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...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
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!)
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