Since I landed in Savannah on August 8, 2010, I've known that my last day of work at the Good Samaritan Clinic was going to be July 15, 2011. It has been one of those dates that seemed like it would never arrive, but last night, as my community members and I sat in anticipation of the final Harry Potter movie to begin, we uncomfortably watched our cell phones change from July 14 to July 15 at midnight.
In 12 hours, I'll be on a plane home. In a week, I'll be on a plane to Los Angeles. In 18 days, I'll be on a plane to Philly. And in four weeks, I'll be heading back to Georgia to begin orientation at Emory.
Time is a very strange thing. For the past few weeks, I've been wishing it away, but today, as I was trying to shove a year's worth of stuff into suitcases, the whole thing just didn't seem real. It probably won't hit me that I'm not going to work at Good Sam or live with Linda, Regina, and Mike again until sometime next week.
Moving forward, I wonder how this year is going to look in hindsight. Will it just be a small blip in my life that I describe as "that year I lived in Savannah"? Will the frustrations I have with certain members of the hospital administration here fade dramatically as time goes on? Will I forget the original expectations I had for my relationship with Mercy this year and simply see it for what it was?
If one thing is certain, it is that I have learned a lot about myself this year. I am more confident in what I want to do with my life, and I have the patients and volunteers from the clinic to thank for that.
I've had several amazing goodbye parties and received many beautiful gifts and notes over the past week. It's hard to imagine my daily life without many of the people I've grown to love here, but I'm also very excited and ready to begin my Master's program.
So I guess this is my last blog entry. Thank you to those of you who read this and who have supported me through the good and bad of my year with Mercy Volunteer Corps!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Las relaciones
I only have five more days of work!!! I'm pretty sure this is the first time that I've ever been extremely excited to have an experience come to an end, but some very bad experiences with the hierarchy of my clinic lately have made me realize I probably couldn't survive more than another week in Savannah.
This week, I have been even more grateful than usual for the positive relationships that have grown out of my year with MVC. My roommates and several volunteers at the clinic have become like a family to me. Even though the structured support for my program did not work out at all, many people here have gone out of their way to be supportive of me in this experience. Furthermore, many of my patients have strengthened me in ways that words truly cannot express (I hate that phrase, but I don't know how else to explain it). Today, as I was literally sobbing after being yelled at during an eye clinic, one of my patients gave me a hug (she thought I was crying because I was going to miss Savannah...but I didn't feel the need to correct her) and said that I shouldn't cry because God was using me to make the world a better place for people. Needless to say, that comment made me cry harder, but in a good way.
I guess this year has reminded me of how inter-personal relationships run our world. Many of us are where we are because of who we know, and it is our interactions with others that help us become who we are. So, to all of you who are actually reading this blog, thank you for being part of my life.
This week, I have been even more grateful than usual for the positive relationships that have grown out of my year with MVC. My roommates and several volunteers at the clinic have become like a family to me. Even though the structured support for my program did not work out at all, many people here have gone out of their way to be supportive of me in this experience. Furthermore, many of my patients have strengthened me in ways that words truly cannot express (I hate that phrase, but I don't know how else to explain it). Today, as I was literally sobbing after being yelled at during an eye clinic, one of my patients gave me a hug (she thought I was crying because I was going to miss Savannah...but I didn't feel the need to correct her) and said that I shouldn't cry because God was using me to make the world a better place for people. Needless to say, that comment made me cry harder, but in a good way.
I guess this year has reminded me of how inter-personal relationships run our world. Many of us are where we are because of who we know, and it is our interactions with others that help us become who we are. So, to all of you who are actually reading this blog, thank you for being part of my life.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
La religión
I just got back from possibly the most ridiculous experience I've had in Savannah. I went to what was advertised as a vigil called "United in Prayer for Immigration Reform" in Port Wentworth, right down the street from my church.
To start, I got there at the actual time it was set to start because I was told there would be lots of groups there and since I didn't know where the building was, I didn't want to be ridiculously late. However, when I arrived, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot and I was very obviously the only gringa to be found. I'm kind of used to looking like "a beacon of white in a sea of brown" (as I've been described by a friend), but this was the first time in many months where I didn't know any of the Hispanics around me. A nice Colombian man started chatting it up with me as we waited for nearly an hour for other people to arrive.
As I looked around the community gymnasium that we were using, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was completely decorated in red, white, and blue, presumably for the celebration of Independence Day tomorrow. The podium where I assumed our speakers would be had a plaque that said "Port Wentworth, the Stand Up for America City." I even learned that Port Wentworth's team name is the Patriots, and they use the exact same emblem as my favorite football team.
When the service finally started (I don't think I'll ever adjust to Latin time...), it immediately became clear to me that this was going to be more about prayer and less about immigration reform. The opening speaker was yelling into the microphone about the liberation of God's people while a Latino man strummed a guitar behind her and the majority of the audience was standing with their arms raised, mumbling prayers to themselves. Most of the individuals in the small group were holding their bibles and wearing rosary beads. To our left was a small adoration chapel, where one of the 5 people who was there from my parish was reminding people to sign up so as not to "leave the Lord alone." I found it pretty amusing that there was a sign outside the little make-shift chapel that said "Silencio", even though there were microphones and musical instruments set up about 100 yards from the door.
As people were saying their amens and wiping away tears, I was reminded of an article I recently read in my "Reader in Latina Feminist Theology" entitled "Perception Matters: Pentecostal Latinas in Allentown, PA." It seems that many economically poor Hispanics/Latinos are becoming divided in their faith. While some are leaning towards a more leftist theology of liberation, others are joining more conservative religious factions. The article points out that although some people (such as myself) think the latter group is crazy, it attracts many because of its focus on participation in the private sphere of home life and forsaking the private sphere of potential vices.
I used to consider myself a conservative, slightly charismatic Catholic. In high school and even into my first year of college, I loved praise and worship, Eucharistic adoration, daily Mass, etc. My own faith changed for a variety of reasons, but even still, I can understand how easy it is to get wrapped up in the song, dance, and overwhelming feeling of love that a big group of people praising God can yield.
This evening, being in the gymnasium utterly frightened me. After the speaker gave a little testimony, a group called "La Música de Dios" (or something similar) started playing some pretty intense Christian music. As people were becoming captivated, all I could think about was how religion really can become an opiate of the masses. I certainly believe in prayer and in the importance of community, but this was going a bit over-board for me. Maybe people are convinced that if they worship God in a particular way, then they will be spared from things like unjust immigration policies. I don't really know, but that's kind of what it seemed like to me tonight.
I've been struggling with how to define my faith lately. I don't know if I can consider myself Catholic, since I disagree with more tenets than I agree with. I feel like I'm searching for a sense of belonging for my spirituality, yet keep coming up empty-handed. (Funny story: my boss told me in my final evaluation that I need to improve my relationship with God. I wish I could describe how awkward the moment was, since she knows absolutely nothing about my faith life...) All I know, though, is that waves of very fundamentalist Christians scare me and make me uncomfortable in a way that is very rare.
To start, I got there at the actual time it was set to start because I was told there would be lots of groups there and since I didn't know where the building was, I didn't want to be ridiculously late. However, when I arrived, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot and I was very obviously the only gringa to be found. I'm kind of used to looking like "a beacon of white in a sea of brown" (as I've been described by a friend), but this was the first time in many months where I didn't know any of the Hispanics around me. A nice Colombian man started chatting it up with me as we waited for nearly an hour for other people to arrive.
As I looked around the community gymnasium that we were using, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was completely decorated in red, white, and blue, presumably for the celebration of Independence Day tomorrow. The podium where I assumed our speakers would be had a plaque that said "Port Wentworth, the Stand Up for America City." I even learned that Port Wentworth's team name is the Patriots, and they use the exact same emblem as my favorite football team.
When the service finally started (I don't think I'll ever adjust to Latin time...), it immediately became clear to me that this was going to be more about prayer and less about immigration reform. The opening speaker was yelling into the microphone about the liberation of God's people while a Latino man strummed a guitar behind her and the majority of the audience was standing with their arms raised, mumbling prayers to themselves. Most of the individuals in the small group were holding their bibles and wearing rosary beads. To our left was a small adoration chapel, where one of the 5 people who was there from my parish was reminding people to sign up so as not to "leave the Lord alone." I found it pretty amusing that there was a sign outside the little make-shift chapel that said "Silencio", even though there were microphones and musical instruments set up about 100 yards from the door.
As people were saying their amens and wiping away tears, I was reminded of an article I recently read in my "Reader in Latina Feminist Theology" entitled "Perception Matters: Pentecostal Latinas in Allentown, PA." It seems that many economically poor Hispanics/Latinos are becoming divided in their faith. While some are leaning towards a more leftist theology of liberation, others are joining more conservative religious factions. The article points out that although some people (such as myself) think the latter group is crazy, it attracts many because of its focus on participation in the private sphere of home life and forsaking the private sphere of potential vices.
I used to consider myself a conservative, slightly charismatic Catholic. In high school and even into my first year of college, I loved praise and worship, Eucharistic adoration, daily Mass, etc. My own faith changed for a variety of reasons, but even still, I can understand how easy it is to get wrapped up in the song, dance, and overwhelming feeling of love that a big group of people praising God can yield.
This evening, being in the gymnasium utterly frightened me. After the speaker gave a little testimony, a group called "La Música de Dios" (or something similar) started playing some pretty intense Christian music. As people were becoming captivated, all I could think about was how religion really can become an opiate of the masses. I certainly believe in prayer and in the importance of community, but this was going a bit over-board for me. Maybe people are convinced that if they worship God in a particular way, then they will be spared from things like unjust immigration policies. I don't really know, but that's kind of what it seemed like to me tonight.
I've been struggling with how to define my faith lately. I don't know if I can consider myself Catholic, since I disagree with more tenets than I agree with. I feel like I'm searching for a sense of belonging for my spirituality, yet keep coming up empty-handed. (Funny story: my boss told me in my final evaluation that I need to improve my relationship with God. I wish I could describe how awkward the moment was, since she knows absolutely nothing about my faith life...) All I know, though, is that waves of very fundamentalist Christians scare me and make me uncomfortable in a way that is very rare.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Se fue el mes
I can't believe I didn't blog once during the month of June. It was a pretty crazy couple of weeks, though. I had to go to Gwynedd Valley, PA for the MVC Transition Retreat the second weekend in June, and then the following two weekends I had friends from SJU visiting.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I will be home in Massachusetts. That means that I have 9 days of work left, thanks to the 3-day weekend.
I have been anxiously anticipating today, July 1, since the middle of May when Gov. Deal signed HB 87 into law in Georgia. However, this past Monday, an injunction was placed on the state, blocking the anti-immigrant law from going into effect today.
Everything lately seems very anti-climactic. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.
This week I started training the girl who will be replacing me, and I just find myself slowly counting down the moments until I can leave Savannah. I think this is the first time in my life that I'm not trying to fight transition. I feel ready to leave this experience and begin my next one.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I will be home in Massachusetts. That means that I have 9 days of work left, thanks to the 3-day weekend.
I have been anxiously anticipating today, July 1, since the middle of May when Gov. Deal signed HB 87 into law in Georgia. However, this past Monday, an injunction was placed on the state, blocking the anti-immigrant law from going into effect today.
Everything lately seems very anti-climactic. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.
This week I started training the girl who will be replacing me, and I just find myself slowly counting down the moments until I can leave Savannah. I think this is the first time in my life that I'm not trying to fight transition. I feel ready to leave this experience and begin my next one.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Dar y Recibir
The past couple of weeks have been emotional for me. I miss my friends from home/college a lot more than usual, and I feel like I should be in Latin America right now (especially thanks to all the SIP pictures and status posts that are inundating my Facebook newsfeed). I know I'm where I'm supposed to be at this moment, working with immigrants in a society that overwhelmingly mistreats them. I know that I'm learning a lot about myself while improving my Spanish and being somewhat useful at the clinic. But I also know that I'm being called elsewhere. I am extremely excited to start graduate school and begin studying global public health in a more academic way. I am also starting to look forward to hopefully going abroad next summer to do my thesis research and then joining the Peace Corps the summer after I graduate. Mercy Volunteer Corps has given me an amazing opportunity this year to take a step back and discover where my passions truly lie, but now I'm in an awkward period of being phased out of my job while anticipating my next steps.
In order to calm my sense of restlessness lately, I decided to spend the majority of my money on plane tickets for the summer. I'll be going to Pasadena, CA from July 22 to July 26 and then to Philadelphia from August 2 to August 8. That leaves me nearly three weeks to spend time at home to see friends and family, have jury duty, and go to like 4 doctor's appointments. I can already feel my time before entering grad school slipping away. I have plans for nearly every weekend until then, but I guess that's just how I tend to cope with big life changes.
Anyway, I've been reflecting a lot this weekend on my ability to give and receive mercy/love/kindness/whatever you want to call it freely. It's sometimes really strange to have all the people I know here in Savannah be aware of the fact that I only make $100/month for spending. People always offer to give me food or to pay for an outing, and they never fail to bring something (usually wine) if I invite them over to my house. It's certainly nice to be rid of the pressure to always reciprocate gifts but I still find myself feeling somewhat awkward when people just pick up my check at a restaurant or take me on special excursions.
Yesterday I arrived at Mass a few minutes late, and when I got in I awkwardly stood in the back. Barely 30 seconds later, a man carrying a "hand baby" (that is definitely one of my favorite Savannah terms) got up out of his pew, found a folding chair, carried it down the side aisle of the church, and plopped it down, motioning me to go sit. There were a few young men sitting on the floor behind where my new chair was, and I felt extremely awkward, like a "gringa princess" or something. I know the man was trying to be polite, and I certainly appreciated the gesture, but I still felt uncomfortable for some reason.
As I try to grapple with why I have such a hard time accepting other peoples' "random acts of kindness", I guess I should start also considering how many other people I have made feel uncomfortable by trying to "help" them.
In order to calm my sense of restlessness lately, I decided to spend the majority of my money on plane tickets for the summer. I'll be going to Pasadena, CA from July 22 to July 26 and then to Philadelphia from August 2 to August 8. That leaves me nearly three weeks to spend time at home to see friends and family, have jury duty, and go to like 4 doctor's appointments. I can already feel my time before entering grad school slipping away. I have plans for nearly every weekend until then, but I guess that's just how I tend to cope with big life changes.
Anyway, I've been reflecting a lot this weekend on my ability to give and receive mercy/love/kindness/whatever you want to call it freely. It's sometimes really strange to have all the people I know here in Savannah be aware of the fact that I only make $100/month for spending. People always offer to give me food or to pay for an outing, and they never fail to bring something (usually wine) if I invite them over to my house. It's certainly nice to be rid of the pressure to always reciprocate gifts but I still find myself feeling somewhat awkward when people just pick up my check at a restaurant or take me on special excursions.
Yesterday I arrived at Mass a few minutes late, and when I got in I awkwardly stood in the back. Barely 30 seconds later, a man carrying a "hand baby" (that is definitely one of my favorite Savannah terms) got up out of his pew, found a folding chair, carried it down the side aisle of the church, and plopped it down, motioning me to go sit. There were a few young men sitting on the floor behind where my new chair was, and I felt extremely awkward, like a "gringa princess" or something. I know the man was trying to be polite, and I certainly appreciated the gesture, but I still felt uncomfortable for some reason.
As I try to grapple with why I have such a hard time accepting other peoples' "random acts of kindness", I guess I should start also considering how many other people I have made feel uncomfortable by trying to "help" them.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Mi otro trabajo: trabajadora social
This morning, one of the first patients I saw at eye clinic was Mr. J. I asked if he has refilled his diabetic medications, and he shamefully said no because he didn't have the money. I lectured him about how he needs to call me when this happens because his health is very important, but then he politely apologized and explained that he didn't have the money because he had to pay an $800 ticket. I asked why, and he explained that he was pulled over last week for running a traffic light that the cop said was red by that Mr. J. said was green-turning-yellow. Mr. J. is undocumented, and when he was unable to produce a driver's license, he was held overnight in jail and then given an $800 ticket to pay. That is normally how much Mr. J. makes in a month doing manual labor in the Savannah area. However, the conversation was kind of bitterly sweet because we had both heard talk that Gov. Deal of Georgia was going to sign HB 87 into law later today; if Mr. J. had been pulled over for "driving while brown" after July 1, he would be sitting in a detention center awaiting a deportation trial.
A few minutes after this conversation, I talked to Mrs. S. and her 4-year-old son. I asked if the son goes to pre-school and she said no because in order to go to a state-funded program (paid for by the Georgia Lottery by the way), her son would need proof of residency. He is a U.S. citizen by birth, but she lives in a trailer that is owned by someone else and the bills are made out to that other person. This is an issue that many trailer park owners near my clinic are trying to crack down on, but I don't really know what they're going to do because most of the parks would be empty if they only allowed people with documentos buenos to stay. I emphasized to Mrs. S. the importance of children going to school, but the other problem is that buses won't pick up the kids and she doesn't have a car. She has a neighbor that will charge her $40 round-trip to wherever she needs to go, but that's not exactly sustainable for a school year. I asked her what she's planning on doing, and she said that it probably didn't matter because if HB 87 was signed today, she probably wouldn't be staying in Georgia much longer anyway "because of the risk of being separated from my son." I told her that she needs to at least wait the 6 weeks it'll take for her glasses to arrive, but I'm not too confident in that decision...
A few minutes after this conversation, I talked to Mrs. S. and her 4-year-old son. I asked if the son goes to pre-school and she said no because in order to go to a state-funded program (paid for by the Georgia Lottery by the way), her son would need proof of residency. He is a U.S. citizen by birth, but she lives in a trailer that is owned by someone else and the bills are made out to that other person. This is an issue that many trailer park owners near my clinic are trying to crack down on, but I don't really know what they're going to do because most of the parks would be empty if they only allowed people with documentos buenos to stay. I emphasized to Mrs. S. the importance of children going to school, but the other problem is that buses won't pick up the kids and she doesn't have a car. She has a neighbor that will charge her $40 round-trip to wherever she needs to go, but that's not exactly sustainable for a school year. I asked her what she's planning on doing, and she said that it probably didn't matter because if HB 87 was signed today, she probably wouldn't be staying in Georgia much longer anyway "because of the risk of being separated from my son." I told her that she needs to at least wait the 6 weeks it'll take for her glasses to arrive, but I'm not too confident in that decision...
After spending 3 hours interpreting at the eye clinic, I drove to my regular clinic and listened to all 15 messages that had arrived between 5:30pm yesterday and 11am today. One was from the medical director of the local cancer center, so I obviously called him back first. There’s this woman, Mrs. Z. (I’m starting to run out of letters to use for these examples) who was diagnosed with breast cancer about 6 months ago out in the boondocks of Georgia. Mrs. Z.’s one aunt died of breast cancer, and her other aunt survived after a serious set of treatments. Mrs. Z. is 38 and has a 3-year-old, 6-year-old, and 9-year-old. She is undocumented, but all three children are U.S. citizens by birth. Anyway, she had a mammogram, breast ultrasound, breast biopsy, and right mastectomy at a little community hospital, with the last appointment being the beginning of March. She was then told that she would need several rounds of intense chemotherapy beginning sometime in the next three months, but that she’d have to find somewhere else for that to take place. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal and called “dumping”, but since she’s undocumented and speaks about 5 words of English, who was going to file a complaint? She has a parish priest trying to advocate for her, but his Spanish is far from perfect and he is a very busy man. Unfortunately, the cancer center here came to the difficult decision not to accept the case because the medical director feels like the other oncologist never should’ve started the treatment without being willing to follow-through with it. The medical director here is a very kind and generous man who has accepted every case I’ve given to him, but he said this was a much larger community issue for the county somewhere in the middle of Georgia. I just hate to think of Mrs. Z.’s life being sacrificed so that people could “learn a lesson” about how to treat cancer patients.
Amidst trying to clear off my desk today, scheduling a neurology appointment, multiple surgeries, and some specialized imaging orders, I got a call from a community member who talked at me for about 15 minutes about how his throat is closing up and how he’s living on Ensure because he hasn’t been able to swallow solid foods in several years. He went on and on about he paid taxes for 30 years and now he’s going to die because no one will help him. I obviously feel bad for this guy, but my patience was kind of low at this point in the afternoon after a long week. I suggested he call a general surgeon who will do a consult for $168. He said he didn’t have any money and that he’d just die waiting. I wish there was something else I could do, but there aren’t any surgeons who will do things for free around here. The guy probably needs his esophagus expanded, but he has other medical issues, and every procedure has risks. That’s not something my clinic can handle, and I’d be giving him false hope if I made him an appointment. Still, it sucks to feel like another person who’s just not helpful in a very cruel society.
I thought my job this year was "office coordinator"?
I thought my job this year was "office coordinator"?
Saturday, May 7, 2011
La cuenta hacia atrás
10 weeks from right now, I will be at home in Massachusetts, most likely getting ready to eat dinner.
I hate looking forward to the next chapter instead of living in the moment, but to be honest, the present is kind of boring. I don't have any updates about my work, and I still have the rest of May to get through before my incredible line-up of guests come to visit in June.
I guess it makes sense to feel ready for transition at this point; for the past four years of my life, the first weekend in May meant the end of school and the beginning of summer. Granted, it's been "summer" in Savannah since like February, but I think seeing the Facebook statuses of my friends getting ready for graduation and other adventures has me longing to also get going on my new journey. Besides, I signed a lease in Atlanta last week, so I feel like I have one foot out the door even though I still have so much time left here. And although I'm sure June and July are going to fly by, May just seems SO long.
I think the other part of my antsy-ness is that I just don't like living in Savannah. I feel very isolated here, and lately my feelings of not belonging have been exacerbated by the incredible conservatism that I've never witnessed before this year.
As an example, after Osama bin Laden was killed on Sunday, a sign on one of the main streets in Savannah was changed to say "Osama is no more. US military...score. We will never forget 9/11." Sure, Savannah is a military town and almost every sign here says something along the lines of "We love the military! Go USA!". But the way people were talking about the conclusion to this almost-ten-year-old mission made me want to throw up. It was if everyone was blind to the trillions of dollars spent and the thousands of innocent lives lost to capture one man. And it's not like that money was being used to further understand why people like members of al Qaeda hate the U.S. so much. The U.S. military doesn't focus on how to create better-educated and better-developed communities, even though every research article regarding development demonstrates the correlation between violent crimes and poverty/its counter-parts.
I realize that Savannah is not the only city in the U.S. that was blindly celebrating the death of bin Laden. In fact, most of the northeast was party central, claiming that it made up for those feelings of horror that I remember so clearly from September 11, 2001. Watching clips of celebrations in some of my favorite cities made my stomach churn, but it was at least good to see some well-written responses to those celebrations. Here in Georgia, I felt like I had no one to even converse with about the topic without being accused for the umpteenth time this year of being a communist hippie.
So, the countdown is on. I imagine I'll eventually get nostalgic about leaving MVC, but right now I'm just way too excited about going home and seeing my friends and family.
I hate looking forward to the next chapter instead of living in the moment, but to be honest, the present is kind of boring. I don't have any updates about my work, and I still have the rest of May to get through before my incredible line-up of guests come to visit in June.
I guess it makes sense to feel ready for transition at this point; for the past four years of my life, the first weekend in May meant the end of school and the beginning of summer. Granted, it's been "summer" in Savannah since like February, but I think seeing the Facebook statuses of my friends getting ready for graduation and other adventures has me longing to also get going on my new journey. Besides, I signed a lease in Atlanta last week, so I feel like I have one foot out the door even though I still have so much time left here. And although I'm sure June and July are going to fly by, May just seems SO long.
I think the other part of my antsy-ness is that I just don't like living in Savannah. I feel very isolated here, and lately my feelings of not belonging have been exacerbated by the incredible conservatism that I've never witnessed before this year.
As an example, after Osama bin Laden was killed on Sunday, a sign on one of the main streets in Savannah was changed to say "Osama is no more. US military...score. We will never forget 9/11." Sure, Savannah is a military town and almost every sign here says something along the lines of "We love the military! Go USA!". But the way people were talking about the conclusion to this almost-ten-year-old mission made me want to throw up. It was if everyone was blind to the trillions of dollars spent and the thousands of innocent lives lost to capture one man. And it's not like that money was being used to further understand why people like members of al Qaeda hate the U.S. so much. The U.S. military doesn't focus on how to create better-educated and better-developed communities, even though every research article regarding development demonstrates the correlation between violent crimes and poverty/its counter-parts.
I realize that Savannah is not the only city in the U.S. that was blindly celebrating the death of bin Laden. In fact, most of the northeast was party central, claiming that it made up for those feelings of horror that I remember so clearly from September 11, 2001. Watching clips of celebrations in some of my favorite cities made my stomach churn, but it was at least good to see some well-written responses to those celebrations. Here in Georgia, I felt like I had no one to even converse with about the topic without being accused for the umpteenth time this year of being a communist hippie.
So, the countdown is on. I imagine I'll eventually get nostalgic about leaving MVC, but right now I'm just way too excited about going home and seeing my friends and family.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Mi corazón roto
I have probably been "ruined for life" since delving into service several years ago. But lately, I've been really feeling the emotional toll of that phrase so commonly thrown around in Jesuit circles.
I visited the previously-mentioned Mrs. A. and her family in the hospital on Saturday afternoon for a few hours. It helped me understand some of the larger issues at hand; specifically, the fact that Mrs. A. was one of the two bread-winners in her home. She lives in a trailer with her husband, her 21-year-old daughter, her daughter's husband, and their 1 and 2-year-old children. She was in the hospital for 10 days, which meant she missed work and therefore missed out on desperately needed income. Furthermore, the whole thing was all probably for naught because the third hospital in Atlanta (which was unfortunately Emory University Hospital...) declined the transfer request to do the surgery. So Mrs. A. was released from the hospital on Tuesday evening with an oxygen machine and a piece of paper written entirely in English about the fact that she has follow-up appointments with a hematologist and a cardiologist next week. She told me that she wishes that she had just never found out about her congenital heart problem, and honestly, I don't really blame her. If I had been able to see into the future, I probably would've never made Mrs. A. the first appointment that began this whole ordeal.
Last night at clinic, I had a patient, Mrs. B., start crying in my arms. Her husband has Hepatitis C and the clinic has been paying for his appointments with a liver specialist. Yesterday, the doctor told Mr. and Mrs. B. that Mr. B. is as good as dead if he doesn't have a liver transplant, but since he's not technically disabled, he won't be able to get the Medicaid that could potentially pay for the transplant. Furthermore, Mrs. B. was fired from her job the day before because she's had to miss too much work to bring her husband to all these appointments (they live over an hour away from Savannah). Mrs. B. told me she was only making $10/hour, but it was enough to at least stay afloat; now she's worried about having to give up her house if neither her nor her husband are able to find some form of work. Mrs. B. struggles with very serious anxiety, as well as a slew of other health problems, that obviously compound all of these other issues. I was able to get Mr. B on a prescription assistance program, and I'm trying to do other little things to help them out, but the situation keeps getting more and more messy.
This afternoon, I spent a lot of time talking to Mrs. M. on the phone. Her husband was one of the aforementioned managers of a McDonald's that was raided last week. She says that he is completely innocent of any criminal charges and that the whole scenario was created because of racial tensions at McDonald's and in society in general. He is facing both criminal and immigration charges though, because he also happens to be undocumented. She is preparing to sell literally everything she owns, send her two teen-aged children to live with family in another state, and move in with a friend so that she can pay the exorbitant lawyer's fees. I have confirmation from an attorney friend of mine that the lawyer she has is the best in the area for this sort of thing, but the entire situation is literally turning her life upside-down. The great irony of the situation is that Mrs. M. was a lawyer in Peru before she immigrated to the U.S. Mrs. M. isn't a patient of mine, but the woman she is moving in with is a patient at Good Samaritan (who I was luckily able to tell today that the lump in her breast isn't cancerous...phew). Random community connections actually put us in contact yesterday...the Hispanic community in Savannah seems to all know each other. Anyway, there obviously isn't anything I can do for Mrs. M. or her family other than pray and help them access small forms of assistance (like food). But Mrs. M. and I spent quite a while chatting and crying together today about the myth of the "American dream", about why racism exists, and about the state of the new immigration law in Georgia (which, surprisingly, hasn't yet been signed by Gov. Deal). I've never met Mrs. M., but I sincerely hope that I do before I leave Savannah.
Good thing I don't want to be a social worker...I don't think I could handle this type of work forever.
I visited the previously-mentioned Mrs. A. and her family in the hospital on Saturday afternoon for a few hours. It helped me understand some of the larger issues at hand; specifically, the fact that Mrs. A. was one of the two bread-winners in her home. She lives in a trailer with her husband, her 21-year-old daughter, her daughter's husband, and their 1 and 2-year-old children. She was in the hospital for 10 days, which meant she missed work and therefore missed out on desperately needed income. Furthermore, the whole thing was all probably for naught because the third hospital in Atlanta (which was unfortunately Emory University Hospital...) declined the transfer request to do the surgery. So Mrs. A. was released from the hospital on Tuesday evening with an oxygen machine and a piece of paper written entirely in English about the fact that she has follow-up appointments with a hematologist and a cardiologist next week. She told me that she wishes that she had just never found out about her congenital heart problem, and honestly, I don't really blame her. If I had been able to see into the future, I probably would've never made Mrs. A. the first appointment that began this whole ordeal.
Last night at clinic, I had a patient, Mrs. B., start crying in my arms. Her husband has Hepatitis C and the clinic has been paying for his appointments with a liver specialist. Yesterday, the doctor told Mr. and Mrs. B. that Mr. B. is as good as dead if he doesn't have a liver transplant, but since he's not technically disabled, he won't be able to get the Medicaid that could potentially pay for the transplant. Furthermore, Mrs. B. was fired from her job the day before because she's had to miss too much work to bring her husband to all these appointments (they live over an hour away from Savannah). Mrs. B. told me she was only making $10/hour, but it was enough to at least stay afloat; now she's worried about having to give up her house if neither her nor her husband are able to find some form of work. Mrs. B. struggles with very serious anxiety, as well as a slew of other health problems, that obviously compound all of these other issues. I was able to get Mr. B on a prescription assistance program, and I'm trying to do other little things to help them out, but the situation keeps getting more and more messy.
This afternoon, I spent a lot of time talking to Mrs. M. on the phone. Her husband was one of the aforementioned managers of a McDonald's that was raided last week. She says that he is completely innocent of any criminal charges and that the whole scenario was created because of racial tensions at McDonald's and in society in general. He is facing both criminal and immigration charges though, because he also happens to be undocumented. She is preparing to sell literally everything she owns, send her two teen-aged children to live with family in another state, and move in with a friend so that she can pay the exorbitant lawyer's fees. I have confirmation from an attorney friend of mine that the lawyer she has is the best in the area for this sort of thing, but the entire situation is literally turning her life upside-down. The great irony of the situation is that Mrs. M. was a lawyer in Peru before she immigrated to the U.S. Mrs. M. isn't a patient of mine, but the woman she is moving in with is a patient at Good Samaritan (who I was luckily able to tell today that the lump in her breast isn't cancerous...phew). Random community connections actually put us in contact yesterday...the Hispanic community in Savannah seems to all know each other. Anyway, there obviously isn't anything I can do for Mrs. M. or her family other than pray and help them access small forms of assistance (like food). But Mrs. M. and I spent quite a while chatting and crying together today about the myth of the "American dream", about why racism exists, and about the state of the new immigration law in Georgia (which, surprisingly, hasn't yet been signed by Gov. Deal). I've never met Mrs. M., but I sincerely hope that I do before I leave Savannah.
Good thing I don't want to be a social worker...I don't think I could handle this type of work forever.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
El Día de la Comunidad
What a weekend!
Yesterday was SJU National Community Day. Linda and I got up early to go to America's Second Harvest of Coastal Georgia. It was kind of sad not entering the SJU chapel seeing everyone in bright-colored t-shirts and hearing people complaining about being hung over, but I wore my "...With and for others" t-shirt with pride yesterday.
Linda and I, along with almost 100 other people, stuffed 15,000 grocery bags for elderly citizens of Savannah. It was fun, and we especially enjoyed making fun of how long it took some people to catch on to the assembly line system. I was initially sad that none of the Hawks living within 50 miles of Savannah responded to my email saying that they wanted to participate with me, but one man (who got his Master's at St. Joseph's College in 1961!) ended up mailing me a $300 check as a donation to Second Harvest, and he and his wife are taking me out to Thai food for lunch in two weeks!
Random important fact that I learned yesterday: Approximately 30% of food in the United States gets wasted. (Second Harvest works by getting surplus food from local grocery stores and re-distributing it as free or very low cost to those in need. In fact, Linda uses Second Harvest regularly for her clients at the community center where she serves.)
Today was an adventure. Linda, Regina, and I went to Fort Pulaski on Tybee Island. We walked to the furthest point of the fort, which is about a 1.5 miles from the parking lot, and then waded our way through the water to the Cockspur Lighthouse, which was about 45 yards away. We prepared by buying $5 tennis shoes at Walmart last night, which was definitely a good idea because the mud and oyster shells destroyed them almost instantly. (Entering the fort was free today because it's National Parks Week or something...so the $5 would've gone to our admission otherwise.) We also timed the trip perfectly by figuring out when low tide was; at high tide, the trip would have been almost impossible. The only glitch in our adventure was that I tried to walk along the sand, instead of on the shells, and ended up being knee-deep in the mud and unable to move before I even realized what was happening. Luckily, Linda and Regina pulled me out before I panicked, and now I have awesome battle scars up my legs! The water and weather were absolutely perfect, and we were pleasantly surprised that the water only went mid-way up our thighs. Climbing the lighthouse was kind of scary since most of the bricks on the stairs had eroded, but we made it to the top and got a beautiful view of the islands. And we even signed the visitors log to prove we did it! The best part was that we didn't see any alligators or sharks, which we were all petrified of (instead we saw lots of crabs and dead jellyfish).
I'm thinking of leaving my muddy shoes in my closet when I leave Savannah with a note telling future volunteers that they definitely need to make the trek to Cockspur!
Yesterday was SJU National Community Day. Linda and I got up early to go to America's Second Harvest of Coastal Georgia. It was kind of sad not entering the SJU chapel seeing everyone in bright-colored t-shirts and hearing people complaining about being hung over, but I wore my "...With and for others" t-shirt with pride yesterday.
Linda and I, along with almost 100 other people, stuffed 15,000 grocery bags for elderly citizens of Savannah. It was fun, and we especially enjoyed making fun of how long it took some people to catch on to the assembly line system. I was initially sad that none of the Hawks living within 50 miles of Savannah responded to my email saying that they wanted to participate with me, but one man (who got his Master's at St. Joseph's College in 1961!) ended up mailing me a $300 check as a donation to Second Harvest, and he and his wife are taking me out to Thai food for lunch in two weeks!
Random important fact that I learned yesterday: Approximately 30% of food in the United States gets wasted. (Second Harvest works by getting surplus food from local grocery stores and re-distributing it as free or very low cost to those in need. In fact, Linda uses Second Harvest regularly for her clients at the community center where she serves.)
Today was an adventure. Linda, Regina, and I went to Fort Pulaski on Tybee Island. We walked to the furthest point of the fort, which is about a 1.5 miles from the parking lot, and then waded our way through the water to the Cockspur Lighthouse, which was about 45 yards away. We prepared by buying $5 tennis shoes at Walmart last night, which was definitely a good idea because the mud and oyster shells destroyed them almost instantly. (Entering the fort was free today because it's National Parks Week or something...so the $5 would've gone to our admission otherwise.) We also timed the trip perfectly by figuring out when low tide was; at high tide, the trip would have been almost impossible. The only glitch in our adventure was that I tried to walk along the sand, instead of on the shells, and ended up being knee-deep in the mud and unable to move before I even realized what was happening. Luckily, Linda and Regina pulled me out before I panicked, and now I have awesome battle scars up my legs! The water and weather were absolutely perfect, and we were pleasantly surprised that the water only went mid-way up our thighs. Climbing the lighthouse was kind of scary since most of the bricks on the stairs had eroded, but we made it to the top and got a beautiful view of the islands. And we even signed the visitors log to prove we did it! The best part was that we didn't see any alligators or sharks, which we were all petrified of (instead we saw lots of crabs and dead jellyfish).
I'm thinking of leaving my muddy shoes in my closet when I leave Savannah with a note telling future volunteers that they definitely need to make the trek to Cockspur!
Friday, April 15, 2011
La injusticia
I'm sitting in my car, in rush hour traffic, grateful to finally be done with this hellish week. I turn on the radio, only to hear another advertisement telling me that I should be freed from the terrible burden of shaving by getting laser hair removal. Ah yes, the important things in life.
I look to my left. I have just passed McDonald's, one of the three in Savannah that was raided on Wednesday by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Evidently, a few managers at the restaurants were selling fake IDs to prospective workers. When ICE cleared out the restaurants, everyone who was white, black, and basically anything other than brown was told to leave. That's good; I mean, Africans, Canadians, Asians, and Europeans can obviously not be undocumented, right? And neither can very light or very dark skinned Hispanics, amazingly enough. And I'm sure all of the workers who were arrested were doing terrible things with the IDs, like putting into someone else's social security. (Granted, if you watch Fox News, the workers used these "stolen identities" to do things like "ruin American Citizens' credit".)
I'm feeling a little more than frustrated. Yesterday, the Georgia state legislature passed a bill, HB 87, targeting illegal immigration. Its premise is quite similar to SB 1070 that was passed in Arizona last year, but supposedly Georgia used language that will hopefully avoid injunction. Gov. Deal has already said he'd sign the bill. So now if someone who is undocumented gets pulled over for having a tail light out, failing to use a turn signal, or not stopping for 3 seconds at a stop sign, they can be deported. And there is no rule that forces authorities to notify the individual's family; the individual can simply be moved to a detention center somewhere and will wait there until deportation occurs.
The law comes at an interesting time, since Vidalia onions are literally being picked as I write this less than 2 hours west of where I am sitting right now. Georgia's economy is based almost entirely on agriculture and tourism, and we are in the middle of Savannah's prime tourist season. I wonder who is going to work cleaning hotels, busing tables at restaurants, and landscaping the city's beautiful area. I wonder who is going to work the farms and the factories across the state. Good thing there are lots of U.S. citizens who are ready to line up for these jobs when our undocumented residents leave for a less racist state. (Did I mention that South Carolina is only a few miles north of where I'm sitting?)
This upcoming weekend is known as Orange Crush on Tybee Island. Historically, it is a beach weekend with mostly black college students. This year will be the first year that there won't be "random police checkpoints" on the road to Tybee, since they keep facing allegations that these stops are a cover-up for racial profiling. This decision was announced yesterday, too. Good thing we're replacing bigotry towards one group with bigotry towards another.
Maybe I'm just tired. Here are two very small examples of what my week consisted of:
1. I've been on the phone practically a million times with a married couple that I lovingly call "the twins" (aka Mr. and Mrs. R.) and their entire family. "The twins" are uncontrolled diabetics; they were the first patients that I successfully solicited free insulin for by writing really sweet letters to pharmaceutical companies about how they barely make ends meet by selling tortillas on the side of a road in the boondocks of Georgia. Mrs. R. had a mole between her eyebrows that caught the eye of one of our doctors; she was referred to a dermatologist in mid-March, who did a biopsy. It turns out that she has invasive skin cancer. The kicker of this part of the story is that the dermatologist's office knew on March 14, but didn't notify Mrs. R. until April 6 (and only after I called them a million times, reminding them to find an interpreter and call her). Mrs. R. has been referred to the Medical College of Georgia (MCG) in Augusta, where they will charge her an arm and a leg to get treatment. I had to book her appointment, which I had to coordinate around her special eye appointment because she was just diagnosed with glaucoma last week, too. The daughter of "the twins" is a single mother of a 1-year-old, and is suffering from some major depression. She came in one evening last week to talk to me and just started sobbing, so I've been working to get her some counseling. On Tuesday, the daughter-in-law of "the twins" called to report that Mr. R. had a routine x-ray done of his back for some pain, and evidently he has cancerous growths in both of his lungs. He had a few more diagnostic tests done yesterday and today, so I already know that next week will likely be full of trying to coordinate his treatment in Savannah with his wife's treatment in Augusta and Claxton. No one in the family speaks more than a few words of English, but, in case you were wondering, the family is in Georgia legally.
2. One of my patients (Mrs. A.) had a ridiculously high hemoglobin in a routine blood test last week, so we referred her to a hematologist/oncologist. When I called to tell her that I made her this appointment and that I'd be sending an interpreter, she was all kinds of confused because she "felt fine." The doctor ordered a few more routine tests, and discovered that Mrs. A. has a tear in her aortic septum. In other words, there's a hole in her heart. It's a congenital defect, but now that she's getting older, it's affecting her body. The doctor admitted her to the hospital, and Mrs. A's daughter called to tell me they were trying to transfer her to a hospital with a better cardiology center (likely in Atlanta) where they could do surgery. Mrs. A's daughter is younger than me and has 2 small children. She speaks almost zero English, and she's trying to understand her mother's health situation while also taking care of her family. Today, a social worker went to talk to Mrs. A. to find out her documentation status. Being that she is undocumented, 2 of the 3 hospitals that were contacted for the transfer have declined. Mrs. A. is on heparin to thin her blood; with the amount of hemoglobin she had, she was at a very high risk for a stroke. She'll be in the hospital through the weekend, hoping that the last hospital in Atlanta will accept her. Then come the complicated questions: how will she get there? Who will pay the bills? This is not to mention the whole issue of doing a risky surgery. Some people have already opined that she should just go back to Mexico to get this procedure done. (Out of sight, out of mind perhaps?) I'll be visiting her tomorrow afternoon.
I feel emotionally exhausted. Today marks exactly three months until my commitment at Good Samaritan is done. I'm trying to think about housing for the fall and about what I'll be doing with my month off this summer. But I'm preoccupied thinking about all the injustice going on around me.
I look to my left. I have just passed McDonald's, one of the three in Savannah that was raided on Wednesday by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Evidently, a few managers at the restaurants were selling fake IDs to prospective workers. When ICE cleared out the restaurants, everyone who was white, black, and basically anything other than brown was told to leave. That's good; I mean, Africans, Canadians, Asians, and Europeans can obviously not be undocumented, right? And neither can very light or very dark skinned Hispanics, amazingly enough. And I'm sure all of the workers who were arrested were doing terrible things with the IDs, like putting into someone else's social security. (Granted, if you watch Fox News, the workers used these "stolen identities" to do things like "ruin American Citizens' credit".)
I'm feeling a little more than frustrated. Yesterday, the Georgia state legislature passed a bill, HB 87, targeting illegal immigration. Its premise is quite similar to SB 1070 that was passed in Arizona last year, but supposedly Georgia used language that will hopefully avoid injunction. Gov. Deal has already said he'd sign the bill. So now if someone who is undocumented gets pulled over for having a tail light out, failing to use a turn signal, or not stopping for 3 seconds at a stop sign, they can be deported. And there is no rule that forces authorities to notify the individual's family; the individual can simply be moved to a detention center somewhere and will wait there until deportation occurs.
The law comes at an interesting time, since Vidalia onions are literally being picked as I write this less than 2 hours west of where I am sitting right now. Georgia's economy is based almost entirely on agriculture and tourism, and we are in the middle of Savannah's prime tourist season. I wonder who is going to work cleaning hotels, busing tables at restaurants, and landscaping the city's beautiful area. I wonder who is going to work the farms and the factories across the state. Good thing there are lots of U.S. citizens who are ready to line up for these jobs when our undocumented residents leave for a less racist state. (Did I mention that South Carolina is only a few miles north of where I'm sitting?)
This upcoming weekend is known as Orange Crush on Tybee Island. Historically, it is a beach weekend with mostly black college students. This year will be the first year that there won't be "random police checkpoints" on the road to Tybee, since they keep facing allegations that these stops are a cover-up for racial profiling. This decision was announced yesterday, too. Good thing we're replacing bigotry towards one group with bigotry towards another.
Maybe I'm just tired. Here are two very small examples of what my week consisted of:
1. I've been on the phone practically a million times with a married couple that I lovingly call "the twins" (aka Mr. and Mrs. R.) and their entire family. "The twins" are uncontrolled diabetics; they were the first patients that I successfully solicited free insulin for by writing really sweet letters to pharmaceutical companies about how they barely make ends meet by selling tortillas on the side of a road in the boondocks of Georgia. Mrs. R. had a mole between her eyebrows that caught the eye of one of our doctors; she was referred to a dermatologist in mid-March, who did a biopsy. It turns out that she has invasive skin cancer. The kicker of this part of the story is that the dermatologist's office knew on March 14, but didn't notify Mrs. R. until April 6 (and only after I called them a million times, reminding them to find an interpreter and call her). Mrs. R. has been referred to the Medical College of Georgia (MCG) in Augusta, where they will charge her an arm and a leg to get treatment. I had to book her appointment, which I had to coordinate around her special eye appointment because she was just diagnosed with glaucoma last week, too. The daughter of "the twins" is a single mother of a 1-year-old, and is suffering from some major depression. She came in one evening last week to talk to me and just started sobbing, so I've been working to get her some counseling. On Tuesday, the daughter-in-law of "the twins" called to report that Mr. R. had a routine x-ray done of his back for some pain, and evidently he has cancerous growths in both of his lungs. He had a few more diagnostic tests done yesterday and today, so I already know that next week will likely be full of trying to coordinate his treatment in Savannah with his wife's treatment in Augusta and Claxton. No one in the family speaks more than a few words of English, but, in case you were wondering, the family is in Georgia legally.
2. One of my patients (Mrs. A.) had a ridiculously high hemoglobin in a routine blood test last week, so we referred her to a hematologist/oncologist. When I called to tell her that I made her this appointment and that I'd be sending an interpreter, she was all kinds of confused because she "felt fine." The doctor ordered a few more routine tests, and discovered that Mrs. A. has a tear in her aortic septum. In other words, there's a hole in her heart. It's a congenital defect, but now that she's getting older, it's affecting her body. The doctor admitted her to the hospital, and Mrs. A's daughter called to tell me they were trying to transfer her to a hospital with a better cardiology center (likely in Atlanta) where they could do surgery. Mrs. A's daughter is younger than me and has 2 small children. She speaks almost zero English, and she's trying to understand her mother's health situation while also taking care of her family. Today, a social worker went to talk to Mrs. A. to find out her documentation status. Being that she is undocumented, 2 of the 3 hospitals that were contacted for the transfer have declined. Mrs. A. is on heparin to thin her blood; with the amount of hemoglobin she had, she was at a very high risk for a stroke. She'll be in the hospital through the weekend, hoping that the last hospital in Atlanta will accept her. Then come the complicated questions: how will she get there? Who will pay the bills? This is not to mention the whole issue of doing a risky surgery. Some people have already opined that she should just go back to Mexico to get this procedure done. (Out of sight, out of mind perhaps?) I'll be visiting her tomorrow afternoon.
I feel emotionally exhausted. Today marks exactly three months until my commitment at Good Samaritan is done. I'm trying to think about housing for the fall and about what I'll be doing with my month off this summer. But I'm preoccupied thinking about all the injustice going on around me.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
La comunicación
I went to Visit Emory! for accepted students on Thursday and Friday of this week. The campus was absolutely incredible and the combination of awesome resources and really welcoming people has basically convinced me to go there for my Master's in Public Health. It's weird to think about living in Georgia for another two years, but what was even stranger was the way I forgot that I was still in the south while I was in Atlanta. Not only did I find such wonders as a city skyline and Dunkin Donuts; one of the biggest surprises was the way literally no one had a southern drawl. It actually caught me off guard- I guess I didn't realize how accustomed I've grown to the Savannah accent.
Communication has grown increasingly important to me since I've been in Savannah. My job involves a lot of time on the phone, which is great because I love talking, but it is also challenging at times. When I first started my job, I'd get really nervous picking up the Spanish phone line. Phone Spanish always seems significantly faster than in-person Spanish, and when you add things like bad cell phone connections, conversations are sometimes challenging. I also felt like since I didn't know the answers to a lot of peoples' questions at first, the Spanish-speakers would assume I just didn't understand what they were saying. Anyway, I was at least comfortable picking up the English line until one incident that still stands out. I was talking to a woman, and she was clearly in an area that had terrible cell phone service. She had a very thick Georgian accent, and in the middle of my sentence she said "Ma'am?" I responded with "What?" and she repeated "Ma'am?" This went on for about a minute before I said "Hold on" and transferred her call to one of my co-workers (who happens to be from the south). After they finished the conversation, I was taught that people here say "Ma'am?" or "Sir?" instead of "Can you repeat that?" This was the first of what has become several English language mishaps that has resulted from me speaking "Yankee English" and almost everyone around me speaking what my roommates and I have affectionately named "Georgian."
I've come to realize that a person's ability to communicate seems to correspond very highly with how successful they are in a lot of ways. I've noticed that I'm less likely to go the extra mile for clients who mumble and who can't answer my questions clearly and concisely. I've also noticed that our medical practitioners tend to be much less thorough with people who can't explain their problems in a way that is normally called "logically". I know it doesn't seem fair, but the reality is that it's a lot harder to help people who aren't good at communicating. I sometimes poke fun at my Hispanics because the way they describe everything is very circular (i.e. "Well my head hurts and sometimes I sneeze and this one time I got a really bad stomach cramp and I noticed that at least once a week I have a pain in my left knee but anyway I hate when I have headaches."), but to be honest, my English-speakers are often just as convoluted when they talk.
Even in terms of the "professional" side of my job, I've noticed how much communication really does matter. There are a few notorious departments of the health system that I work in that have gained reputations for not communicating with others, whether it's keeping secrets, talking behind peoples' backs, being extremely passive-aggressive, or just being completely incommunicado for a frustrating amount of time. And among those who do try to communicate, there seems to be a big problem with clarity. Things like directions and instructions are often given in an incomprehensible manner, leaving the listener with so many questions that he or she may not even be able to articulate them.
There are a lot of major social problems, especially relating to health, that I think can be somewhat lessened if people are trained on how to better communicate important messages. And now that Hispanics are by far the second largest group in the U.S., it would be all the better if more people could communicate effectively in more than one language.
Communication has grown increasingly important to me since I've been in Savannah. My job involves a lot of time on the phone, which is great because I love talking, but it is also challenging at times. When I first started my job, I'd get really nervous picking up the Spanish phone line. Phone Spanish always seems significantly faster than in-person Spanish, and when you add things like bad cell phone connections, conversations are sometimes challenging. I also felt like since I didn't know the answers to a lot of peoples' questions at first, the Spanish-speakers would assume I just didn't understand what they were saying. Anyway, I was at least comfortable picking up the English line until one incident that still stands out. I was talking to a woman, and she was clearly in an area that had terrible cell phone service. She had a very thick Georgian accent, and in the middle of my sentence she said "Ma'am?" I responded with "What?" and she repeated "Ma'am?" This went on for about a minute before I said "Hold on" and transferred her call to one of my co-workers (who happens to be from the south). After they finished the conversation, I was taught that people here say "Ma'am?" or "Sir?" instead of "Can you repeat that?" This was the first of what has become several English language mishaps that has resulted from me speaking "Yankee English" and almost everyone around me speaking what my roommates and I have affectionately named "Georgian."
I've come to realize that a person's ability to communicate seems to correspond very highly with how successful they are in a lot of ways. I've noticed that I'm less likely to go the extra mile for clients who mumble and who can't answer my questions clearly and concisely. I've also noticed that our medical practitioners tend to be much less thorough with people who can't explain their problems in a way that is normally called "logically". I know it doesn't seem fair, but the reality is that it's a lot harder to help people who aren't good at communicating. I sometimes poke fun at my Hispanics because the way they describe everything is very circular (i.e. "Well my head hurts and sometimes I sneeze and this one time I got a really bad stomach cramp and I noticed that at least once a week I have a pain in my left knee but anyway I hate when I have headaches."), but to be honest, my English-speakers are often just as convoluted when they talk.
Even in terms of the "professional" side of my job, I've noticed how much communication really does matter. There are a few notorious departments of the health system that I work in that have gained reputations for not communicating with others, whether it's keeping secrets, talking behind peoples' backs, being extremely passive-aggressive, or just being completely incommunicado for a frustrating amount of time. And among those who do try to communicate, there seems to be a big problem with clarity. Things like directions and instructions are often given in an incomprehensible manner, leaving the listener with so many questions that he or she may not even be able to articulate them.
There are a lot of major social problems, especially relating to health, that I think can be somewhat lessened if people are trained on how to better communicate important messages. And now that Hispanics are by far the second largest group in the U.S., it would be all the better if more people could communicate effectively in more than one language.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
La primavera
Happy Spring!
Spring has always been my favorite season. Most people assume it's because my birthday happens to be the first day of spring, but the real reason is the anticipation of new life that spring brings. As a New Englander, winters were long and harsh growing up. The snow, the ice, the cold, the darkness...by March, it seemed like it would never end. People seemed miserable; no one could stand to be outside for more than an hour or so. And then, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, there'd be a nice day. The air would feel crisp but the sky would be clear. Everyone would find an excuse to go outside with a T-shirt and flip-flops, even if the thermometer said the temperature was only 50 degrees. There would be a great sense of hope that summer would come, that all the dead plants would re-bloom. My mood would suddenly lighten and be full of anticipation. At this time, I would begin dreaming of the last day of school and the beginning of a lazy summer at the beach and by the pool with my friends and family.
Being in Savannah has really messed with my natural understanding of the seasons. As much as I appreciated not being in the dreadful winter this year, it's strange not anticipating spring. We had approximately 3 weeks of "cold" here, but even that was never actually bitter. Over the past month or so, the amount of pollen in the air has exploded and the azaleas and roses in my front yard are actively blooming. Yesterday, on the last official day of winter, it was 90 degrees here and I ended up swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. The warm weather has convinced my mind that July 15 must be near, but alas, I still have 117 days left in Savannah.
If you can't tell, I'm starting to feel very ready for my experience here to come to an end. I love my patients and the clinic, but I'm finding myself constantly feeling exhausted. I feel very frustrated with many bureaucratic things going on here, and at this point it's like I'm just spinning my wheels. I'm trying to remain positive, but I've lost a lot of my energy and my idealism over the past few months. I can only hope that spring will refresh and renew me...
Spring has always been my favorite season. Most people assume it's because my birthday happens to be the first day of spring, but the real reason is the anticipation of new life that spring brings. As a New Englander, winters were long and harsh growing up. The snow, the ice, the cold, the darkness...by March, it seemed like it would never end. People seemed miserable; no one could stand to be outside for more than an hour or so. And then, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, there'd be a nice day. The air would feel crisp but the sky would be clear. Everyone would find an excuse to go outside with a T-shirt and flip-flops, even if the thermometer said the temperature was only 50 degrees. There would be a great sense of hope that summer would come, that all the dead plants would re-bloom. My mood would suddenly lighten and be full of anticipation. At this time, I would begin dreaming of the last day of school and the beginning of a lazy summer at the beach and by the pool with my friends and family.
Being in Savannah has really messed with my natural understanding of the seasons. As much as I appreciated not being in the dreadful winter this year, it's strange not anticipating spring. We had approximately 3 weeks of "cold" here, but even that was never actually bitter. Over the past month or so, the amount of pollen in the air has exploded and the azaleas and roses in my front yard are actively blooming. Yesterday, on the last official day of winter, it was 90 degrees here and I ended up swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. The warm weather has convinced my mind that July 15 must be near, but alas, I still have 117 days left in Savannah.
If you can't tell, I'm starting to feel very ready for my experience here to come to an end. I love my patients and the clinic, but I'm finding myself constantly feeling exhausted. I feel very frustrated with many bureaucratic things going on here, and at this point it's like I'm just spinning my wheels. I'm trying to remain positive, but I've lost a lot of my energy and my idealism over the past few months. I can only hope that spring will refresh and renew me...
Friday, February 25, 2011
La confianza
A few weeks ago, I interpreted for a patient's husband to get his taxes done for free at the nearby community center. It was a super complicated return because he wanted to claim his ex-wife and children whom he supports in Mexico, and since he didn't have everything he needed, I suggested that he return the following Saturday morning. However, my patient seemed frustrated. She kept asking if they were just offering to do his taxes for free so they could take a cut of the money from his return, and when I said no, I'm pretty sure she assumed he'd still get less of a return. I explained that the community center existed solely to help people, but no matter how hard I tried, I felt like she didn't believe me. Of course, this may have been made worse because my knowledge about taxes is very minimal even in my native language, never mind in my second language. And she had just paid to get her taxes done at H&R Block, so maybe she had the "you get what you pay for" attitude. Granted, it's not like them paying for him to get his taxes filed elsewhere was a problem for anyone at the community center, but I still felt badly when the couple didn't return the following week.
I tend to be a very trusting person. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt and very rarely am I incorrect in trusting the people around me. However, I also haven't been taken advantage of for my entire life. I haven't sat on the margins of society, waiting to be fooled by TitleMax and loan sharks.
When I spent the summer of 2009 doing research in South Philadelphia, the lesson I learned over and over again is that it's important to gain a community's trust when you enter it from the outside. I was incredibly blessed to create beautiful relationships there, many of which are still going strong. It was only after I took the time to listen, ask questions, and just be present that I was able to start unraveling the complicated life of people who are undocumented and who live in the shadows of main-stream U.S. culture. Slowly but surely, the rift between "us" and "them" was lessened, and I learned incredible lessons in love, solidarity, and community.
Throughout my experience with MVC so far, I've discovered another important aspect to trust. When I first began working at Good Samaritan Clinic, I was slower than I would have liked to suggest "improvements" for the organization. I was a new set of eyes and ears, and I wanted to learn everything I could before I passed judgment. I think this helped me gain the trust of the steering committee, volunteers, and possibly even the patients. Although it was sometimes frustrating for me, "Yankee" as I may be (I've learned that "Yankee" is sometimes used as a synonym for someone who is rushed and impatient), looking back it's easy to see how much those first months paved the way for where I am now with the clinic.
I hope that as I go through my adult life, I never lose sight of the importance of gaining peoples' trust. I hope that I take the time to build the relationships, observe, ask questions, and listen, even when it seems like I'm not getting anywhere. And I hope that I remember that this is important whether I'm entering a new community with the Peace Corps or managing a project with a large organization.
I tend to be a very trusting person. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt and very rarely am I incorrect in trusting the people around me. However, I also haven't been taken advantage of for my entire life. I haven't sat on the margins of society, waiting to be fooled by TitleMax and loan sharks.
When I spent the summer of 2009 doing research in South Philadelphia, the lesson I learned over and over again is that it's important to gain a community's trust when you enter it from the outside. I was incredibly blessed to create beautiful relationships there, many of which are still going strong. It was only after I took the time to listen, ask questions, and just be present that I was able to start unraveling the complicated life of people who are undocumented and who live in the shadows of main-stream U.S. culture. Slowly but surely, the rift between "us" and "them" was lessened, and I learned incredible lessons in love, solidarity, and community.
Throughout my experience with MVC so far, I've discovered another important aspect to trust. When I first began working at Good Samaritan Clinic, I was slower than I would have liked to suggest "improvements" for the organization. I was a new set of eyes and ears, and I wanted to learn everything I could before I passed judgment. I think this helped me gain the trust of the steering committee, volunteers, and possibly even the patients. Although it was sometimes frustrating for me, "Yankee" as I may be (I've learned that "Yankee" is sometimes used as a synonym for someone who is rushed and impatient), looking back it's easy to see how much those first months paved the way for where I am now with the clinic.
I hope that as I go through my adult life, I never lose sight of the importance of gaining peoples' trust. I hope that I take the time to build the relationships, observe, ask questions, and listen, even when it seems like I'm not getting anywhere. And I hope that I remember that this is important whether I'm entering a new community with the Peace Corps or managing a project with a large organization.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A pensar
One of the most frustrating experiences of my life occurred while I was in Guatemala in May of 2010. I was with a group from St. Joe's in a very rural area of the country, and our main job was mixing cement. However, nearly every day there was someone new in charge of telling us what to do, and most of the time the guy didn't have much experience with cement. Our group had figured out the correct ratio of piedra, arena, concreto, y agua pretty early on, and since the combination of hot sun and manual labor didn't mix very well, I felt myself often getting impatient with the Guatemalan men telling us to do something different and then realizing that they were wrong. Of course, being a silly gringa, it would have been rude of me to tell these men that I knew better than them. And since I was only there for 10 days, the whole situation became something to laugh about and to reflect on.
Lately, I've found myself reflecting on this experience a lot, especially on how it relates to my life right now.
I am a well-educated young adult. I am very good at thinking things through and planning accordingly. Unfortunately, this can be a gift and a curse when it comes to working at the Good Samaritan Clinic.
My roommates and I sometimes joke that after our year with Mercy Volunteer Corps, we should just open up a road-side stand where we can do peoples' thinking for them. After all, that is what most of our jobs come down to.
I don't ever want to talk down to people. I don't ever want to lose sight of the many challenges that my patients have had in their lives, especially related to poverty, abuse, poor education, neglect, etc. I've had a remarkably easy life, and I have no right to patronize people whose shoes I can never walk in.
But, at the same time, part of me really does want to tell people to just trust me because I really do think I know better. Maybe it's an ugly thing to think that I have the gift of foresight that many people don't have, and I feel guilty for saying that, but it's the truth.
Lately, I've found myself reflecting on this experience a lot, especially on how it relates to my life right now.
I am a well-educated young adult. I am very good at thinking things through and planning accordingly. Unfortunately, this can be a gift and a curse when it comes to working at the Good Samaritan Clinic.
My roommates and I sometimes joke that after our year with Mercy Volunteer Corps, we should just open up a road-side stand where we can do peoples' thinking for them. After all, that is what most of our jobs come down to.
I don't ever want to talk down to people. I don't ever want to lose sight of the many challenges that my patients have had in their lives, especially related to poverty, abuse, poor education, neglect, etc. I've had a remarkably easy life, and I have no right to patronize people whose shoes I can never walk in.
But, at the same time, part of me really does want to tell people to just trust me because I really do think I know better. Maybe it's an ugly thing to think that I have the gift of foresight that many people don't have, and I feel guilty for saying that, but it's the truth.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
En una mitad del año
Sometime this past week, I officially hit the halfway point of my year with Mercy Volunteer Corps. It's kind of a strange feeling; part of me feels like I've been in Savannah forever, but the other part of me feels like I just arrived. I can't imagine not going to the Good Samaritan Clinic anymore after July 15, but at the same time I'm very much looking forward to starting graduate school in August.
Coming back to Savannah after getting a very sweet taste of Philly for New Year's was harder than I expected. I love my life here, but it was strange to be reminded of my "other life" on Hawk Hill. I'm not really homesick, but I certainly miss being around lots of people I love at once.
I can't even begin to fathom a point in my life when I don't live with Linda, Regina, and Mike. Or when I will make more than $100/month. Thoughts of paying rent, worrying about transportation and insurance, etc. seem impossibly distant.
However, I also know that I don't want to work in a clinic for the rest of my life. I love the issue of access to health care, but I can't imagine working in the type of environment I'm in now for more than a year.
I kind of feel like I'm in limbo. I'm trying to be present and to just enjoy my time here, but when weeks drag on and it seems like I'm on a constant treadmill, it seems much easier to think about my end date.
I've been trying to decide if I've noticed any "changes" in myself since I've been in MVC. I've come up with a few:
-I am WAY more cynical than I used to be.
-I am significantly more interested in politics/policies and significantly less interested in religion than I used to be.
-I am becoming more level-headed in dealing with my emotions.
-I am much better now at relaxing as a reward to myself for a long day of work.
Hmm...I can only begin to wonder what the second half of my experience will bring!
Coming back to Savannah after getting a very sweet taste of Philly for New Year's was harder than I expected. I love my life here, but it was strange to be reminded of my "other life" on Hawk Hill. I'm not really homesick, but I certainly miss being around lots of people I love at once.
I can't even begin to fathom a point in my life when I don't live with Linda, Regina, and Mike. Or when I will make more than $100/month. Thoughts of paying rent, worrying about transportation and insurance, etc. seem impossibly distant.
However, I also know that I don't want to work in a clinic for the rest of my life. I love the issue of access to health care, but I can't imagine working in the type of environment I'm in now for more than a year.
I kind of feel like I'm in limbo. I'm trying to be present and to just enjoy my time here, but when weeks drag on and it seems like I'm on a constant treadmill, it seems much easier to think about my end date.
I've been trying to decide if I've noticed any "changes" in myself since I've been in MVC. I've come up with a few:
-I am WAY more cynical than I used to be.
-I am significantly more interested in politics/policies and significantly less interested in religion than I used to be.
-I am becoming more level-headed in dealing with my emotions.
-I am much better now at relaxing as a reward to myself for a long day of work.
Hmm...I can only begin to wonder what the second half of my experience will bring!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Somos voluntarios
One of the strangest parts of my job is being the volunteer coordinator. I always feel really young when doctors/nurses/interpreters/whoever call the clinic for information and talk to me...it's like I'm a fake grown-up or something.
Good Samaritan Clinic is run entirely by volunteers. It's something I love, but at times is an extra challenge. After all, volunteers often have a different level of commitment than paid employees do. Plus, everyone has their reasons for volunteering, which affect their attitudes and actions at the clinic.
As a general rule, my volunteers are awesome. They recognize that they have time and talents which can be used for a greater good, and it's obvious that they're enjoying themselves when they're at Good Samaritan. But there are a few people that are more difficult to deal with. They may only come when they feel like it, completely disregarding the schedule that takes me forever to make. They may be super demanding of the clinical coordinator's time and my time, always expecting us to dote on them and essentially kiss the ground they walk on. They may be there to alleviate some sort of guilt they have, serving only to make themselves feel better and then talking about it constantly. They may have very poorly informed opinions that they like to share, regularly inserting words that are inappropriate for a professional medical setting (see also: misusing the words 'gay' and 'retarded'...do you know how awkward it is to tell someone your parents' age that their language is inappropriate?!)
I have been a volunteer with numerous organizations. I've also sat through a million reflections on why it's important to serve and whatnot. But being on the other end has given me a lot of new perspective.
There are some people that just want to feel needed. I have to essentially entertain them, even if it means wasting my time to come up with petty tasks for them to do. It's hard to swallow sometimes because I really just want to tell them that their 4 hours per month is helpful but is not actually that important in the big picture. But at the same time, I respect the fact that they're trying to do something for a greater good than just themselves.
I wish I could tell everyone to be patient and flexible. After all, those are probably the two most necessary qualities of people working at small non-profits, despite the fact they're so rare...
I can't help but wonder how many volunteer coordinators have gotten frustrated with me in the past...I just hope thinking about this makes me a better volunteer in the future at places where I'm not a coordinator.
Good Samaritan Clinic is run entirely by volunteers. It's something I love, but at times is an extra challenge. After all, volunteers often have a different level of commitment than paid employees do. Plus, everyone has their reasons for volunteering, which affect their attitudes and actions at the clinic.
As a general rule, my volunteers are awesome. They recognize that they have time and talents which can be used for a greater good, and it's obvious that they're enjoying themselves when they're at Good Samaritan. But there are a few people that are more difficult to deal with. They may only come when they feel like it, completely disregarding the schedule that takes me forever to make. They may be super demanding of the clinical coordinator's time and my time, always expecting us to dote on them and essentially kiss the ground they walk on. They may be there to alleviate some sort of guilt they have, serving only to make themselves feel better and then talking about it constantly. They may have very poorly informed opinions that they like to share, regularly inserting words that are inappropriate for a professional medical setting (see also: misusing the words 'gay' and 'retarded'...do you know how awkward it is to tell someone your parents' age that their language is inappropriate?!)
I have been a volunteer with numerous organizations. I've also sat through a million reflections on why it's important to serve and whatnot. But being on the other end has given me a lot of new perspective.
There are some people that just want to feel needed. I have to essentially entertain them, even if it means wasting my time to come up with petty tasks for them to do. It's hard to swallow sometimes because I really just want to tell them that their 4 hours per month is helpful but is not actually that important in the big picture. But at the same time, I respect the fact that they're trying to do something for a greater good than just themselves.
I wish I could tell everyone to be patient and flexible. After all, those are probably the two most necessary qualities of people working at small non-profits, despite the fact they're so rare...
I can't help but wonder how many volunteer coordinators have gotten frustrated with me in the past...I just hope thinking about this makes me a better volunteer in the future at places where I'm not a coordinator.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Mi tocaya
"Tocayo/a" in Spanish means "namesake." In some places, it is used generally to describe people with the same first names.
On Monday, I met a patient named Karla. She is 19 years old, undocumented from Mexico, has two small children, and is suffering from genital herpes and depression.
I have talked to Karla several times on the phone since probably late November or early December. She is a super sweet girl and I could totally imagine us being friends.
There are actually many women named Carla or Karla at my clinic, and also several named Lucia (my middle name). But there was something about my interaction with this particular Karla that struck me. Maybe it was the way she asked if I have children, or about what I'm doing this year, or about what I'll do after I leave Savannah. Perhaps it was our closeness in age, our similar builds, and our almost identical names.
Sometimes, the amount of privilege I have just overwhelms me when I'm at work. I get embarrassed of having a college education and of getting ready for graduate school. I'm ashamed to say how many places I've visited. I have all the freedoms in the world: I'm young, single, and a U.S. citizen. When I talk to people like Karla, I can't help but wonder how I seem to have drawn all the good cards.
On Monday, I met a patient named Karla. She is 19 years old, undocumented from Mexico, has two small children, and is suffering from genital herpes and depression.
I have talked to Karla several times on the phone since probably late November or early December. She is a super sweet girl and I could totally imagine us being friends.
There are actually many women named Carla or Karla at my clinic, and also several named Lucia (my middle name). But there was something about my interaction with this particular Karla that struck me. Maybe it was the way she asked if I have children, or about what I'm doing this year, or about what I'll do after I leave Savannah. Perhaps it was our closeness in age, our similar builds, and our almost identical names.
Sometimes, the amount of privilege I have just overwhelms me when I'm at work. I get embarrassed of having a college education and of getting ready for graduate school. I'm ashamed to say how many places I've visited. I have all the freedoms in the world: I'm young, single, and a U.S. citizen. When I talk to people like Karla, I can't help but wonder how I seem to have drawn all the good cards.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
El domingo de "Pro-Vida"
Disclaimer: This is going to be a rant.
Today is "Pro-Life" Sunday. Our regular priest was sick, so a priest from the Cathedral came and celebrated the Eucharist. He spoke terrible Spanish, so he said his homily in English and it was translated into Spanish. I tend to dislike listening to things through an interpreter because it means listening to the exact same thing twice and I'm not that patient. But the homily was perhaps the most painful 20 minutes of my life.
First, the priest started by saying that his Spanish was equivalent to most of the congregation's English. I understand what he was trying to say, but many of the parishioners actually speak very good English, and since he didn't know anyone there, I thought it was extremely rude of him to assume that everyone only spoke Spanish.
The flow of the homily was also terrible because he paused every 2-3 words for the interpreter. The key to using an interpreter is breaking what you say up into meaningful phrases because it's impossible to just translate things word for word. So the interpreter, who was incredibly patient, had to back-track to make sure what she was saying made sense.
But my biggest problem with the homily was that all the priest basically said was that abortion was bad. He started by explaining that Pro-Life Sunday was mostly about abortion in the U.S. because abortion is legal here "in our country." Clearly he was not aware of his audience...the vast majority of the parishioners refer to their country of birth as "their country." And as a whole, Hispanic Catholics are super conservative with life issues and would rather bring 10 kids into the world, even if they can't support them, than abort a pregnancy.
The reason that I got so angry during Mass was that I can't understand how people can view "Pro-Life" to mean "pro-fetus." I hate that abortions happen, but making it illegal isn't the answer.
Here's my own Pro-Life homily:
We live in the wealthiest country in the history of the world. As a society, we spent billions of dollars a year on cosmetic surgery, big screen TVs, cell phones that can do everything for us, and the most luxurious cars possible. And we spend trillions of dollars making weapons each year to kill people who we see as "other."
As Christians, we believe that Jesus is the model for peace and love in our world. As such, we have a duty to follow him and try to make the earth a better place.
Jesus was "Pro-Life". But this doesn't just mean that he would condemn abortions. Instead, it means giving respect to all living beings and thus working to create a society that promotes universal dignity.
A Pro-Life society would support women who are pregnant and new parents in whatever way they needed: economically, psychologically, or spiritually. It would make sure that all people had enough nutritious foods to eat and had access to clean drinking water. It would educate children well, regardless of the socio-economic status of their parents. It would provide adequate health care for all. It would protect the rights and fair wages of workers. It would ensure that racist, sexist, homophobic, and xenophobic practices would not exist. And it would protect the quality of life until its very end, understanding that although life is sacred, it does not need to be artificially extended forever.
Life is the greatest gift that any of us have ever received. When you begin to think about how many things could have gone wrong from the time we were conceived to the time we turned 2 years old, it is clear that we are absolute miracles.
As Jesus (and/or Spiderman) reminds us, to those whom much is given, much is expected. We are not only living, but living in a society that has so much potential. If only we could harness that to make our world a better place, instead of selfishly seeking our own personal advancement.
Today is "Pro-Life" Sunday. Our regular priest was sick, so a priest from the Cathedral came and celebrated the Eucharist. He spoke terrible Spanish, so he said his homily in English and it was translated into Spanish. I tend to dislike listening to things through an interpreter because it means listening to the exact same thing twice and I'm not that patient. But the homily was perhaps the most painful 20 minutes of my life.
First, the priest started by saying that his Spanish was equivalent to most of the congregation's English. I understand what he was trying to say, but many of the parishioners actually speak very good English, and since he didn't know anyone there, I thought it was extremely rude of him to assume that everyone only spoke Spanish.
The flow of the homily was also terrible because he paused every 2-3 words for the interpreter. The key to using an interpreter is breaking what you say up into meaningful phrases because it's impossible to just translate things word for word. So the interpreter, who was incredibly patient, had to back-track to make sure what she was saying made sense.
But my biggest problem with the homily was that all the priest basically said was that abortion was bad. He started by explaining that Pro-Life Sunday was mostly about abortion in the U.S. because abortion is legal here "in our country." Clearly he was not aware of his audience...the vast majority of the parishioners refer to their country of birth as "their country." And as a whole, Hispanic Catholics are super conservative with life issues and would rather bring 10 kids into the world, even if they can't support them, than abort a pregnancy.
The reason that I got so angry during Mass was that I can't understand how people can view "Pro-Life" to mean "pro-fetus." I hate that abortions happen, but making it illegal isn't the answer.
Here's my own Pro-Life homily:
We live in the wealthiest country in the history of the world. As a society, we spent billions of dollars a year on cosmetic surgery, big screen TVs, cell phones that can do everything for us, and the most luxurious cars possible. And we spend trillions of dollars making weapons each year to kill people who we see as "other."
As Christians, we believe that Jesus is the model for peace and love in our world. As such, we have a duty to follow him and try to make the earth a better place.
Jesus was "Pro-Life". But this doesn't just mean that he would condemn abortions. Instead, it means giving respect to all living beings and thus working to create a society that promotes universal dignity.
A Pro-Life society would support women who are pregnant and new parents in whatever way they needed: economically, psychologically, or spiritually. It would make sure that all people had enough nutritious foods to eat and had access to clean drinking water. It would educate children well, regardless of the socio-economic status of their parents. It would provide adequate health care for all. It would protect the rights and fair wages of workers. It would ensure that racist, sexist, homophobic, and xenophobic practices would not exist. And it would protect the quality of life until its very end, understanding that although life is sacred, it does not need to be artificially extended forever.
Life is the greatest gift that any of us have ever received. When you begin to think about how many things could have gone wrong from the time we were conceived to the time we turned 2 years old, it is clear that we are absolute miracles.
As Jesus (and/or Spiderman) reminds us, to those whom much is given, much is expected. We are not only living, but living in a society that has so much potential. If only we could harness that to make our world a better place, instead of selfishly seeking our own personal advancement.
Una advertencia
I'm approximately at the half-way point of my year in Mercy Volunteer Corps, and I think the most important lesson of my experience is just starting to sink in.
I am extremely independent and I really like having control. In college, this meant that I could do what I wanted to do: get good grades, raise money and awareness for the things I care about, spend time with friends, whatever.
But this year, I have to put my inclination to control aside. After all, I'm only at Good Samaritan Clinic for year. So while I can give my all to my patients and my work in general, it is not my role to control the clinic's future. Besides, in six more months, I'll be moving on and will just be a speck in the clinic's memory.
This is not easy. Right now, I feel anxious and stressed about some things going on at the clinic at the administrative level that I don't agree with. And I have the type of personality that wants to fix things instead of leaving them at the mercy of others.
So, a warning to others who are leaning towards doing a year or two of service after graduation: you aren't going to change the world, or even the organization that you serve. But there's a type of liberation in understanding that. For me at least, it frees me to give all I can to the people I serve without having to come up with the answer to fix a small non-profit.
I am extremely independent and I really like having control. In college, this meant that I could do what I wanted to do: get good grades, raise money and awareness for the things I care about, spend time with friends, whatever.
But this year, I have to put my inclination to control aside. After all, I'm only at Good Samaritan Clinic for year. So while I can give my all to my patients and my work in general, it is not my role to control the clinic's future. Besides, in six more months, I'll be moving on and will just be a speck in the clinic's memory.
This is not easy. Right now, I feel anxious and stressed about some things going on at the clinic at the administrative level that I don't agree with. And I have the type of personality that wants to fix things instead of leaving them at the mercy of others.
So, a warning to others who are leaning towards doing a year or two of service after graduation: you aren't going to change the world, or even the organization that you serve. But there's a type of liberation in understanding that. For me at least, it frees me to give all I can to the people I serve without having to come up with the answer to fix a small non-profit.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Tengo un sueño
Okay, so I'm a little late for MLK Day. But I've been thinking a lot about what my dream for the future is, idealistic as it may sound:
I have a dream that one day every person will understand how inextricably bound he or she is to everyone else who ever has or ever will walk this earth. On that day, no one will see problems as "women's issues" or "men's issues", as "black issues" or "white issues", as "Hispanic issues" or "Asian issues." Instead, everyone will recognize injustices for what they are and stand up to change them. And then no one will be left out of society any longer. No individual will go to bed hungry, or without having accessed necessarily medical treatment, or without having a safe place to sleep. No one will be made to feel like they are unimportant, whether it's by neighbors, school boards, government officials, or church officials. Everyone will only see each other as lovable, and themselves as loved.
I have a dream that one day every person will understand how inextricably bound he or she is to everyone else who ever has or ever will walk this earth. On that day, no one will see problems as "women's issues" or "men's issues", as "black issues" or "white issues", as "Hispanic issues" or "Asian issues." Instead, everyone will recognize injustices for what they are and stand up to change them. And then no one will be left out of society any longer. No individual will go to bed hungry, or without having accessed necessarily medical treatment, or without having a safe place to sleep. No one will be made to feel like they are unimportant, whether it's by neighbors, school boards, government officials, or church officials. Everyone will only see each other as lovable, and themselves as loved.
Las semanas que nunca terminan
This past week was extremely rough. There are a million stories I'd like to share with the world, but I will leave it as a high and a low.
My ray of sunshine: Yesterday I was interpreting at our eye clinic (which only happens once a month) and one of my Puerto Rican patients noticed that my name tag says "Volunteer- Mercy." She asked me if I work, and I explained that I work full-time at Good Samaritan. Confused, she asked if they pay me. I explained that my necessities (housing, food, health insurance, and transportation) are paid for, but that I just receive a small monthly stipend for personal spending. She looked at me kindly and told me that if I ever need anything, despite the fact that she doesn't have much, she will help me out.
My bolt of lightning: Yesterday, immediately after eye clinic, we had a brief primary care clinic. I had to fill out some paperwork with the first patient, so I brought her to the triage area. When we sat down, I asked how she was doing. She looked at me and burst into tears. She told me that she has two children (ages 8 and 11) and that her husband is unemployed and that her low-paying job can barely make ends meet. She proceeded to explain that she's been so depressed that she can't sleep and that all she wants to do is be strong for her kids.
This morning when I woke up, I decided to drive to Jacksonville (which is about 2 and a half hours south) with Linda and Regina. We ate lunch along the river, walked the River Walk, walked over one of the bridges, and took a water taxi. On the way home, we stopped at 2 rest stops that advertised free samples of oranges/peach tea/pralines, got Dairy Queen, and visited the smallest church in America. It was much-needed therapy.
My ray of sunshine: Yesterday I was interpreting at our eye clinic (which only happens once a month) and one of my Puerto Rican patients noticed that my name tag says "Volunteer- Mercy." She asked me if I work, and I explained that I work full-time at Good Samaritan. Confused, she asked if they pay me. I explained that my necessities (housing, food, health insurance, and transportation) are paid for, but that I just receive a small monthly stipend for personal spending. She looked at me kindly and told me that if I ever need anything, despite the fact that she doesn't have much, she will help me out.
My bolt of lightning: Yesterday, immediately after eye clinic, we had a brief primary care clinic. I had to fill out some paperwork with the first patient, so I brought her to the triage area. When we sat down, I asked how she was doing. She looked at me and burst into tears. She told me that she has two children (ages 8 and 11) and that her husband is unemployed and that her low-paying job can barely make ends meet. She proceeded to explain that she's been so depressed that she can't sleep and that all she wants to do is be strong for her kids.
This morning when I woke up, I decided to drive to Jacksonville (which is about 2 and a half hours south) with Linda and Regina. We ate lunch along the river, walked the River Walk, walked over one of the bridges, and took a water taxi. On the way home, we stopped at 2 rest stops that advertised free samples of oranges/peach tea/pralines, got Dairy Queen, and visited the smallest church in America. It was much-needed therapy.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Soy Carla de la Clínica el Buen Samaritano y recibí una llamada de alguien en su casa...
I sometimes wish I could give people classes on how to communicate well. After all, I'm realizing that the people who can express themselves clearly and concisely with some degree of confidence generally get what they want in this world. (It's a generalization, but seriously...think about who you give the most attention to when there are lots of people to choose from.)
I receive a ridiculous number of phone calls every day at the clinic. I answer the phone whenever I can, but it can ring on up to three lines at once and as a general rule I don't put people on hold and I don't answer the phone if I'm in the middle of another conversation (especially if I'm talking to someone in person).
One of the messages from today said (in Spanish): "Hi, this is (name completely slurred). I'm calling about an appointment. Please call me back at (phone number)." This is a very regular problem of mine. Usually, if people actually decide to leave a phone number, they say it slowly and clearly. But no one seems to speak clearly when saying their name, so when I return their call, I usually awkwardly say something along the lines of, "Hi, this is Carla from Good Samaritan Clinic and I got a call from a person at this number but couldn't understand the name on my machine." Sometimes people hang up because they think I'm a tele-marketer, which is honestly fine with me. And sometimes people know what I'm talking about and I end up talking to my caller. But this evening, this is the scenario that ensued:
Woman 1: Hello? (in un-accented English)
Me: Hi, I'm looking for a Mrs. Gonzalez?
Woman 1: Who is this?
Me: This is Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic.
Woman 1: What is Mrs. Gonzalez's first name?
Me: Well, I don't know. The woman left a message asking for an appointment, but she said the rest of her name too fast to understand.
Woman 1: How did you get my phone number?
Me: Mrs. Gonzalez left it as the number to call back.
Woman 1: ¿Se habla español? (Do you speak Spanish?)
Me: Si (Yes)
Woman 1: O, pues, la familia Gonzalez vive en frente. Ellos no tienen teléfono ahora. (Oh, well, the Gonzalez family lives in front of me. They don't have a phone right now.)
Me: Uhhh...¿Sabe qué necesitaba la mujer que me llamó? (Uhh...do you know what the woman who called me wanted?)
Woman 1: Pues, no, pero puedo llevar el teléfono a su casa. (Well, no, but I can bring the phone to her house.)
Me: Okay
(2 minutes later I hear knocking on a door and some muffled Spanish regarding a phone call)
Woman 2: Hello?
Me: Buenas tardes, soy Carla de la Clínica el Buen Samaritano y recibí una llamada de alguien en su casa sobre una cita. (Good afternoon, I'm Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic and I received a call from someone in your house about an appointment.)
Woman 2: Oh, tal vez fue mi hermana... (Oh, maybe it was my sister...)
(2 minutes later...)
Woman 3: Hello?
Me: Buenas tardes, soy Carla de la Clínica el Buen Samaritano y recibí una llamada de alguien en su casa sobre una cita. (Good afternoon, I'm Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic and I received a call from someone in your house about an appointment.)
Woman 3: Sí. (Yes)
Me: Uhhh...¿usted me llamó? (Uhh...did you call me?)
Woman 3: Sí. (Yes)
Me: Okay...¿qué necesitaba? (Okay...what did you need?)
Woman 3: Pues, mi esposo me dijo que usted me llamó ayer porque necesito otro examen o algo. (Well, my husband told me that you called me yesterday because I need another exam or something.)
Me: ¿Y cómo se llama usted? (And what's your name?)
Woman 3: Blah blah Gonzalez blah
(She has a very random other last name that I caught the beginning of, or at least enough to finally figure out who I was talking to.)
Me: Oh, sí, usted tiene que venir a la clínica antes del próximo miércoles para una prueba de orina. (Oh, yes, you need to come to the clinic before next Wednesday for a urine test.)
Woman 3: Okay.
(Click.)
That conversation took at least 10 minutes of a very busy day. If only I had known who to ask for in the first place...or if she had her own phone to use...
Communication is key, especially in health care. And it is one of my biggest joys and biggest challenges each day that I'm at the clinic.
I receive a ridiculous number of phone calls every day at the clinic. I answer the phone whenever I can, but it can ring on up to three lines at once and as a general rule I don't put people on hold and I don't answer the phone if I'm in the middle of another conversation (especially if I'm talking to someone in person).
One of the messages from today said (in Spanish): "Hi, this is (name completely slurred). I'm calling about an appointment. Please call me back at (phone number)." This is a very regular problem of mine. Usually, if people actually decide to leave a phone number, they say it slowly and clearly. But no one seems to speak clearly when saying their name, so when I return their call, I usually awkwardly say something along the lines of, "Hi, this is Carla from Good Samaritan Clinic and I got a call from a person at this number but couldn't understand the name on my machine." Sometimes people hang up because they think I'm a tele-marketer, which is honestly fine with me. And sometimes people know what I'm talking about and I end up talking to my caller. But this evening, this is the scenario that ensued:
Woman 1: Hello? (in un-accented English)
Me: Hi, I'm looking for a Mrs. Gonzalez?
Woman 1: Who is this?
Me: This is Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic.
Woman 1: What is Mrs. Gonzalez's first name?
Me: Well, I don't know. The woman left a message asking for an appointment, but she said the rest of her name too fast to understand.
Woman 1: How did you get my phone number?
Me: Mrs. Gonzalez left it as the number to call back.
Woman 1: ¿Se habla español? (Do you speak Spanish?)
Me: Si (Yes)
Woman 1: O, pues, la familia Gonzalez vive en frente. Ellos no tienen teléfono ahora. (Oh, well, the Gonzalez family lives in front of me. They don't have a phone right now.)
Me: Uhhh...¿Sabe qué necesitaba la mujer que me llamó? (Uhh...do you know what the woman who called me wanted?)
Woman 1: Pues, no, pero puedo llevar el teléfono a su casa. (Well, no, but I can bring the phone to her house.)
Me: Okay
(2 minutes later I hear knocking on a door and some muffled Spanish regarding a phone call)
Woman 2: Hello?
Me: Buenas tardes, soy Carla de la Clínica el Buen Samaritano y recibí una llamada de alguien en su casa sobre una cita. (Good afternoon, I'm Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic and I received a call from someone in your house about an appointment.)
Woman 2: Oh, tal vez fue mi hermana... (Oh, maybe it was my sister...)
(2 minutes later...)
Woman 3: Hello?
Me: Buenas tardes, soy Carla de la Clínica el Buen Samaritano y recibí una llamada de alguien en su casa sobre una cita. (Good afternoon, I'm Carla from the Good Samaritan Clinic and I received a call from someone in your house about an appointment.)
Woman 3: Sí. (Yes)
Me: Uhhh...¿usted me llamó? (Uhh...did you call me?)
Woman 3: Sí. (Yes)
Me: Okay...¿qué necesitaba? (Okay...what did you need?)
Woman 3: Pues, mi esposo me dijo que usted me llamó ayer porque necesito otro examen o algo. (Well, my husband told me that you called me yesterday because I need another exam or something.)
Me: ¿Y cómo se llama usted? (And what's your name?)
Woman 3: Blah blah Gonzalez blah
(She has a very random other last name that I caught the beginning of, or at least enough to finally figure out who I was talking to.)
Me: Oh, sí, usted tiene que venir a la clínica antes del próximo miércoles para una prueba de orina. (Oh, yes, you need to come to the clinic before next Wednesday for a urine test.)
Woman 3: Okay.
(Click.)
That conversation took at least 10 minutes of a very busy day. If only I had known who to ask for in the first place...or if she had her own phone to use...
Communication is key, especially in health care. And it is one of my biggest joys and biggest challenges each day that I'm at the clinic.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Mis pacientes perdidos
Sometimes I can't get in touch with my patients. I get the terrible message from Cricket that tells me that the person's phone has been "temporarily disconnected" and then I attempt to call every emergency number the person had ever listed. Most of those are usually disconnected or wrong numbers, too.
Initially, I get frustrated, especially when I can't get in touch with patients who are diabetic or who are on lots of prescription medications. But then the frustration often turns to worry. Why didn't they call and tell me their new phone number? Why did they miss their appointment? Are they okay?
This week alone, one patient's husband and another patient's brother were deported. I can't help but wonder what that means for their health (never mind every other part of their life). We haven't had any detention centers request medical records, so who is making sure that the individual is getting the correct blood pressure or cholesterol medicine that will hopefully prevent heart attacks/strokes?
Granted, some of my patients move away on their own accord. Others are in jail for making silly decisions (usually involving drugs). And sometimes people just re-appear out of the blue.
I guess this is a lesson in letting go.
Initially, I get frustrated, especially when I can't get in touch with patients who are diabetic or who are on lots of prescription medications. But then the frustration often turns to worry. Why didn't they call and tell me their new phone number? Why did they miss their appointment? Are they okay?
This week alone, one patient's husband and another patient's brother were deported. I can't help but wonder what that means for their health (never mind every other part of their life). We haven't had any detention centers request medical records, so who is making sure that the individual is getting the correct blood pressure or cholesterol medicine that will hopefully prevent heart attacks/strokes?
Granted, some of my patients move away on their own accord. Others are in jail for making silly decisions (usually involving drugs). And sometimes people just re-appear out of the blue.
I guess this is a lesson in letting go.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
El valor de gratis
I got back to Savannah on Tuesday mid-day and then worked a few hours before I absolutely crashed. Home was very fun, but trying to spend quality time with all the people I love in both Massachusetts and Philadelphia was quite exhausting.
This week, while I worked only 3 and a half days, seemed long. I always hate trying to catch up on phone calls after being out of the office, and plus the clinic underwent a lot of changes during the two weeks I was gone.
Since getting back, I've been thinking a lot about what people should be expected to pay for and why. Here's a little background on why this is on my mind:
St. Catherine Laboure Medical Clinic, where I volunteered throughout college, charges patients $10 per visit. I never really understood why, since that small amount clearly doesn't do a lot to cut costs and since people who were unable to pay were not turned away. However, now that I work at a free clinic, I've noticed a different type of entitlement present. It seems that since our care is free, it has no value to some of our patients.
On the latter point, two particular patients come to mind. Granted, these are two white middle-aged adults, and are not representative of my clientele, but are nonetheless people that my clinic serves.
The first is a male who had some sort of emergency surgery on his leg. The operation probably would've cost upwards of $50,000, but it was done practically free. Last week, the man came in and casually mentioned that he had run out of his Plavix, a medicine that prevents harmful blood clots. If he had developed a blood clot, the operation could have very well been undone and he would've needed another surgery, but he honestly didn't seem too concerned about it. I wonder if he would have been more careful if he had to pay the majority of his hospital bill...
The second is a female who had a stroke and discharged herself from the hospital against medical advice (AMA) because she didn't want a large bill. The following week, she became our patient. Since then, she has needed quite a few tests (CT scans, MRIs, etc.) I explained to her that as a Good Samaritan patient, the hospital would write off the costs of the use of the rooms/machines, but that she would be responsible for the doctors' fees to read these tests. Normally, getting a simple x-ray read costs $85, and the patient has the ability to pay $5/month until it's paid off. However, this woman's tests cost about $400 each to be read. She was quite upset when she got the bills, and I agree that prices of medical care in this country are way out of control. But I also didn't know how to politely say that she's lucky that she doesn't have to pay the entire bill for the tests, and, quite frankly, she's lucky to be alive and well after her stroke.
Personally, I am a fan of socialized medicine. I think that everyone should pay for health care via their taxes, but that local, state, and federal governments should also be contributing towards the costs. I think costs need to be reduced by curbing pharmaceutical costs and by capping how much money people can sue for in malpractice suits.
But the reality is that this will probably never happen in the United States. So I guess there's really no point in thinking about this stuff too hard...
This week, while I worked only 3 and a half days, seemed long. I always hate trying to catch up on phone calls after being out of the office, and plus the clinic underwent a lot of changes during the two weeks I was gone.
Since getting back, I've been thinking a lot about what people should be expected to pay for and why. Here's a little background on why this is on my mind:
St. Catherine Laboure Medical Clinic, where I volunteered throughout college, charges patients $10 per visit. I never really understood why, since that small amount clearly doesn't do a lot to cut costs and since people who were unable to pay were not turned away. However, now that I work at a free clinic, I've noticed a different type of entitlement present. It seems that since our care is free, it has no value to some of our patients.
On the latter point, two particular patients come to mind. Granted, these are two white middle-aged adults, and are not representative of my clientele, but are nonetheless people that my clinic serves.
The first is a male who had some sort of emergency surgery on his leg. The operation probably would've cost upwards of $50,000, but it was done practically free. Last week, the man came in and casually mentioned that he had run out of his Plavix, a medicine that prevents harmful blood clots. If he had developed a blood clot, the operation could have very well been undone and he would've needed another surgery, but he honestly didn't seem too concerned about it. I wonder if he would have been more careful if he had to pay the majority of his hospital bill...
The second is a female who had a stroke and discharged herself from the hospital against medical advice (AMA) because she didn't want a large bill. The following week, she became our patient. Since then, she has needed quite a few tests (CT scans, MRIs, etc.) I explained to her that as a Good Samaritan patient, the hospital would write off the costs of the use of the rooms/machines, but that she would be responsible for the doctors' fees to read these tests. Normally, getting a simple x-ray read costs $85, and the patient has the ability to pay $5/month until it's paid off. However, this woman's tests cost about $400 each to be read. She was quite upset when she got the bills, and I agree that prices of medical care in this country are way out of control. But I also didn't know how to politely say that she's lucky that she doesn't have to pay the entire bill for the tests, and, quite frankly, she's lucky to be alive and well after her stroke.
Personally, I am a fan of socialized medicine. I think that everyone should pay for health care via their taxes, but that local, state, and federal governments should also be contributing towards the costs. I think costs need to be reduced by curbing pharmaceutical costs and by capping how much money people can sue for in malpractice suits.
But the reality is that this will probably never happen in the United States. So I guess there's really no point in thinking about this stuff too hard...
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