymore. But do I wish more people would join the good fight because they were seeking to understand the true meaning of solidarity (or something along those lines)? Absolutely.
I'd love to hear what other people think on this topic...
A few months ago, someone asked me if I thought I was altruistic. I had no idea what she meant, so instead of me answering the question, the conversation turned into a philosophical debate about why some people care about others and why some prefer to only worry about those with whom they have close relationships. It then turned into a debate about whether or not altruism even exists.
Altruism: (n) The principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others (opposed to egoism) (Thanks to Dictionary.com)
Is it possible to do anything completely unselfishly? After all, each person has a unique set of personal needs, including the need to feel important and to have a purpose. And I would argue that most people who make their life revolve around service are gaining much more than they would ever be able to give. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, but it makes using the word "altruism" a little complicated, to say the least.
Currently, Extreme Makeover Home Edition is building a house for someone at the end of my street. My street is now blocked off to traffic and is full to the brim with trailers and random equipment. (I've never actually seen the show, so I'm not sure whether or not I've seen any famous TV personalities...)
I find myself frustrated by this presence. I'm not really annoyed about having to prove I live on my street or about the random noise...after all, it's only for a week. Instead, I feel like I am morally opposed to the show. After a lot of reflection over the past few days, I think the reason I don't like it is because it gives the sense that the people involved are altruistic, whereas my impression is really that those involved are seeking external approval and fame.
From what I've gathered, the premise of the show is that a family is chosen based on some cute sob story. They are then whisked away on vacation for a week while a team of 'round-the-clock volunteers knocks down their old house and builds a new one. The family is then brought back to their house and the cameras are rolling to show the rest of the country their reaction.
I don't find anything wrong with helping people rebuild houses. In fact, I've done it myself a few times, and they have been very transformative experiences. I was never on TV for doing it, and instead I faced a lot of criticism for "wasting my break" and "helping people who didn't deserve it." (Maybe this is where part of my frustration lies: after all, I bet people wouldn't have been so critical if I had been doing it on a reality TV show and if the family's story was a good tear-jerker.)
According to many different sources, in order to be selected for the show, the family needs to own their own land and needs to have a really compelling story (I guess my neighbor has a really sick child or something like that...) We are in an extremely nice area of Savannah...there isn't a high risk of crime or really any form of visible poverty until you cross several blocks. I guess this provides the various volunteers a way to feel good about themselves without being faced with questions about housing inequalities or problems in the education system or lack of access to health care...
I understand that what is being done for this family is nice. It's like that stupid parable about the starfish (moral: even if we can't help everyone, a difference is being made for this one individual). But I also think the show was created to make money, not to provide better housing. After all, if they wanted to do that, they might think to build more affordable housing.
Also, I am kind of frustrated by the waste that is incorporated in building this one house. They completely knocked down what appeared to be a solid brick structure. The house was a million times nicer than the average in the United States. I have no idea what the inside looked like, but I feel like it was unnecessary to knock it down in order to make it better. And so far the new house is completely over-the-top. I'm not trying to say that the family doesn't deserve an absolutely beautiful home...but when I see homeless guys lining up for lunch at a park about a mile away, I can't help but question peoples' priorities. Plus, I don't understand why this house needs to go up in a week. Have the producers of the show never heard the phrase "haste makes waste"? I know they're using a lot of volunteers, but I'm convinced that 90% of them just stand around in blue t-shirts and white hard-hats so that it looks like there's a large amount of community involvement while the other 10% are under a lot of pressure to get things done. I wish someone from the set would explain this all to me in a way that made sense, instead of just walking around acting like they own my neighborhood...
Who knows...maybe this show or lived experience in the neighborhood will inspire people to become more educated about different types of poverty and the reasons behind it...One can only hope...
Do I consider myself altruistic? No. I've learned and grown more by doing "service" that I can't even call it that seriously anymore. But do I wish more people would join the good fight because they were seeking to understand the true meaning of solidarity (or something along those lines)? Absolutely.
I'd love to hear what other people think on this topic...
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Los bebés y el río
I am SO sick of the story about the babies floating down the river. You know... the one where a village discovers dead babies floating down the river and keep pulling them out, one by one, until finally someone thinks to go up river and find out exactly why there are babies dying and floating downstream.
Lately I feel like I'm constantly pulling babies out of the river while my heart just wants to run up the river and work on the underlying issues. (I guess it's a good thing I'm applying to public health school instead of medical school...) Obviously the big underlying issues I'm dealing with are health care and immigration, but I think it would help to be a little bit more focused in my case. Currently, there are two big on-going issues at the Good Samaritan Clinic:
1. Tons of our patients are from more than an hour away in rural Georgia. This makes their care quite difficult, since they can't exactly run down the street to get their fasting lab drawn or to have an X-ray or whatever. In fact, most of them can't make it to do a new patient assessment with a nurse before their actual appointment with a doctor, which creates less productive appointments in the long-run. I get super frustrated by this and wish I could just go start another clinic with Good Sam's model in Claxton or Hinesville or Glennville...but instead, I spend hours on the phone each day trying to coordinate peoples' appointments based on travel and my patients waste valuable work hours in the car going to and from Savannah.
2. Another clinic in Savannah is absolutely horrible according to many of its patients. The clinic is a federally qualified health center (aka it receives lots of federal stimulus money) and currently gets all of the Chatham County health care funds (the latter point is supposed to change soon, but that's a relative amount of time in the south...). They charge their patients based on a sliding scale, but are very militant with making sure to collect the money. Most people are charged $12 per visit and $7 per prescription, which isn't a lot of money and obviously doesn't help much with the operations costs. However, many of the people who come to my clinic are barely making it financially, so an extra $20 or so will actually break the bank. Theoretically, the other clinic isn't allowed to turn people away if they can't pay, yet person after person has come to my door and said that they were made to feel unwelcome because of their inability to pay (especially at the end of the month). Good Samaritan doesn't receive federal, state, or county money, and never has. We want to serve everyone we can, but it seems ridiculous that we would be expected to pick up the slack of another clinic in town that keeps getting more and more funding. I want to find out why the other clinic is being so ridiculous (after all, maybe it's just one or two tough employees) and what we can do to work collaboratively. However, I feel so overwhelmed with keeping up with all the other daily operations work at Good Sam that I would have no way to figure out what's going on at the other clinic.
In a way, I know it would be worth the time investment to think creatively about how to be more efficient with the care at Good Sam. I can think that all I want as I sit here calmly, on my couch on a Tuesday evening. However, when the phone is ringing off the hook and people are ringing the doorbell and Good Sam is experiencing lots of internal changes as it is, it seems nearly impossible to do more with my working hours.
No wonder people are scared of big reforms in this country. I think it's kind of a comfort to focus on what's in front of our faces and not dig deeper. After all, asking questions can lead to very messy answers.
Lately I feel like I'm constantly pulling babies out of the river while my heart just wants to run up the river and work on the underlying issues. (I guess it's a good thing I'm applying to public health school instead of medical school...) Obviously the big underlying issues I'm dealing with are health care and immigration, but I think it would help to be a little bit more focused in my case. Currently, there are two big on-going issues at the Good Samaritan Clinic:
1. Tons of our patients are from more than an hour away in rural Georgia. This makes their care quite difficult, since they can't exactly run down the street to get their fasting lab drawn or to have an X-ray or whatever. In fact, most of them can't make it to do a new patient assessment with a nurse before their actual appointment with a doctor, which creates less productive appointments in the long-run. I get super frustrated by this and wish I could just go start another clinic with Good Sam's model in Claxton or Hinesville or Glennville...but instead, I spend hours on the phone each day trying to coordinate peoples' appointments based on travel and my patients waste valuable work hours in the car going to and from Savannah.
2. Another clinic in Savannah is absolutely horrible according to many of its patients. The clinic is a federally qualified health center (aka it receives lots of federal stimulus money) and currently gets all of the Chatham County health care funds (the latter point is supposed to change soon, but that's a relative amount of time in the south...). They charge their patients based on a sliding scale, but are very militant with making sure to collect the money. Most people are charged $12 per visit and $7 per prescription, which isn't a lot of money and obviously doesn't help much with the operations costs. However, many of the people who come to my clinic are barely making it financially, so an extra $20 or so will actually break the bank. Theoretically, the other clinic isn't allowed to turn people away if they can't pay, yet person after person has come to my door and said that they were made to feel unwelcome because of their inability to pay (especially at the end of the month). Good Samaritan doesn't receive federal, state, or county money, and never has. We want to serve everyone we can, but it seems ridiculous that we would be expected to pick up the slack of another clinic in town that keeps getting more and more funding. I want to find out why the other clinic is being so ridiculous (after all, maybe it's just one or two tough employees) and what we can do to work collaboratively. However, I feel so overwhelmed with keeping up with all the other daily operations work at Good Sam that I would have no way to figure out what's going on at the other clinic.
In a way, I know it would be worth the time investment to think creatively about how to be more efficient with the care at Good Sam. I can think that all I want as I sit here calmly, on my couch on a Tuesday evening. However, when the phone is ringing off the hook and people are ringing the doorbell and Good Sam is experiencing lots of internal changes as it is, it seems nearly impossible to do more with my working hours.
No wonder people are scared of big reforms in this country. I think it's kind of a comfort to focus on what's in front of our faces and not dig deeper. After all, asking questions can lead to very messy answers.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
La pobreza
Sometimes I don't think about the fact that all of my patients are poor. I don't know if I've just become desensitized to having people tell me their total income is $800/month, or if it's because people tend to get somewhat dressed up to go to the doctor. Regardless, last night while I was interpreting for one of our doctors, the living situation of many of our Hispanic patients really hit me. This is only one example, and although each individual is different, I think it gives a good picture of the home and work conditions that make it hard to provide helpful medical treatment.
A Nicaraguan woman who I've been trying to get in touch with for the past few weeks finally showed up. Her and her husband just moved and changed their cell phone numbers. (Side note: This is pretty standard, but I usually end up calling every number the patient had ever listed and ask people if they know where said patient is. However, in this case, even when I got in touch with the couple's friends, no one seemed to know their new contact information.) The woman, who I'll call "A", presented with severe lower back pain. She proceeded to explain to me that she had come in August and was given 2 meds, but that her and her husband couldn't afford them. When the couple finally got work and could afford the meds, "A" was working such strange shifts that she was afraid of messing up the pill schedule. She goes to work at 5am, but she can't eat that early. One of the meds was supposed to be taken an hour before eating, but her break was at 9 and that was when she would eat breakfast (and she said she couldn't take the pill an hour earlier amidst working). Long story short: she never took the medicine she was prescribed. The doctor kind of rolled his eyes; after all, this is noncompliance. "A" then continued explaining that she used to sleep on some sort of "cushion" on the floor. However, now she sleeps on a blow-up mattress. The other night, she tried to get up to go to the bathroom, but her lower back hurt so badly that she ended up literally crawling out of bed. The next night, her husband pumped more air into the mattress so that it was a little firmer, and she said she felt a little bit better when she woke up in the morning. Additionally, though, her feet swell when she's working and become quite painful by the time she leaves to go home. The doctor said that she should try to alternate sitting and standing at work, and "A" looked bewildered. She works at a label-making factory, so she works 12-hour shifts on her feet with two short breaks. The doctor suggested that she wear compression stalkings (yeah, try explaining what those are in Spanish...) and that she put her feet up after work. He wrote her two new prescriptions of anti-inflammatory meds (from the $4 list) that she could take with food twice a day, and told her to make sure the mattress she sleeps on is as firm as possible.
The doctor was very nice. "A" and her husband are extremely sweet, so I guess it'd be hard not to be nice. But when I left the room, I couldn't help but wonder if the doctor had ever slept on the floor. As I lay down in my very comfortable bed last night, I tried to bring myself back to service trips where I've slept on the floor of a soup kitchen or YMCA gym for just a week at a time. I remembered the lower back pain as if it were yesterday, and then I tried to imagine doing that for years on end. That, coupled with 12 hour shifts working at a factory, coupled with struggling financially, made me feel depressed even thinking about it.
A Nicaraguan woman who I've been trying to get in touch with for the past few weeks finally showed up. Her and her husband just moved and changed their cell phone numbers. (Side note: This is pretty standard, but I usually end up calling every number the patient had ever listed and ask people if they know where said patient is. However, in this case, even when I got in touch with the couple's friends, no one seemed to know their new contact information.) The woman, who I'll call "A", presented with severe lower back pain. She proceeded to explain to me that she had come in August and was given 2 meds, but that her and her husband couldn't afford them. When the couple finally got work and could afford the meds, "A" was working such strange shifts that she was afraid of messing up the pill schedule. She goes to work at 5am, but she can't eat that early. One of the meds was supposed to be taken an hour before eating, but her break was at 9 and that was when she would eat breakfast (and she said she couldn't take the pill an hour earlier amidst working). Long story short: she never took the medicine she was prescribed. The doctor kind of rolled his eyes; after all, this is noncompliance. "A" then continued explaining that she used to sleep on some sort of "cushion" on the floor. However, now she sleeps on a blow-up mattress. The other night, she tried to get up to go to the bathroom, but her lower back hurt so badly that she ended up literally crawling out of bed. The next night, her husband pumped more air into the mattress so that it was a little firmer, and she said she felt a little bit better when she woke up in the morning. Additionally, though, her feet swell when she's working and become quite painful by the time she leaves to go home. The doctor said that she should try to alternate sitting and standing at work, and "A" looked bewildered. She works at a label-making factory, so she works 12-hour shifts on her feet with two short breaks. The doctor suggested that she wear compression stalkings (yeah, try explaining what those are in Spanish...) and that she put her feet up after work. He wrote her two new prescriptions of anti-inflammatory meds (from the $4 list) that she could take with food twice a day, and told her to make sure the mattress she sleeps on is as firm as possible.
The doctor was very nice. "A" and her husband are extremely sweet, so I guess it'd be hard not to be nice. But when I left the room, I couldn't help but wonder if the doctor had ever slept on the floor. As I lay down in my very comfortable bed last night, I tried to bring myself back to service trips where I've slept on the floor of a soup kitchen or YMCA gym for just a week at a time. I remembered the lower back pain as if it were yesterday, and then I tried to imagine doing that for years on end. That, coupled with 12 hour shifts working at a factory, coupled with struggling financially, made me feel depressed even thinking about it.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
La vida sencilla
Today it was 80 degrees in Savannah and there was not a cloud to be found in the sky. I went to the beach with my roomies, like I've done literally every weekend since I got here in August. Regina was holding a book and a towel, and as we got comfortable on the sand, she said, "This is what I call simple living."
Before I started MVC, I was under the impression that full-time volunteers lived in poverty. However, I've come to realize that, if you include the amount that is being paid for my housing, transportation, food, health insurance, telephone, cable, and internet, I'm making significantly more money than almost all of my patients. So although I only have $100/month as "spending money", I don't feel any type of need. To be honest, I don't think I've ever spent more than $100 in a month on non-necessities. Well, other than for traveling, but I can't really do that this year. (Unless you count the two conferences I've had in St. Simons and Atlanta, or my weekend visit to Hilton Head.)
Living simply has taken on a new meaning for me, though. I am perfectly satisfied just being. I don't feel the need to fill my schedule to the brim. I work hard during the week, but the weirdest thing has happened...I've found that my work has become a higher quality now that I'm not constantly exhausted.
I think the beautiful weather and scenery in Savannah is good for my soul. I'm so happy I'm here, even when I'm fighting constant frustrations with the immigration and health care systems. I know I'm in the right place, yet I'm also really content to know that it's only for a year.
So how is my life simple now compared to what it was in college? Now my weekend materials include a water bottle, running shoes, a towel, rice cakes, a good book, and my journal. No more note cards, laptops, heavy books, binders, etc. Everything I do that isn't in my work week feels like a treat. I'm not constantly surrounded by hundreds of people and countless activity possibilities, but walking around City Market or Tybee Island with a few close friends (such as my visitors) is the best thing I could ever imagine.
I honestly don't miss trying to fit as many meetings, meal dates, classes, labs, volunteer endeavors, etc. as possible into each day. I've realized that the quality of what I did was not what it could have been. And the overall quality of my life certainly was not its best.
I recommend that everyone attempt this simple living thing for at least one period of time. It's awesome.
Before I started MVC, I was under the impression that full-time volunteers lived in poverty. However, I've come to realize that, if you include the amount that is being paid for my housing, transportation, food, health insurance, telephone, cable, and internet, I'm making significantly more money than almost all of my patients. So although I only have $100/month as "spending money", I don't feel any type of need. To be honest, I don't think I've ever spent more than $100 in a month on non-necessities. Well, other than for traveling, but I can't really do that this year. (Unless you count the two conferences I've had in St. Simons and Atlanta, or my weekend visit to Hilton Head.)
Living simply has taken on a new meaning for me, though. I am perfectly satisfied just being. I don't feel the need to fill my schedule to the brim. I work hard during the week, but the weirdest thing has happened...I've found that my work has become a higher quality now that I'm not constantly exhausted.
I think the beautiful weather and scenery in Savannah is good for my soul. I'm so happy I'm here, even when I'm fighting constant frustrations with the immigration and health care systems. I know I'm in the right place, yet I'm also really content to know that it's only for a year.
So how is my life simple now compared to what it was in college? Now my weekend materials include a water bottle, running shoes, a towel, rice cakes, a good book, and my journal. No more note cards, laptops, heavy books, binders, etc. Everything I do that isn't in my work week feels like a treat. I'm not constantly surrounded by hundreds of people and countless activity possibilities, but walking around City Market or Tybee Island with a few close friends (such as my visitors) is the best thing I could ever imagine.
I honestly don't miss trying to fit as many meetings, meal dates, classes, labs, volunteer endeavors, etc. as possible into each day. I've realized that the quality of what I did was not what it could have been. And the overall quality of my life certainly was not its best.
I recommend that everyone attempt this simple living thing for at least one period of time. It's awesome.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Lo normal no existe
I have no idea where October came from. My days pass too quickly, and before I know it the weekend is upon me. Suddenly, it went from intolerably hot weather to very beautiful "autumn" weather (and by autumn I mean that people from Georgia wear their boots and scarves while Yankees like me are still wearing shorts and flip-flops).
This past week was insane, but I'm starting to realize that every week kind of is at the clinic. That's one reason health care has always interested me I guess; there's no such thing as "normal."
A few updates:
-In regards to the woman with the ectopic pregnancy:
"R" called my supervisor on Monday morning and said that she hadn't had any type of surgery and that she still was in excruciating pain. My supervisor called a gynecologist who works within our hospital system and asked that she be seen immediately. It was 10am while all this was happening, and by 10:30 my supervisor and I were knocking on the door of R's double-wide trailer on the boarder of Garden City and Savannah. We then drove her to the gynecologist and interpreted for her. It turns out that she was, at one point in the last month, pregnant (according to 2 blood tests and 2 urine tests). However, despite claiming that she didn't bleed much since then, blood tests now confirm that she is not pregnant. (I asked the obvious question, "Where did it go?" but was ignored, so I still don't know.) They proceeded to do an ultrasound on R and discovered a 10cm cyst on her left ovary (that's the size of a newborn baby's head) and a hemorrhaging 4cm cyst on her right ovary. By the way, when she went to the gynecologist the week before without a translator, the nurse claimed she "couldn't see her right ovary". Maybe I'm a cynic, but I feel like they tried a lot harder with my supervisor and I sitting there watching the ultrasound as it was taking place. Anyway, the gynecologist said he would do an operation to remove the cysts. At first his nurse said that R should fast for the rest of the day in case they were able to get her into surgery that afternoon. R is diabetic and hypertensive, but she obliged. We brought her back to Good Sam and had her rest on one of our tables while we waited to hear back from the doctor. By 3pm, she was super dizzy, so I called the doctor's office and found out that she wouldn't be scheduled for that day or the following day. R and I then went to get some lunch at the sub shop next door. We had an awesome conversation about how the world would be a better place if everyone just helped each other out to the extent that they were able to. She told me about how she speaks a little English and has a car, so she drives other Hispanic immigrants to their appointments and helps them find the social services they need. It made me smile :)
R's husband came and picked her up around 3:30pm. The next day, I found out that the clinic that she officially is a patient at needs to send medical approval for her to receive the surgery. When I called her doctor, the woman's response was, "Why are you even involved?" I guess it's a fair question; R has never been seen by any practitioner at Good Sam. But the clinic she goes to in Savannah is huge and told her there wasn't much they could do for her. My supervisor and I had the Spanish skills, time, and hospital connections to help R out, so we did. She should be having the surgery sometime this coming week.
-In regards to my patient with breast cancer:
"N" thankfully had breast surgery yesterday. We were worried for a while because she had an abnormal EKG and her potassium levels were dangerously low. I spent a lot of time on Wednesday trying to schedule her a nuclear stress test and working with the nurse at the cancer center to up her dose of potassium. I'm really worried about N, and am looking forward to calling her on Monday to check in.
Funny anecdote of the week:
One of my patients called and asked how old I am. I told him to guess, and his response was "I don't know, but you have a sexy young voice." He's 38. Ew.
Crazy stories of the week:
1. On Wednesday I got a call from a guy who needed Lortab and Xanax. He's from somewhere in the middle of nowhere Georgia and said that his regular doctor is out of town for a few days. I explained that he needed to get his prescribing doctor to authorize the refills. He proceeded to explain that his ex-fiance picked up his pills from Walmart the week before and instead of giving them to him, she sold them. Evidently he had asked that no one except him be allowed to pick up his meds from the store, but she obviously knew his date of birth, address, phone number, etc. and the pharmacy tech at Walmart thought it would be fine. So now he's living with relatives in Savannah while he's waiting for the police in his town to deal with his fiance. Cool.
2. Yesterday a woman called to make an appointment for her boyfriend's "relative." She explained that he was in an accident in Louisiana but had no other relatives in the U.S. so her boyfriend took him in. He had 2 surgeries on his back in Louisiana about a week ago and is now in Savannah. It took me like 10 minutes to understand what she was saying (I'm not used to hearing the word "Louisiana", especially not in Spanish), but he's coming in Wednesday to get his stitches/staples out. It sometimes amazes me the things that people will do to help each other. I can't wait to hear how he got from Louisiana to Savannah.
Personal update of the week:
I applied to grad school! I applied to Emory and Tulane for a Master's in Public Health with concentrations in international community health development. Both programs also have a Peace Corps component. Hopefully I'll hear back soon!
This past week was insane, but I'm starting to realize that every week kind of is at the clinic. That's one reason health care has always interested me I guess; there's no such thing as "normal."
A few updates:
-In regards to the woman with the ectopic pregnancy:
"R" called my supervisor on Monday morning and said that she hadn't had any type of surgery and that she still was in excruciating pain. My supervisor called a gynecologist who works within our hospital system and asked that she be seen immediately. It was 10am while all this was happening, and by 10:30 my supervisor and I were knocking on the door of R's double-wide trailer on the boarder of Garden City and Savannah. We then drove her to the gynecologist and interpreted for her. It turns out that she was, at one point in the last month, pregnant (according to 2 blood tests and 2 urine tests). However, despite claiming that she didn't bleed much since then, blood tests now confirm that she is not pregnant. (I asked the obvious question, "Where did it go?" but was ignored, so I still don't know.) They proceeded to do an ultrasound on R and discovered a 10cm cyst on her left ovary (that's the size of a newborn baby's head) and a hemorrhaging 4cm cyst on her right ovary. By the way, when she went to the gynecologist the week before without a translator, the nurse claimed she "couldn't see her right ovary". Maybe I'm a cynic, but I feel like they tried a lot harder with my supervisor and I sitting there watching the ultrasound as it was taking place. Anyway, the gynecologist said he would do an operation to remove the cysts. At first his nurse said that R should fast for the rest of the day in case they were able to get her into surgery that afternoon. R is diabetic and hypertensive, but she obliged. We brought her back to Good Sam and had her rest on one of our tables while we waited to hear back from the doctor. By 3pm, she was super dizzy, so I called the doctor's office and found out that she wouldn't be scheduled for that day or the following day. R and I then went to get some lunch at the sub shop next door. We had an awesome conversation about how the world would be a better place if everyone just helped each other out to the extent that they were able to. She told me about how she speaks a little English and has a car, so she drives other Hispanic immigrants to their appointments and helps them find the social services they need. It made me smile :)
R's husband came and picked her up around 3:30pm. The next day, I found out that the clinic that she officially is a patient at needs to send medical approval for her to receive the surgery. When I called her doctor, the woman's response was, "Why are you even involved?" I guess it's a fair question; R has never been seen by any practitioner at Good Sam. But the clinic she goes to in Savannah is huge and told her there wasn't much they could do for her. My supervisor and I had the Spanish skills, time, and hospital connections to help R out, so we did. She should be having the surgery sometime this coming week.
-In regards to my patient with breast cancer:
"N" thankfully had breast surgery yesterday. We were worried for a while because she had an abnormal EKG and her potassium levels were dangerously low. I spent a lot of time on Wednesday trying to schedule her a nuclear stress test and working with the nurse at the cancer center to up her dose of potassium. I'm really worried about N, and am looking forward to calling her on Monday to check in.
Funny anecdote of the week:
One of my patients called and asked how old I am. I told him to guess, and his response was "I don't know, but you have a sexy young voice." He's 38. Ew.
Crazy stories of the week:
1. On Wednesday I got a call from a guy who needed Lortab and Xanax. He's from somewhere in the middle of nowhere Georgia and said that his regular doctor is out of town for a few days. I explained that he needed to get his prescribing doctor to authorize the refills. He proceeded to explain that his ex-fiance picked up his pills from Walmart the week before and instead of giving them to him, she sold them. Evidently he had asked that no one except him be allowed to pick up his meds from the store, but she obviously knew his date of birth, address, phone number, etc. and the pharmacy tech at Walmart thought it would be fine. So now he's living with relatives in Savannah while he's waiting for the police in his town to deal with his fiance. Cool.
2. Yesterday a woman called to make an appointment for her boyfriend's "relative." She explained that he was in an accident in Louisiana but had no other relatives in the U.S. so her boyfriend took him in. He had 2 surgeries on his back in Louisiana about a week ago and is now in Savannah. It took me like 10 minutes to understand what she was saying (I'm not used to hearing the word "Louisiana", especially not in Spanish), but he's coming in Wednesday to get his stitches/staples out. It sometimes amazes me the things that people will do to help each other. I can't wait to hear how he got from Louisiana to Savannah.
Personal update of the week:
I applied to grad school! I applied to Emory and Tulane for a Master's in Public Health with concentrations in international community health development. Both programs also have a Peace Corps component. Hopefully I'll hear back soon!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Lo difícil
It's been a rough week, and it's not even Friday yet.
1. One of my favorite patients has breast cancer. She is Filipino and doesn't have any family except for her sister in Texas. She's already had a million other problems and has no income. On Tuesday night, she had to come get labs drawn at the clinic and she ended up sitting next to me and crying for almost an hour. She asked me if she was going to die and then proceeded to think aloud about how she shouldn't be afraid to die because God would take care of her. It was a heart-wrenching conversation made worse by the fact that since she'll get emergency Medicaid for the surgery and subsequent radiation therapy, she can't technically be a patient at Good Sam during the cancer treatment. When she asked me about this, she prefaced it with, "You all saved my life. I don't want to go anywhere else." Since we've also been caring for her fibromyalgia, carpal tunnel syndrome, etc., I'm hoping that we can sort of adjust our policy for her. After all, the minute the cancer treatment is done will be the minute that she's dropped from Medicaid.
2. Last Wednesday, a woman came in and wanted to see a doctor. She wasn't our patient, and we can't really accommodate walk-ins. When I explained this, she asked if she could talk to me somewhere in private. We went into the back and she told me that she had gone to the hospital a few days earlier with really severe abdominal pain. She has an IUD and an ultrasound suggested that she has an ectopic pregnancy. The hospital sent her home and told her to return if the pain worsened. So she came to Good Sam to find out if we could help her. The last I heard was that she was back in the hospital early this week so I'm hoping they'll remove her Fallopian tube (or that they already have). I can't help but wonder what would've been done if she had been insured and/or an English-speaker.
3. Yesterday evening, I went to a memorial Mass for the mother-in-law of one of the volunteer interpreters at the clinic. The family is Peruvian and the service was at the Hispanic church I wrote about recently. It was a beautiful ceremony but was also very solemn. However, I couldn't help but smile watching the family take random pictures of the church and assembly during the Mass. Plus, the last song was the prayer of Santa Teresa de Avila (which I said every day for most of high school)...so beautiful.
4. Today a woman and her daughter came to the door of the clinic. They are Puerto Rican and the daughter immediately started explaining to me in very anxious English that her mom had "serious health problems" and needed to see a doctor. I finally convinced them to tell me what was going on after some coaxing in Spanish, and it turned out that she has HIV and has been off all medications for at least 7 months. She went to the hospital a few weeks ago with severe abdominal pain and it turned out that she was having liver complications. She also has high blood pressure, high cholesterol, etc. The Emergency Department recommended that she follow up with the Good Samaritan Clinic. However, we don't have the capacity to deal with anti-retrovirals and the complications associated with HIV (which could be AIDS by this point, since she was diagnosed 13 years ago). The mother started crying when I recommended that she go to another area clinic that specializes in HIV/AIDS and its complications. She told me that people at the hospital were rude and that she's frustrated with everything. It was painful but I finally convinced her to try the other place and then to call me tomorrow to let me know if we can help her in any other way.
I love my job, but it's certainly not easy sometimes.
1. One of my favorite patients has breast cancer. She is Filipino and doesn't have any family except for her sister in Texas. She's already had a million other problems and has no income. On Tuesday night, she had to come get labs drawn at the clinic and she ended up sitting next to me and crying for almost an hour. She asked me if she was going to die and then proceeded to think aloud about how she shouldn't be afraid to die because God would take care of her. It was a heart-wrenching conversation made worse by the fact that since she'll get emergency Medicaid for the surgery and subsequent radiation therapy, she can't technically be a patient at Good Sam during the cancer treatment. When she asked me about this, she prefaced it with, "You all saved my life. I don't want to go anywhere else." Since we've also been caring for her fibromyalgia, carpal tunnel syndrome, etc., I'm hoping that we can sort of adjust our policy for her. After all, the minute the cancer treatment is done will be the minute that she's dropped from Medicaid.
2. Last Wednesday, a woman came in and wanted to see a doctor. She wasn't our patient, and we can't really accommodate walk-ins. When I explained this, she asked if she could talk to me somewhere in private. We went into the back and she told me that she had gone to the hospital a few days earlier with really severe abdominal pain. She has an IUD and an ultrasound suggested that she has an ectopic pregnancy. The hospital sent her home and told her to return if the pain worsened. So she came to Good Sam to find out if we could help her. The last I heard was that she was back in the hospital early this week so I'm hoping they'll remove her Fallopian tube (or that they already have). I can't help but wonder what would've been done if she had been insured and/or an English-speaker.
3. Yesterday evening, I went to a memorial Mass for the mother-in-law of one of the volunteer interpreters at the clinic. The family is Peruvian and the service was at the Hispanic church I wrote about recently. It was a beautiful ceremony but was also very solemn. However, I couldn't help but smile watching the family take random pictures of the church and assembly during the Mass. Plus, the last song was the prayer of Santa Teresa de Avila (which I said every day for most of high school)...so beautiful.
4. Today a woman and her daughter came to the door of the clinic. They are Puerto Rican and the daughter immediately started explaining to me in very anxious English that her mom had "serious health problems" and needed to see a doctor. I finally convinced them to tell me what was going on after some coaxing in Spanish, and it turned out that she has HIV and has been off all medications for at least 7 months. She went to the hospital a few weeks ago with severe abdominal pain and it turned out that she was having liver complications. She also has high blood pressure, high cholesterol, etc. The Emergency Department recommended that she follow up with the Good Samaritan Clinic. However, we don't have the capacity to deal with anti-retrovirals and the complications associated with HIV (which could be AIDS by this point, since she was diagnosed 13 years ago). The mother started crying when I recommended that she go to another area clinic that specializes in HIV/AIDS and its complications. She told me that people at the hospital were rude and that she's frustrated with everything. It was painful but I finally convinced her to try the other place and then to call me tomorrow to let me know if we can help her in any other way.
I love my job, but it's certainly not easy sometimes.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
La justicia de comprar
I've been having a major ethical dilemma since before I even applied for the Mercy Volunteer Corps: for people who are living on limited means, is it better to spend extra on fair trade items or to leave that to people with disposable income? We talked a lot about this in my Food and Justice class junior year, but now that I am in the real world with a very small living stipend, it seems much more relevant.
Today, as I was standing in the grocery store looking at coffee, I had a very strong urge to buy a fair trade option. There were two problems with this. First, there were no fair trade options. Silly me, thinking a small grocery store in Georgia would carry such things. Secondly, how would I tell my roommates that I spent twice as much money as necessary on coffee, which only two of us drink anyway? I would want to talk about being at the cooperative in Monteverde, Costa Rica, and what a huge difference our purchasing power makes for people around the world. And then I would get all too excited and just make people not want to listen anymore.
It's kind of like the whole not eating meat thing. I don't want to be preachy, but I'm just not comfortable buying into the factory farm system in the U.S. There seem to be a large number of small, local farms that I might consider buying from, but I'm sure the costs would be significantly higher than traditional grocery stores, and $110/week isn't very much to feed four people when you start buying "fancy" stuff.
For some reason, this dilemma seems much more relevant with food than with anything else. But it's still in the back of my mind whenever we need to buy something for the house. Should we go to Walmart, where things are generally cheaper at the expense of millions of workers around the globe? Would we be wasting money otherwise?
I know that nothing will change in the world if only some of the most privileged people use their purchasing power to buy just products. But I also know that it's hard to justify spending more than the bare minimum on products when your budget is small.
The debate is endless in my head.
Today, as I was standing in the grocery store looking at coffee, I had a very strong urge to buy a fair trade option. There were two problems with this. First, there were no fair trade options. Silly me, thinking a small grocery store in Georgia would carry such things. Secondly, how would I tell my roommates that I spent twice as much money as necessary on coffee, which only two of us drink anyway? I would want to talk about being at the cooperative in Monteverde, Costa Rica, and what a huge difference our purchasing power makes for people around the world. And then I would get all too excited and just make people not want to listen anymore.
It's kind of like the whole not eating meat thing. I don't want to be preachy, but I'm just not comfortable buying into the factory farm system in the U.S. There seem to be a large number of small, local farms that I might consider buying from, but I'm sure the costs would be significantly higher than traditional grocery stores, and $110/week isn't very much to feed four people when you start buying "fancy" stuff.
For some reason, this dilemma seems much more relevant with food than with anything else. But it's still in the back of my mind whenever we need to buy something for the house. Should we go to Walmart, where things are generally cheaper at the expense of millions of workers around the globe? Would we be wasting money otherwise?
I know that nothing will change in the world if only some of the most privileged people use their purchasing power to buy just products. But I also know that it's hard to justify spending more than the bare minimum on products when your budget is small.
The debate is endless in my head.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Estoy enojada
I'm angry.
On Tuesday, the Grand Old Party in the Senate decided it'd be fun to block the National Defense Authorization Act. This act contained two very important things: the DREAM Act (which would allow immigrants who came to the U.S. illegally as children to gain legal citizenship if they met certain requirements) and a repeal of the "don't ask, don't tell" military policy (which currently bans openly gay, lesbian, or bisexual individuals from enlisting in the military).
The current political state of affairs in the United States is making me feel nauseated.
Stephen Colbert brought a smile to my face today though. http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2010/09/24/bts.colbert.testifies.cnn
On Tuesday, the Grand Old Party in the Senate decided it'd be fun to block the National Defense Authorization Act. This act contained two very important things: the DREAM Act (which would allow immigrants who came to the U.S. illegally as children to gain legal citizenship if they met certain requirements) and a repeal of the "don't ask, don't tell" military policy (which currently bans openly gay, lesbian, or bisexual individuals from enlisting in the military).
The current political state of affairs in the United States is making me feel nauseated.
Stephen Colbert brought a smile to my face today though. http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2010/09/24/bts.colbert.testifies.cnn
Sunday, September 19, 2010
La misa buenísima
Finally! I have found a parish in the Savannah area that I actually enjoy! It took several weeks of sitting through stuffy Masses, but today I was rewarded with feeling comfortable at church here.
The parish is called Our Lady of Lourdes and it's located in Port Wentworth (where a lot of my patients come from). It is a small wooden building that was literally teeming with people this morning. I was one of five white non-Hispanics present, so at first I felt a little out of place. People looked at me funny, but I guess many of them receive unwelcoming looks on a daily basis in southeastern Georgia, so I sat between a family and two young guys and just soaked in the awkwardness I felt.
Mass was pretty hilarious. The music was absolutely incredible but the priest spoke terrible Spanish (he was one of the other four white people). His homily was really good, but he mispronounced a lot of words and he was reading directly from a piece of paper with the type of intonation that made everyone aware that he had no idea what he was saying. He was obviously beloved by the community though; after all, it's not like there are priests lining up to serve in rural Georgia for Hispanics. Amidst the usual Mass verbiage, babies were crying and small children were playing/eating/whining. Most of the parents were more concerned about their children than what was going on up at the altar. It made me feel so joyous- it felt like a big family party where everyone could just be themselves.
Communion was kind of awkward. Despite the fact that there were probably 200 people there, I think maybe 30 of us went up to receive. I've noticed this a lot in Central America; my host mom in Costa Rica said Latinos don't generally go up for Communion if they feel like they're "living in sin" (which can be translated to being divorced, having sex out of wedlock, using birth control, etc.) So basically only children and old people go up. I had to climb over like 5 people to get to the front of the church, and on my walk back to the pew I felt like everyone was looking at me with confusion.
Luckily, at the end of Mass, Jeannine, who is in charge of Hispanic ministries at the parish and who also serves on the steering committee at my clinic, introduced me to everyone. I didn't know she was going to do that, so I was obviously super awkward when she asked me to stand up, but then she told everyone about what I'm doing this year and everyone clapped.
After the service, several people welcomed me, which was really nice. I feel like I've gained a sort of automatic trust within the parish community now, similar to the one I received when Sr. Maria Lauren introduced me in South Philly last summer.
Before I came home, I had some mini tacos and a coconut popsicle outside the church, which were being sold to benefit one of the parish groups. I also gathered information about upcoming parish events, including the vigil for comprehensive immigration reform. I am geeking out :)
The parish is called Our Lady of Lourdes and it's located in Port Wentworth (where a lot of my patients come from). It is a small wooden building that was literally teeming with people this morning. I was one of five white non-Hispanics present, so at first I felt a little out of place. People looked at me funny, but I guess many of them receive unwelcoming looks on a daily basis in southeastern Georgia, so I sat between a family and two young guys and just soaked in the awkwardness I felt.
Mass was pretty hilarious. The music was absolutely incredible but the priest spoke terrible Spanish (he was one of the other four white people). His homily was really good, but he mispronounced a lot of words and he was reading directly from a piece of paper with the type of intonation that made everyone aware that he had no idea what he was saying. He was obviously beloved by the community though; after all, it's not like there are priests lining up to serve in rural Georgia for Hispanics. Amidst the usual Mass verbiage, babies were crying and small children were playing/eating/whining. Most of the parents were more concerned about their children than what was going on up at the altar. It made me feel so joyous- it felt like a big family party where everyone could just be themselves.
Communion was kind of awkward. Despite the fact that there were probably 200 people there, I think maybe 30 of us went up to receive. I've noticed this a lot in Central America; my host mom in Costa Rica said Latinos don't generally go up for Communion if they feel like they're "living in sin" (which can be translated to being divorced, having sex out of wedlock, using birth control, etc.) So basically only children and old people go up. I had to climb over like 5 people to get to the front of the church, and on my walk back to the pew I felt like everyone was looking at me with confusion.
Luckily, at the end of Mass, Jeannine, who is in charge of Hispanic ministries at the parish and who also serves on the steering committee at my clinic, introduced me to everyone. I didn't know she was going to do that, so I was obviously super awkward when she asked me to stand up, but then she told everyone about what I'm doing this year and everyone clapped.
After the service, several people welcomed me, which was really nice. I feel like I've gained a sort of automatic trust within the parish community now, similar to the one I received when Sr. Maria Lauren introduced me in South Philly last summer.
Before I came home, I had some mini tacos and a coconut popsicle outside the church, which were being sold to benefit one of the parish groups. I also gathered information about upcoming parish events, including the vigil for comprehensive immigration reform. I am geeking out :)
Thursday, September 16, 2010
La gente amable
Reason #3409851 why I love the Good Samaritan Clinic:
Last night, the neurosurgeon who volunteers at the clinic was supposed to come by at 7pm to see two patients who have bulging disks. However, he had two emergency surgeries and didn't know what time he'd be able to get to Garden City. He ended up calling and saying he'd be there between 9 and 9:30pm. I called both patients he was supposed to meet with; the first, who lives over an hour away, said he couldn't make it because his headlights don't work and then the second, who lives about 15 minutes away, said she couldn't make it because she didn't have a ride. So at 9pm, when the regular clinic ended, the two women I work for got in a car and picked up the latter patient. They arrived back at Good Sam at 9:30, just a few minutes after the doctor began reviewing her films. I didn't get home until 10:30 last night, but it was well worth it. I love being part of an organization that cares so deeply for its clients.
Last night, the neurosurgeon who volunteers at the clinic was supposed to come by at 7pm to see two patients who have bulging disks. However, he had two emergency surgeries and didn't know what time he'd be able to get to Garden City. He ended up calling and saying he'd be there between 9 and 9:30pm. I called both patients he was supposed to meet with; the first, who lives over an hour away, said he couldn't make it because his headlights don't work and then the second, who lives about 15 minutes away, said she couldn't make it because she didn't have a ride. So at 9pm, when the regular clinic ended, the two women I work for got in a car and picked up the latter patient. They arrived back at Good Sam at 9:30, just a few minutes after the doctor began reviewing her films. I didn't get home until 10:30 last night, but it was well worth it. I love being part of an organization that cares so deeply for its clients.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
La reforma
Today was the primary election in Massachusetts, which I technically voted in last week (fun fact: I have voted absentee for every election since I turned 18). I'm not going to lie: I'm starting to get nervous about the political state of our country. More specifically, I'm worried about health care and immigration. I guess that should be of no surprise, since I'm working in a clinic that tries to provide better access to health care, predominantly for immigrants.
Health care reform passed on March 21, which was conveniently the day after my birthday. I was super excited because it was the result of several decades of debate and it gave President Obama a lot of momentum. However, at the time, the most obvious flaw in the plan to me was that undocumented immigrants would be completely left out. I hoped this would be addressed if comprehensive immigration reform was brought up, but that still remains to be seen.
Living in Georgia has opened my eyes to another glaring problem with health care reform: providing more people with Medicaid is not going to help people living in rural areas. In a lot of places in this state (and many others around the country), there simply are not enough doctors. And the doctors that are in the most remote places often will not accept Medicaid or Medicare because the reimbursement is slow and the rates are extremely low.
I heard this criticism while I was in Philadelphia and in southeastern Massachusetts, but I kind of ignored it. I just assumed the doctors were being greedy. After all, I've spent my entire life living in areas that, quite honestly, have more doctors than we know what to do with. On my Appalachian Experience trips in college, I learned about lack of access to medical care in rural West Virginia, Kentucky, and Virginia, but I didn't realize that the problem went beyond having a large number of uninsured people.
Now I hear people in this area who have good, private health insurance complaining about a lack of doctors, especially a lack of specialists. I also have many individuals call me who have Medicaid but who can't find a doctor to see them. In most rural sections of Georgia, the majority of people are poor and will probably qualify for Medicaid in 2014 (if they don't already have it), but doctors often cannot even "break even" if the majority of their patients have government-sponsored insurance. I have no idea how more doctors will ever be enticed to set up practices in these places, either. At least the funding for the National Health Service Corps has increased...
To be honest, health care reform really only affects about one-third of the patients at Good Samaritan. Other free clinics around the country are worried about having to shift to serving the "underinsured", as well as covering eye and dental services (which were not included in health care reform at all but are very severe needs for many). But at my clinic, I just pray that some of our patients will get better access to health care as the years unroll, and that the election in November doesn't set us back anymore.
Health care reform passed on March 21, which was conveniently the day after my birthday. I was super excited because it was the result of several decades of debate and it gave President Obama a lot of momentum. However, at the time, the most obvious flaw in the plan to me was that undocumented immigrants would be completely left out. I hoped this would be addressed if comprehensive immigration reform was brought up, but that still remains to be seen.
Living in Georgia has opened my eyes to another glaring problem with health care reform: providing more people with Medicaid is not going to help people living in rural areas. In a lot of places in this state (and many others around the country), there simply are not enough doctors. And the doctors that are in the most remote places often will not accept Medicaid or Medicare because the reimbursement is slow and the rates are extremely low.
I heard this criticism while I was in Philadelphia and in southeastern Massachusetts, but I kind of ignored it. I just assumed the doctors were being greedy. After all, I've spent my entire life living in areas that, quite honestly, have more doctors than we know what to do with. On my Appalachian Experience trips in college, I learned about lack of access to medical care in rural West Virginia, Kentucky, and Virginia, but I didn't realize that the problem went beyond having a large number of uninsured people.
Now I hear people in this area who have good, private health insurance complaining about a lack of doctors, especially a lack of specialists. I also have many individuals call me who have Medicaid but who can't find a doctor to see them. In most rural sections of Georgia, the majority of people are poor and will probably qualify for Medicaid in 2014 (if they don't already have it), but doctors often cannot even "break even" if the majority of their patients have government-sponsored insurance. I have no idea how more doctors will ever be enticed to set up practices in these places, either. At least the funding for the National Health Service Corps has increased...
To be honest, health care reform really only affects about one-third of the patients at Good Samaritan. Other free clinics around the country are worried about having to shift to serving the "underinsured", as well as covering eye and dental services (which were not included in health care reform at all but are very severe needs for many). But at my clinic, I just pray that some of our patients will get better access to health care as the years unroll, and that the election in November doesn't set us back anymore.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
El Nuevo Sur
This past weekend, I went to a conference for the Georgia Free Clinics Network on St. Simons Island (which is about 70 miles south of Savannah). The resort was absolutely gorgeous, and I certainly did not mind missing a day of work to look at the ocean. However, it was kind of a strange experience because the event was only intended for clinic directors and the person in charge made it very clear to the Executive Director of Good Samaritan that I wasn't welcome. Oh well- I'm glad I got to learn more about Georgia laws and about how free clinics operate here.
To me, the most fascinating thing about the conference was the discourse that was used in our little retreat room. There were only 25-30 people present, so I expected everyone to want to really get to know each other and listen to each other as a way to learn new ways to advance every one's own clinic. After all, people came from all parts of the state, with many driving over 5 hours to attend the weekend.
What ended up happening was an overabundance of ego in a very small room. Maybe people have become so used to defending their clinic against critics that they don't know how to communicate with people who have similar missions. But everyone was constantly interrupting each other and trying to make themselves look best- it reminded me of something in a bad high school movie.
It was also strange to me because I assumed that everyone would also be nice and caring; after all, they have all given their lives to provide health care for individuals who are uninsured. So it especially shocked and angered me when someone asked "How many of ya'll accept illegals?" Calling individuals without social security numbers "illegals" is extremely disrespectful and completely minimizes the fact that they are people. They may have done something illegal, but gosh, who hasn't?
And I know I have my own biases, but I didn't really expect to be chatting with people who are die-hard Republicans wearing Army T-shirts.
So I guess I'm learning a lot about the south. I discovered a drive-thru liquor store last night. I constantly hear about states' rights and how the government shouldn't be involved when discussing health care. I now know that Newt Gingrich is from Georgia. I'm living in a state whose flag from 1956 to 2001 looked shockingly similar to the flag of the Confederacy. People are still adjusting to racial integration in rural areas and don't quite know what to do with Hispanics. To be honest, the only thing that seems to unite people is their love for UGA football.
Georgia is foreign to me. But at least it's interesting.
To me, the most fascinating thing about the conference was the discourse that was used in our little retreat room. There were only 25-30 people present, so I expected everyone to want to really get to know each other and listen to each other as a way to learn new ways to advance every one's own clinic. After all, people came from all parts of the state, with many driving over 5 hours to attend the weekend.
What ended up happening was an overabundance of ego in a very small room. Maybe people have become so used to defending their clinic against critics that they don't know how to communicate with people who have similar missions. But everyone was constantly interrupting each other and trying to make themselves look best- it reminded me of something in a bad high school movie.
It was also strange to me because I assumed that everyone would also be nice and caring; after all, they have all given their lives to provide health care for individuals who are uninsured. So it especially shocked and angered me when someone asked "How many of ya'll accept illegals?" Calling individuals without social security numbers "illegals" is extremely disrespectful and completely minimizes the fact that they are people. They may have done something illegal, but gosh, who hasn't?
And I know I have my own biases, but I didn't really expect to be chatting with people who are die-hard Republicans wearing Army T-shirts.
So I guess I'm learning a lot about the south. I discovered a drive-thru liquor store last night. I constantly hear about states' rights and how the government shouldn't be involved when discussing health care. I now know that Newt Gingrich is from Georgia. I'm living in a state whose flag from 1956 to 2001 looked shockingly similar to the flag of the Confederacy. People are still adjusting to racial integration in rural areas and don't quite know what to do with Hispanics. To be honest, the only thing that seems to unite people is their love for UGA football.
Georgia is foreign to me. But at least it's interesting.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Las fronteras
Today was long. I have some sort of bacterial infection in my ear that is causing me severe pain on the right side of my head and neck. We were understaffed at the clinic, and I was translating for a gynecologist who kept making comments about how poor people should stop reproducing and how liberals are ruining this country. I feel tired.
I can't help thinking about borders, though. Many of my patients are second-class citizens in this country because of a 1,833-mile line in the sand that was drawn in 1848. They, just like my grandparents, decided to come to the U.S. for a variety of reasons, which can likely be boiled down to one word: opportunity. Yet our immigration system is broken, and only those coming from the "right" countries, with the "right" skill set and the "right" amount of money in the bank are welcomed with open arms. Everyone else: well, sorry. I could go on about this for hours, but my main point is that a random line that was decided on over 150 years ago now dictates the citizenship status of many people within the United States.
In a way, this system mirrors what I have been learning about the free clinic system in Savannah. Most of the other clinics in the area can only see residents of Chatham County because they receive indigent care funds to do so. I have no idea when the county lines were drawn in Georgia, but I've looked at maps and to me, the boundaries seem pretty random. Within Chatham County, we don't necessarily have tons of resources, but Savannah alone has a decently-sized network of providers who can see people who, for one reason or another, don't have health care. But what do most of these clinics say to those who live just 5 minutes outside of this county? Well, sorry.
Good Samaritan Clinic is the only clinic in this area that will see patients without health insurance, without discriminating based on citizenship status or county of residence. Our philosophy is that if you want to drive the 100 miles each way for a visit with a gynecologist, be our guest. And many of our patients do just that. Because to be honest, at least from my limited understanding of this state, once you leave the Savannah area, you don't hit another city for a few hours. And we all know how wonderful rural health resources tend to be in our country...
So what's happening? Good Sam is somehow getting patients dumped on us by area hospitals and clinics who don't see the need to treat individuals without health insurance, notably those whose residence is outside of Chatham County. The problem with this is that we only have doctors at the clinic 6-7 times per month. We don't necessarily mind that we aren't getting as much reimbursement from the county as other clinics, but the people who are most affected by these policies are our patients. Since I've been working there, I've seen a woman with a shattered ankle arrive at our door with a cardboard splint, a man with recently diagnosed lung cancer call to receive care, and two men who have been diagnosed as in extreme need of knee/hip replacements. They come with referrals from other places, and then we are left trying to find specialists who will do reduced-rate services to supplement what our clinic can offer for free. And these things don't happen overnight. So while I am waiting on calls back from people in the area, many of my patients are anxiously awaiting some form of news about treatment possibilities. If only they had decided to live on this side of the county line...
I can't help thinking about borders, though. Many of my patients are second-class citizens in this country because of a 1,833-mile line in the sand that was drawn in 1848. They, just like my grandparents, decided to come to the U.S. for a variety of reasons, which can likely be boiled down to one word: opportunity. Yet our immigration system is broken, and only those coming from the "right" countries, with the "right" skill set and the "right" amount of money in the bank are welcomed with open arms. Everyone else: well, sorry. I could go on about this for hours, but my main point is that a random line that was decided on over 150 years ago now dictates the citizenship status of many people within the United States.
In a way, this system mirrors what I have been learning about the free clinic system in Savannah. Most of the other clinics in the area can only see residents of Chatham County because they receive indigent care funds to do so. I have no idea when the county lines were drawn in Georgia, but I've looked at maps and to me, the boundaries seem pretty random. Within Chatham County, we don't necessarily have tons of resources, but Savannah alone has a decently-sized network of providers who can see people who, for one reason or another, don't have health care. But what do most of these clinics say to those who live just 5 minutes outside of this county? Well, sorry.
Good Samaritan Clinic is the only clinic in this area that will see patients without health insurance, without discriminating based on citizenship status or county of residence. Our philosophy is that if you want to drive the 100 miles each way for a visit with a gynecologist, be our guest. And many of our patients do just that. Because to be honest, at least from my limited understanding of this state, once you leave the Savannah area, you don't hit another city for a few hours. And we all know how wonderful rural health resources tend to be in our country...
So what's happening? Good Sam is somehow getting patients dumped on us by area hospitals and clinics who don't see the need to treat individuals without health insurance, notably those whose residence is outside of Chatham County. The problem with this is that we only have doctors at the clinic 6-7 times per month. We don't necessarily mind that we aren't getting as much reimbursement from the county as other clinics, but the people who are most affected by these policies are our patients. Since I've been working there, I've seen a woman with a shattered ankle arrive at our door with a cardboard splint, a man with recently diagnosed lung cancer call to receive care, and two men who have been diagnosed as in extreme need of knee/hip replacements. They come with referrals from other places, and then we are left trying to find specialists who will do reduced-rate services to supplement what our clinic can offer for free. And these things don't happen overnight. So while I am waiting on calls back from people in the area, many of my patients are anxiously awaiting some form of news about treatment possibilities. If only they had decided to live on this side of the county line...
Monday, August 30, 2010
¿Para qué trabajo?
For our community spirituality night this evening, my housemate Mike shared a book. One of the main messages was "Don't take the 'social' out of social change." I like that motto. Sometimes I feel like we spend too much time in meetings and sending emails and whatnot, forgetting the individuals who we are ultimately trying to "help".
My workload has definitely been ebbing and flowing, but this week is likely to be especially hectic. So I will try to remember the people who I am serving with my constant phone calls, emails, and faxes:
-I will smile when I think about the middle-aged Mexican men who keep hitting on me by telling me that I speak good Spanish and that they can't believe I'm not married, and then inviting me to random meals in their homes.
-I will giggle when I think about all the super awkward questions I've gotten by phone thus far, including "If I have white spots in my poo poo and an itchy anus, do you think I have worms?" and "I'm 52 and had a hysterectomy four years ago, so if I'm bleeding after sex, do you think it was too rough? Or do you think it's just because I had gone a few months without sex?"
-I will let myself feel frustrated with our immigration system when I remember the Mexican man who came in today to make a new patient appointment. When I asked him if he had pay stubs or something to prove that he made 200% or less of the federal poverty line (it's just a formality- we never really reject people who need care), he said no. But then his friend said that he in fact did, but that he had used a fake ID to work, so the name on the checks wouldn't match up to his actual name.
I'm grateful that almost everyone who calls wants to tell me everything that's going on in their lives: their hemorrhoids, their positive HPV tests, their UTIs, their itchy and painful rashes, the death in their family, and everything else imaginable. These phone calls no doubt prolong my work day, but they never fail to remind me why I am doing my job. They also serve to verify my choice to not go into a clinical profession: I am so much more interested in helping people access what they need than I am in diagnosing their various ailments.
So my baby brothers start college tomorrow. And St. Joe's students had their first day of classes today. I'm far away from many of the people I care about, yet I feel like I am exactly where I need to be right now, constantly learning some strange and beautiful lessons.
My workload has definitely been ebbing and flowing, but this week is likely to be especially hectic. So I will try to remember the people who I am serving with my constant phone calls, emails, and faxes:
-I will smile when I think about the middle-aged Mexican men who keep hitting on me by telling me that I speak good Spanish and that they can't believe I'm not married, and then inviting me to random meals in their homes.
-I will giggle when I think about all the super awkward questions I've gotten by phone thus far, including "If I have white spots in my poo poo and an itchy anus, do you think I have worms?" and "I'm 52 and had a hysterectomy four years ago, so if I'm bleeding after sex, do you think it was too rough? Or do you think it's just because I had gone a few months without sex?"
-I will let myself feel frustrated with our immigration system when I remember the Mexican man who came in today to make a new patient appointment. When I asked him if he had pay stubs or something to prove that he made 200% or less of the federal poverty line (it's just a formality- we never really reject people who need care), he said no. But then his friend said that he in fact did, but that he had used a fake ID to work, so the name on the checks wouldn't match up to his actual name.
I'm grateful that almost everyone who calls wants to tell me everything that's going on in their lives: their hemorrhoids, their positive HPV tests, their UTIs, their itchy and painful rashes, the death in their family, and everything else imaginable. These phone calls no doubt prolong my work day, but they never fail to remind me why I am doing my job. They also serve to verify my choice to not go into a clinical profession: I am so much more interested in helping people access what they need than I am in diagnosing their various ailments.
So my baby brothers start college tomorrow. And St. Joe's students had their first day of classes today. I'm far away from many of the people I care about, yet I feel like I am exactly where I need to be right now, constantly learning some strange and beautiful lessons.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Las lecciones que he aprendido
Lately, I've been spending a lot of time pondering why I feel so good. I hate admitting it, but I've started to realize the importance of taking care of myself in order to effectively learn to care for others. I'm sure some of you are rolling your eyes at the computer right now, but I don't think I truly noticed how much I neglected myself until I started doing just the opposite. Since the beginning of MVC, I've been getting between 8 and 9 hours of sleep per night, eating 3 regular meals per day, and going for walks/runs at least 4 times per week. My energy level has increased dramatically and I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time. Like in Plato's "Allegory of the Cave," I have an urge to tell my friends who are still in the "dark" (especially those who are still in college) that they should take care of themselves because it makes a world of difference. But then I think about how much I hated it when people tried to tell me that in the midst of my stress and anxiety, and I don't want to be a hypocrite...
I've also noticed that I've been drawing a lot on my own shortcomings in order to perform my job better. Throughout my last semester of college, the phrase I sat with the most was "In my weakness lies my strength." This was true for me in a lot of different scenarios, but it has become most applicable within the language barrier issue at the clinic. I've noticed that as soon as I feel super confident in what I need to tell people in Spanish, they don't understand me. But when I begin by explaining that "Mi acento me da pena" (essentially, "my accent embarrasses me"), people are extremely understanding. I think this phrase triggers a type of empathy in a lot of individuals, especially the women. Many of them are trying to learn English, but are too frustrated or ashamed to use it. A lot of them have expressed extreme gratitude that I'm trying to understand them and make them understand me, and it becomes more of a team effort (especially in the super complicated cases that I don't really understand in any language). I get frustrated when the doctors at the clinic have a chip on their shoulder and think they know everything, so in a way I hope that I am continually challenged to maintain a sense of humility throughout this year and beyond...
I've also noticed that I've been drawing a lot on my own shortcomings in order to perform my job better. Throughout my last semester of college, the phrase I sat with the most was "In my weakness lies my strength." This was true for me in a lot of different scenarios, but it has become most applicable within the language barrier issue at the clinic. I've noticed that as soon as I feel super confident in what I need to tell people in Spanish, they don't understand me. But when I begin by explaining that "Mi acento me da pena" (essentially, "my accent embarrasses me"), people are extremely understanding. I think this phrase triggers a type of empathy in a lot of individuals, especially the women. Many of them are trying to learn English, but are too frustrated or ashamed to use it. A lot of them have expressed extreme gratitude that I'm trying to understand them and make them understand me, and it becomes more of a team effort (especially in the super complicated cases that I don't really understand in any language). I get frustrated when the doctors at the clinic have a chip on their shoulder and think they know everything, so in a way I hope that I am continually challenged to maintain a sense of humility throughout this year and beyond...
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
En un país con tantos recursos...
Disclaimer: This will be a rant about social injustice in relation to health care.
It has been interesting observing the general demeanor of my patients. What I've noticed so far is that the people born in the United States tend to be a lot more angry about not getting the care they need. They often direct their frustrations at me, the practitioners, and the other people at the clinic, although deep down I know that these feelings are a result of facing years of injustices within many of our social service systems, especially health care.
On the other hand, the Hispanic patients at the clinic generally tend to be extremely grateful. Almost every conversation ends with "Gracias, muy amable". They don't usually get upset about having to wait to be seen by a practitioner, and if they are sent to a specialist that requires them to pay some amount of money, they generally lobby all of their friends and family members to assist them without any complaints.
I grew up in the United States, and although I've traveled to a handful of Latin American countries, I don't really know what my Hispanic patients grew up with. However, when thinking about health care injustice, I can't help but get extremely angry at the mixed messages we tell people in the U.S. When you are a child, if you don't feel well in school, you go to the nurse. No one asks you to prove how hard you're working in school (oftentimes, you don't even actually have to prove that you're sick!). You can go get an ice pack or super Motrin or whatever it may be, and then you go on your way. Our country has also set up CHIP, which is part of Medicaid, to try to medically insure every child under age 18. There are flaws in this program, especially since many doctors won't accept Medicaid because the reimbursement is low, but at least children's health has become somewhat of a priority in our government.
If our parents are insured, we now have the right to be on their health insurance plan until we're 26 years old. Since most of the uninsured individuals in the U.S. are in their 20s, this is helping to cover a lot of people. Even those who didn't actually want health care reform to pass aren't really complaining about this (especially if they're personally affected).
But what about those people whose parents aren't insured? Medicaid is controlled by individual states, so while a child may get covered, his or her parents may make slightly too much money to qualify. And don't even get me started about if the parents are not documented...that's another rant altogether. Furthermore, what about all the other people who can't get insurance for one reason or another? All of the sudden, after a certain age, health care is no longer a right. People fall through the cracks all the time, and I just can't understand how we let it happen as a society.
Yesterday, a middle-aged white man who had a blue-collar job called me. He dislocated his right shoulder while working, and his boss immediately fired him so that worker's comp wouldn't have to pay for his injury. He is in excruciating pain, which is preventing him from finding a new job. So now he has no income. He went to the ER after the accident, and the doctor there told him that he needs surgery. He has a court date in October to sue worker's comp and his former employer, hoping to get enough money to at least cover his hospital bills, but it's only August. He needs pain management until the surgery if he's going to function normally in society, but most clinics (including Good Samaritan) don't really have the resources for that.
This phone conversation broke my heart. I felt completely helpless. This man was doing everything right, but the system just wasn't serving him. I referred him to another clinic that might be able to help, but I'm not completely confident.
I've been hearing stories like these since I started volunteering at St. Catherine Laboure 4 years ago, but every time I talk to someone new, I still feel an overwhelming anger. And honestly, I don't know who to direct my own frustration to: the federal government, state governments, local leaders, celebrities? I guess all I can do is keep doing my own very small part, working for what I believe, and encourage others to do the same...
It has been interesting observing the general demeanor of my patients. What I've noticed so far is that the people born in the United States tend to be a lot more angry about not getting the care they need. They often direct their frustrations at me, the practitioners, and the other people at the clinic, although deep down I know that these feelings are a result of facing years of injustices within many of our social service systems, especially health care.
On the other hand, the Hispanic patients at the clinic generally tend to be extremely grateful. Almost every conversation ends with "Gracias, muy amable". They don't usually get upset about having to wait to be seen by a practitioner, and if they are sent to a specialist that requires them to pay some amount of money, they generally lobby all of their friends and family members to assist them without any complaints.
I grew up in the United States, and although I've traveled to a handful of Latin American countries, I don't really know what my Hispanic patients grew up with. However, when thinking about health care injustice, I can't help but get extremely angry at the mixed messages we tell people in the U.S. When you are a child, if you don't feel well in school, you go to the nurse. No one asks you to prove how hard you're working in school (oftentimes, you don't even actually have to prove that you're sick!). You can go get an ice pack or super Motrin or whatever it may be, and then you go on your way. Our country has also set up CHIP, which is part of Medicaid, to try to medically insure every child under age 18. There are flaws in this program, especially since many doctors won't accept Medicaid because the reimbursement is low, but at least children's health has become somewhat of a priority in our government.
If our parents are insured, we now have the right to be on their health insurance plan until we're 26 years old. Since most of the uninsured individuals in the U.S. are in their 20s, this is helping to cover a lot of people. Even those who didn't actually want health care reform to pass aren't really complaining about this (especially if they're personally affected).
But what about those people whose parents aren't insured? Medicaid is controlled by individual states, so while a child may get covered, his or her parents may make slightly too much money to qualify. And don't even get me started about if the parents are not documented...that's another rant altogether. Furthermore, what about all the other people who can't get insurance for one reason or another? All of the sudden, after a certain age, health care is no longer a right. People fall through the cracks all the time, and I just can't understand how we let it happen as a society.
Yesterday, a middle-aged white man who had a blue-collar job called me. He dislocated his right shoulder while working, and his boss immediately fired him so that worker's comp wouldn't have to pay for his injury. He is in excruciating pain, which is preventing him from finding a new job. So now he has no income. He went to the ER after the accident, and the doctor there told him that he needs surgery. He has a court date in October to sue worker's comp and his former employer, hoping to get enough money to at least cover his hospital bills, but it's only August. He needs pain management until the surgery if he's going to function normally in society, but most clinics (including Good Samaritan) don't really have the resources for that.
This phone conversation broke my heart. I felt completely helpless. This man was doing everything right, but the system just wasn't serving him. I referred him to another clinic that might be able to help, but I'm not completely confident.
I've been hearing stories like these since I started volunteering at St. Catherine Laboure 4 years ago, but every time I talk to someone new, I still feel an overwhelming anger. And honestly, I don't know who to direct my own frustration to: the federal government, state governments, local leaders, celebrities? I guess all I can do is keep doing my own very small part, working for what I believe, and encourage others to do the same...
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Estoy casi acostumbrada...
I'm starting to feel comfortable here. I was worried about this week, since I started noticing a lot of my friends' Facebook statuses making reference to moving back in on Hawk Hill, but I'm very at peace with being done with college. To be honest, I like the fact that even though I work long hours, my work stays at the clinic. As soon as I get in my car, I know that I don't have to worry about anything until the next day. And weekends are the best thing ever! I haven't really had this feeling since sophomore year of college (spending a year studying for the MCAT and another one applying to med school wasn't exactly relaxing). I've noticed that I'm eating well, sleeping an adequate amount, and magically feeling better than I've felt in a very long time.
I feel really at ease, both in my new house and in my new workplace. I finally feel like I understand how Good Samaritan works, and I'm getting used to my responsibilities. I'm also beginning to understand certain patients, certain doctors, and certain procedures much better. It's probably a good sign that I wake up ready to start work, and my days seem to fly by.
On Thursday I had my first (of two, which is definitely not enough) medical interpreters class. Two women are co-teaching: one is Puerto Rican and the other is Mexican. We spent a lot of time talking about the ethics of interpreting and making fun of the variances between Latino/Hispanic cultures and connotations of words. But I got a bunch of good resources to study to improve my medical vocabulary, and they really helped me feel more confident because I realized that everyone has the same struggles and frustrations that I'm dealing with right now.
My highs/rays of sunshine/gifts of the week include: (1) Finding out one of my patients who is having a lot of neurological problems finally qualified for Medicare; (2) Eating pizza at an outdoor restaurant for Regina's birthday on Thursday night and then walking around the river area with a beer in my hand; (3) Going to the beach today and swimming in the warm ocean water for like an hour; (4) Going to Mass said by a Jesuit on Monday at the hospital during the very boring orientation; and (5) Hearing so many patients say how wonderful our clinic is. :)
I finally put all the pictures I have so far up on Facebook!
I feel really at ease, both in my new house and in my new workplace. I finally feel like I understand how Good Samaritan works, and I'm getting used to my responsibilities. I'm also beginning to understand certain patients, certain doctors, and certain procedures much better. It's probably a good sign that I wake up ready to start work, and my days seem to fly by.
On Thursday I had my first (of two, which is definitely not enough) medical interpreters class. Two women are co-teaching: one is Puerto Rican and the other is Mexican. We spent a lot of time talking about the ethics of interpreting and making fun of the variances between Latino/Hispanic cultures and connotations of words. But I got a bunch of good resources to study to improve my medical vocabulary, and they really helped me feel more confident because I realized that everyone has the same struggles and frustrations that I'm dealing with right now.
My highs/rays of sunshine/gifts of the week include: (1) Finding out one of my patients who is having a lot of neurological problems finally qualified for Medicare; (2) Eating pizza at an outdoor restaurant for Regina's birthday on Thursday night and then walking around the river area with a beer in my hand; (3) Going to the beach today and swimming in the warm ocean water for like an hour; (4) Going to Mass said by a Jesuit on Monday at the hospital during the very boring orientation; and (5) Hearing so many patients say how wonderful our clinic is. :)
I finally put all the pictures I have so far up on Facebook!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
La Clínica el Buen Samaritano
I work at the Good Samaritan Clinic in Garden City, which is just outside of Savannah. It takes me about 15 minutes to get there, driving the 1996 Corolla that the Sisters of Mercy gave our community (which we have affectionately named "Aquaman" to distinguish it from the other two old blue-green sedans we have, named "the Hulk" and "Green Goblin").
My experience with Good Sam really began on Tuesday morning when I went to the steering committee meeting. It's really interesting working with such a new organization; the clinic will celebrate its 3rd birthday in October. Thus, there's still a lot that needs to be figured out.
The clinic only sees patients on Wednesday evenings and on the last two Tuesday evenings of the month. We only see adults (ages 18 to 64) without any form of health insurance who make less than 200% of the federal poverty line. We can't see women who are pregnant, but we can do pregnancy tests and then refer women to area hospitals for prenatal care. We are the only clinic in the area that doesn't require ID/SSN, who has a bilingual staff (and lots of interpreters), and doesn't require people to live in a certain county. Due to the first two points, we see a lot of Hispanics, many of whom are undocumented. Due to the latter point, we see a lot of non-Hispanics, both black and white, who live rather far away (many people travel over an hour to get to us!).
We're a primary care clinic, but we have certain specialists come sometimes (especially for GYN, eye exams, PT, OT, and cardiology). A lot of our patients have diabetes, so we also have nutrition counseling. We also perform a decent number of diagnostic tests, which are processed at one of the hospitals that we're associated with. We can also refer our patients to almost anything that we can't directly provide for them, mostly for free but otherwise for a reduced cost.
We average about 22 patients per day when we're open. The clinic is completely free for our patients. We are part of the St. Joseph's/Candler hospital system (which is somehow related to the Sisters of Mercy), and they basically pick up the $1 million/year bill. Our clinic is one of the ways the hospitals are able to keep their 501(c)3 non-profit status, so at least they aren't paying taxes. The clinic is staffed completely by volunteers; Greta, the executive director, is the only person being paid. She and I are the only people who work at Good Samaritan full-time. We have over 100 active volunteers: doctors, nurses, PAs, administrative assistants, interpreters, etc. Most of them will come once or twice a month. The state of Georgia offers sovereign immunity to the practitioners so that they can't be sued while volunteering their time (this means that a lawsuit would be against the state instead of the individual practitioner). I guess the state probably makes out in the long run, since they have a healthier population that isn't using the emergency room as much! A lot of the practitioners also get certain credit hours they need fulfilled by doing community outreach. It seems like a pretty good deal for everyone involved!
The clinic functions extremely well when it's open. The facility is larger than I expected, with seven exam rooms and a lab area. When patients arrive, they check in (they're supposed to have an appointment, but it seems like we almost always take a few walk-ins) and verify their information at the front desk. Their finances need to be verified at least once per year, so they do that with someone in a side room. Then they are triaged by a nurse. After that, they're assigned to exam rooms, where they wait for the doctor/PA/NP. After the exam, they either get some labs taken or go to the check out area to figure out what else they need. There, they may book their next appointment at the clinic or get put on a list for an appointment with a specialist. We have volunteers taking care of each step of this process, with each person only having one task. It's kind of like an assembly line.
My job at the clinic is officially "office coordinator." My biggest task is keeping up with the phones, which ring constantly. At least the phone warns me if the person on the other line selected English or Spanish when they called, so I can mentally prepare myself for the conversation. After nights we have clinic, on either Wednesday or Thursday morning, I make appointments with the specialists for patients and then call the patients to let them know. I keep patient information in the computer software and also keep track of peoples' charts (although we're hopefully switching to electronic medical records at some point in the near future). I also mail out new patient packets and do other random administrative stuff. Additionally, I'm the volunteer coordinator, meaning that I have to keep track of all our volunteers, train new ones, and make the schedule. When the clinic is actually open, I basically will just be filling in wherever needed.
I only worked three full days this week, yet I accrued 31 hours (33 if you count the committee meeting). I feel exhausted; translating makes my head hurt. I also don't especially enjoy sitting at a desk with a computer and phone for long periods of time. I wish it wasn't so hot out so that I could get away from the white walls and artificial lighting during lunch or something. It's probably a good thing that Gmail, Facebook, and YouTube are blocked on the internet throughout our health system because I could easily get distracted.
My high/ray of sunshine/gift of the week was translating an eye exam for a man named Antonio. He's from Guatemala and was so excited to hear that I had been to his country twice in the past 8 months. We got to chat for a while, so I learned a lot about his landscaping job, his wife and daughter, etc.
My low/bolt of lightning/challenge of the week was getting frustrated with not understanding people. A lot of the Hispanic patients talk super fast, mumble, and ramble on the phone, and there are a ton of medical words that I haven't ever used in Spanish. I keep a Spanish medical dictionary on my desk and I'll be taking an interpretation class, so hopefully I'll get more adjusted soon. Unfortunately, a lot of the native English-speakers also mumble and ramble, and sometimes their accent is so thick that I feel just as lost as if they were speaking another language. I'm sure I'll get used to both, but right now I feel like a fish out of water.
My experience with Good Sam really began on Tuesday morning when I went to the steering committee meeting. It's really interesting working with such a new organization; the clinic will celebrate its 3rd birthday in October. Thus, there's still a lot that needs to be figured out.
The clinic only sees patients on Wednesday evenings and on the last two Tuesday evenings of the month. We only see adults (ages 18 to 64) without any form of health insurance who make less than 200% of the federal poverty line. We can't see women who are pregnant, but we can do pregnancy tests and then refer women to area hospitals for prenatal care. We are the only clinic in the area that doesn't require ID/SSN, who has a bilingual staff (and lots of interpreters), and doesn't require people to live in a certain county. Due to the first two points, we see a lot of Hispanics, many of whom are undocumented. Due to the latter point, we see a lot of non-Hispanics, both black and white, who live rather far away (many people travel over an hour to get to us!).
We're a primary care clinic, but we have certain specialists come sometimes (especially for GYN, eye exams, PT, OT, and cardiology). A lot of our patients have diabetes, so we also have nutrition counseling. We also perform a decent number of diagnostic tests, which are processed at one of the hospitals that we're associated with. We can also refer our patients to almost anything that we can't directly provide for them, mostly for free but otherwise for a reduced cost.
We average about 22 patients per day when we're open. The clinic is completely free for our patients. We are part of the St. Joseph's/Candler hospital system (which is somehow related to the Sisters of Mercy), and they basically pick up the $1 million/year bill. Our clinic is one of the ways the hospitals are able to keep their 501(c)3 non-profit status, so at least they aren't paying taxes. The clinic is staffed completely by volunteers; Greta, the executive director, is the only person being paid. She and I are the only people who work at Good Samaritan full-time. We have over 100 active volunteers: doctors, nurses, PAs, administrative assistants, interpreters, etc. Most of them will come once or twice a month. The state of Georgia offers sovereign immunity to the practitioners so that they can't be sued while volunteering their time (this means that a lawsuit would be against the state instead of the individual practitioner). I guess the state probably makes out in the long run, since they have a healthier population that isn't using the emergency room as much! A lot of the practitioners also get certain credit hours they need fulfilled by doing community outreach. It seems like a pretty good deal for everyone involved!
The clinic functions extremely well when it's open. The facility is larger than I expected, with seven exam rooms and a lab area. When patients arrive, they check in (they're supposed to have an appointment, but it seems like we almost always take a few walk-ins) and verify their information at the front desk. Their finances need to be verified at least once per year, so they do that with someone in a side room. Then they are triaged by a nurse. After that, they're assigned to exam rooms, where they wait for the doctor/PA/NP. After the exam, they either get some labs taken or go to the check out area to figure out what else they need. There, they may book their next appointment at the clinic or get put on a list for an appointment with a specialist. We have volunteers taking care of each step of this process, with each person only having one task. It's kind of like an assembly line.
My job at the clinic is officially "office coordinator." My biggest task is keeping up with the phones, which ring constantly. At least the phone warns me if the person on the other line selected English or Spanish when they called, so I can mentally prepare myself for the conversation. After nights we have clinic, on either Wednesday or Thursday morning, I make appointments with the specialists for patients and then call the patients to let them know. I keep patient information in the computer software and also keep track of peoples' charts (although we're hopefully switching to electronic medical records at some point in the near future). I also mail out new patient packets and do other random administrative stuff. Additionally, I'm the volunteer coordinator, meaning that I have to keep track of all our volunteers, train new ones, and make the schedule. When the clinic is actually open, I basically will just be filling in wherever needed.
I only worked three full days this week, yet I accrued 31 hours (33 if you count the committee meeting). I feel exhausted; translating makes my head hurt. I also don't especially enjoy sitting at a desk with a computer and phone for long periods of time. I wish it wasn't so hot out so that I could get away from the white walls and artificial lighting during lunch or something. It's probably a good thing that Gmail, Facebook, and YouTube are blocked on the internet throughout our health system because I could easily get distracted.
My high/ray of sunshine/gift of the week was translating an eye exam for a man named Antonio. He's from Guatemala and was so excited to hear that I had been to his country twice in the past 8 months. We got to chat for a while, so I learned a lot about his landscaping job, his wife and daughter, etc.
My low/bolt of lightning/challenge of the week was getting frustrated with not understanding people. A lot of the Hispanic patients talk super fast, mumble, and ramble on the phone, and there are a ton of medical words that I haven't ever used in Spanish. I keep a Spanish medical dictionary on my desk and I'll be taking an interpretation class, so hopefully I'll get more adjusted soon. Unfortunately, a lot of the native English-speakers also mumble and ramble, and sometimes their accent is so thick that I feel just as lost as if they were speaking another language. I'm sure I'll get used to both, but right now I feel like a fish out of water.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Aquí estoy en Savannah...
So unfortunately my laptop died in Michigan. I am lucky enough to be using a loaner from my workplace, but I need to get a cord for my camera to hook up to this computer (my laptop had one of those little slots for SD cards). Thus, while I wish I could add pictures, those will have to wait a while.
Savannah is unlike anywhere else I have ever been. It is hot as hell (well over 100 degrees with the heat index each day) and extremely beautiful. There is Spanish moss everywhere, and the city is teeming with parks and old-fashioned mansions. It's also teeming with bugs, especially palmetto bugs (basically cockroaches that fly) and mosquitoes.
I feel extremely spoiled here. I'm living in a house with 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a huge kitchen, living room, and den. We live on 56th Street, between Bull and Abercorn, which are two of the main streets here. It's a nice neighborhood and we are within a 10 minute drive of almost everywhere (well, Tybee Island is like 25 minutes). We are within walking distance of the library (my housemates and I got cards there our first day!) and of a lot of other interesting places. We're only a couple of miles from the downtown area, which will probably be an enjoyable walk in like December when the temperature is a bit more reasonable.
I'm still trying to figure out Savannah's culture. Everything here is SO slow. I legitimately have to remind myself to slow down every time I'm walking somewhere or talking to someone. The driving is so much more enjoyable than anywhere else I've ever lived, although it's sometimes challenging to see due to the low-hanging trees.
The food situation is pretty funny: I've never seen so much fried chicken in my life. When my community arrived at our house, we were greeted with a typical southern lunch of fried chicken, biscuits, cole slaw, banana pudding, red velvet cupcakes, etc. There's a lot of seafood here (we had an awesome lunch on Tybee Island at the beach on Monday!) and also a lot of sweet tea, lemonade, and "orange drink." My community has been trying to eat relatively healthy, so luckily there's a decent selection of farmers markets where we can get fresh veggies and fruit (especially peaches).
This city is very small, so it's hard for me to understand poverty and crime. The "worst area" physically looks nicer than most parts of Philadelphia, and thankfully I haven't heard anything about violence since I've been here. There seem to be a lot of neighborhoods with rich and poor living practically next door to each other. Everything is very old, so the difference in houses is mostly about how well they have been kept up over the decades. Within the city everyone seems to be black or white; it seems that the Hispanics live outside the city limits, and I haven't seen many other minorities. So basically Savannah is about as opposite of Philly as a city could be. It's obvious that people have a lot of needs that are being unmet, but I guess I'll learn more about the intricacies as my year goes on.
Earlier this week, Regina, Mike, and I went exploring the downtown section of the city. River Street is the touristy area on the Savannah River (which divides Georgia and South Carolina). We got free samples of pralines, ice cream, and caramel popcorn there, which was pretty awesome. There are also a lot of bars and restaurants there, which I clearly cannot afford on my $100/month stipend. Just south is Bay Street, followed by City Market. Again, mostly shops, restaurants, and bars, but at least the area is gorgeous.
I don't think I'll ever get sick of the cobblestone streets, trees, and fountains. And I really like driving through the squares, of which there are 22 in Savannah. You drive around them, kind of like rotaries/roundabouts, except in the middle are beautiful parks, so there's no rush to get to the other side.
I'm getting tired, so I'll update about my work later.
Savannah is unlike anywhere else I have ever been. It is hot as hell (well over 100 degrees with the heat index each day) and extremely beautiful. There is Spanish moss everywhere, and the city is teeming with parks and old-fashioned mansions. It's also teeming with bugs, especially palmetto bugs (basically cockroaches that fly) and mosquitoes.
I feel extremely spoiled here. I'm living in a house with 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a huge kitchen, living room, and den. We live on 56th Street, between Bull and Abercorn, which are two of the main streets here. It's a nice neighborhood and we are within a 10 minute drive of almost everywhere (well, Tybee Island is like 25 minutes). We are within walking distance of the library (my housemates and I got cards there our first day!) and of a lot of other interesting places. We're only a couple of miles from the downtown area, which will probably be an enjoyable walk in like December when the temperature is a bit more reasonable.
I'm still trying to figure out Savannah's culture. Everything here is SO slow. I legitimately have to remind myself to slow down every time I'm walking somewhere or talking to someone. The driving is so much more enjoyable than anywhere else I've ever lived, although it's sometimes challenging to see due to the low-hanging trees.
The food situation is pretty funny: I've never seen so much fried chicken in my life. When my community arrived at our house, we were greeted with a typical southern lunch of fried chicken, biscuits, cole slaw, banana pudding, red velvet cupcakes, etc. There's a lot of seafood here (we had an awesome lunch on Tybee Island at the beach on Monday!) and also a lot of sweet tea, lemonade, and "orange drink." My community has been trying to eat relatively healthy, so luckily there's a decent selection of farmers markets where we can get fresh veggies and fruit (especially peaches).
This city is very small, so it's hard for me to understand poverty and crime. The "worst area" physically looks nicer than most parts of Philadelphia, and thankfully I haven't heard anything about violence since I've been here. There seem to be a lot of neighborhoods with rich and poor living practically next door to each other. Everything is very old, so the difference in houses is mostly about how well they have been kept up over the decades. Within the city everyone seems to be black or white; it seems that the Hispanics live outside the city limits, and I haven't seen many other minorities. So basically Savannah is about as opposite of Philly as a city could be. It's obvious that people have a lot of needs that are being unmet, but I guess I'll learn more about the intricacies as my year goes on.
Earlier this week, Regina, Mike, and I went exploring the downtown section of the city. River Street is the touristy area on the Savannah River (which divides Georgia and South Carolina). We got free samples of pralines, ice cream, and caramel popcorn there, which was pretty awesome. There are also a lot of bars and restaurants there, which I clearly cannot afford on my $100/month stipend. Just south is Bay Street, followed by City Market. Again, mostly shops, restaurants, and bars, but at least the area is gorgeous.
I don't think I'll ever get sick of the cobblestone streets, trees, and fountains. And I really like driving through the squares, of which there are 22 in Savannah. You drive around them, kind of like rotaries/roundabouts, except in the middle are beautiful parks, so there's no rush to get to the other side.
I'm getting tired, so I'll update about my work later.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Para empezar...
And so it begins...
I had orientation for Mercy Volunteer Corps in Detroit from July 31 to August 7. And by "Detroit" I mean "Farmington Hills, Michigan." It was an extremely long week, and it was definitely hard for me, a natural wanderer, to stay put on the campus of the Sisters of Mercy on Eleven Mile Road. At least the grounds were beautiful and were ideal for walks/runs during our very little free time.
My favorite part of the campus was the labyrinth. It was outside, set far back in the woods. I walked it a few different times because I found it very peaceful. It reminded me of the first time I saw a labyrinth, which happened to be the original one in Chartres in France. And of the labyrinth I walked with my Koinonia group a few years ago at SJU. And of the labyrinth I walked with MaryKate at BC just a few days before I left Massachusetts. Perhaps the best part about the labyrinth in Farmington Hills was the inscription on the information plaque that said "You are exactly where you are supposed to be." That phrase was repeated a million times on my trip to Ecuador last May, so I couldn't help but smile. :)
I enjoyed getting to know all 24 of the other Mercy Volunteers (who are working in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Erie, New York, Sacramento, Detroit, St. Michael's Arizona, and Guyana, in addition to Savannah). I am so grateful that I'm working with a small organization because I know the leadership well, too. Plus, the Sisters of Mercy, Associates, Companions and former volunteers form a beautiful community that seems to provide endless connections and support.
The sessions themselves throughout orientation weren't very thrilling. I liked learning more about Catherine McAuley, but the other stuff was more like an overview of everything I've ever learned at RA training/retreats/service reflections over the past few years. So at least I can say I felt well-prepared!
Throughout orientation, we had a prayer space set up using a personal item from each person. I used the quetzal keychain that Tom gave me as an affirmation gift in Guatemala in May. I chose that because it reminds me of the beautiful memories I have from Central America over the past few years: in Costa Rica, Panama, El Salvador, and Guatemala (x2). It was there that I came to view myself in the context of the global community and where I believe I started to understand what prayer and vocation truly mean. It's still hard for me to believe that I will be in the continental United States for the next year of my life, but I also know that I have a lot of growing to do in my identity as an almost bilingual/bicultural woman.
I got to spend a lot of time with my community during orientation, mostly having "guided conversations". My three housemates are absolutely wonderful. Mike just graduated from Notre Dame, Regina just graduated from St. Xavier University, and Linda is from Long Island and has three grown children. We're all pretty different, but one thing we all have in common is that we're all adjusting to new stages of our lives. Plus, we're all interested in going on adventures to explore Savannah and its surroundings. I think we're going to work well together.
At the end of orientation, Greta and Jenny from Savannah, and Sr. Regina and Sr. Bette from Philadelphia, came for the commissioning Mass. Despite each day feeling incredibly long, suddenly it felt like the week flew by and I was saying goodbye to new friends.
I need to go to bed, but I'll update again this weekend about Savannah!
In the meantime, if you would like to donate to my $500 fundraising goal for MVC, please click on this link: http://mvc.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=317670&lis=1&kntae317670=B68A9360B09D4D05A3457E1DDB4D3158&supId=298745878 (Note: there's a picture of my community on the page, so even if you don't have money you should still check it out!)
I had orientation for Mercy Volunteer Corps in Detroit from July 31 to August 7. And by "Detroit" I mean "Farmington Hills, Michigan." It was an extremely long week, and it was definitely hard for me, a natural wanderer, to stay put on the campus of the Sisters of Mercy on Eleven Mile Road. At least the grounds were beautiful and were ideal for walks/runs during our very little free time.
My favorite part of the campus was the labyrinth. It was outside, set far back in the woods. I walked it a few different times because I found it very peaceful. It reminded me of the first time I saw a labyrinth, which happened to be the original one in Chartres in France. And of the labyrinth I walked with my Koinonia group a few years ago at SJU. And of the labyrinth I walked with MaryKate at BC just a few days before I left Massachusetts. Perhaps the best part about the labyrinth in Farmington Hills was the inscription on the information plaque that said "You are exactly where you are supposed to be." That phrase was repeated a million times on my trip to Ecuador last May, so I couldn't help but smile. :)
I enjoyed getting to know all 24 of the other Mercy Volunteers (who are working in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Erie, New York, Sacramento, Detroit, St. Michael's Arizona, and Guyana, in addition to Savannah). I am so grateful that I'm working with a small organization because I know the leadership well, too. Plus, the Sisters of Mercy, Associates, Companions and former volunteers form a beautiful community that seems to provide endless connections and support.
The sessions themselves throughout orientation weren't very thrilling. I liked learning more about Catherine McAuley, but the other stuff was more like an overview of everything I've ever learned at RA training/retreats/service reflections over the past few years. So at least I can say I felt well-prepared!
Throughout orientation, we had a prayer space set up using a personal item from each person. I used the quetzal keychain that Tom gave me as an affirmation gift in Guatemala in May. I chose that because it reminds me of the beautiful memories I have from Central America over the past few years: in Costa Rica, Panama, El Salvador, and Guatemala (x2). It was there that I came to view myself in the context of the global community and where I believe I started to understand what prayer and vocation truly mean. It's still hard for me to believe that I will be in the continental United States for the next year of my life, but I also know that I have a lot of growing to do in my identity as an almost bilingual/bicultural woman.
I got to spend a lot of time with my community during orientation, mostly having "guided conversations". My three housemates are absolutely wonderful. Mike just graduated from Notre Dame, Regina just graduated from St. Xavier University, and Linda is from Long Island and has three grown children. We're all pretty different, but one thing we all have in common is that we're all adjusting to new stages of our lives. Plus, we're all interested in going on adventures to explore Savannah and its surroundings. I think we're going to work well together.
At the end of orientation, Greta and Jenny from Savannah, and Sr. Regina and Sr. Bette from Philadelphia, came for the commissioning Mass. Despite each day feeling incredibly long, suddenly it felt like the week flew by and I was saying goodbye to new friends.
I need to go to bed, but I'll update again this weekend about Savannah!
In the meantime, if you would like to donate to my $500 fundraising goal for MVC, please click on this link: http://mvc.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=317670&lis=1&kntae317670=B68A9360B09D4D05A3457E1DDB4D3158&supId=298745878 (Note: there's a picture of my community on the page, so even if you don't have money you should still check it out!)
Thursday, July 29, 2010
La introducción
You may be wondering what's up with the title of my blog. There are actually a few reasons I chose it:
1. Although I'll be living in Savannah, Georgia, I'll be working with mostly Mexican immigrants and therefore speaking in Spanish for a major part of my days. So I decided it would be appropriate to make the title of my blog, as well as the titles of my posts, in Spanish.
2. Every time I have traveled in Latin America and have gone to a market, I have been asked "¿Qué buscas?" ("What are you searching for?"). My answer has varied significantly, from "postales" or some other random souvenir to "mis dos amigos" who had recently ventured off in Antigua, Guatemala in January. However, whenever I was asked that question, I was often left musing to myself about what I was really searching for in life. "En busca de" translates to "In search of".
3. As some of you know, I am doing the Mercy Volunteer Corps. Although in the Mass the word "mercy" is translated to "piedad", the Sisters of Mercy are known as the Hermanas de la Misericordia in Spanish. Mercy has all sorts of different meanings, which I hope to reflect on more throughout my year. Thus, the name of my blog: "In search of mercy".
I think it sounds better in Spanish (as do most things, in my opinion).
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