La Virgencita

Wednesday was the feast of the Immaculate Conception.  Although it's traditionally my second favorite holy day, I couldn't go to Mass because I was far too busy at the clinic.  As I was secretly missing making fun of the people who sing "Breath of Heaven" to celebrate the day (which is commonly confused with the Annunciation), a very pregnant woman entered Good Samaritan.  It turns out she is only one month from her due date and she recently learned that she has gestational diabetes.  She is receiving her prenatal care elsewhere, and they referred her to a special high-risk pregnancy clinic for her diabetic care.  However, she was told that she needed to bring $655 for her appointment at the latter location.  She is currently not working and has two other kids, so, long story short, she didn't have the money and was hoping we could help her.

There really was nothing I could do in this situation.  By law, Good Sam isn't allowed to serve women who are pregnant because of the liability involved.  And although the fetus will eventually be a US citizen, the mother is undocumented and therefore excluded from much of the assistance she would otherwise qualify for. So I ended up asking one of my volunteers to take the woman aside and basically get the story straight, and then encourage her to work out a payment plan at the specialty clinic.  After all, sometimes a kind, listening person does a lot more to help people in need than anything else.

After the woman left, the volunteer had tears in her eyes as she said that throughout the long conversation, she couldn't help but think about the Virgin Mary looking for assistance as she was getting ready to give birth to Jesus.  I think this was way more prayerful for me than going to Mass to remember Mary being born without original sin.  

Today is the feast day of the Virgen de Guadalupe (the Church tried to move the celebration to yesterday because it's also the third Sunday of Advent, but whatever...).  I spent Friday and Saturday evening at my parish to celebrate.  It began with a procession from the soccer field to the church while we carried candles behind the framed picture of La Guadalupana, accompanied by mariachi music.  Then there was Aztec dancing in front of the picture before Mass.  I ended up sitting in the sacristy, behind the altar, because there were no more seats inside the church and I didn't want to sit outside in the rain.  Following the Mass, in typical Hispanic fashion, there was music and food.  Yesterday evening, there was more music and food.  There was even some sort of cute child-in-costume contest and some form of singing-in-front-of-the-virgin contest.  I still don't quite understand a lot of the customs, but I find the entire celebration quite beautiful.  After all, I think that Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is really about social justice.  Mary, the woman who brought Jesus onto this earth, appeared to a poor indigenous man and looked poor and indigenous herself!  She didn't appear to the bishop as a wealthy western European!  It's no wonder that she is viewed as the Empress of the Americas; she came for the poor and oppressed and has become a symbol of hope.

On a side note, today is also Foundation Day for the Sisters of Mercy, so last night my community members and I went to Mass and dinner at the local convent.  And tomorrow is the feast of St. Lucia, my patron saint.  I love celebrating all of these strong and beautiful women in the Church! :)

Llena de miseria

For those of you who read Spanish, the title line of this blog entry probably worried you a bit.  It translates in English to "full of misery," which probably sounds, well, miserable.

Actually, it is the full Latin translation of the word "misericordia", which is used in English directly as "mercy."

This week marks my fourth month in Savannah.  It feels like home here: I know my surroundings, my community, and my place of service comfortably well.  But for the past four months, I have been constantly searching for a definition of "mercy" that made sense for me within the context of the relationships here.

I actually stumbled upon this definition when I was reading something about the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of the four American church women in El Salvador on December 2.  Although none of the women were Sisters of Mercy themselves, the publication was done by the Sisters of Mercy in the light of Advent.  (If you need something to inspire you to be more merciful, read about the lives of Ita, Dorothy, Maura, and Jean.)

And finally, things are starting to make sense for me.  I've seen a lot of "merciful" acts so far this year, with volunteers bringing volunteers for other volunteers at my clinic, with people wanting to support my community, with countless individuals being extremely patient with me, etc.  But I had a feeling I was missing something.

Now, with this new definition of "mercy" in my head, the picture is a lot clearer.  It can be summarized in the way I feel called to just sit and share in the suffering of the people who come to/call the Good Samaritan Clinic every day.  There are a lot of things that no one in my clinic can do for people other than just listen to them.  It's sometimes hard for me;  I get antsy to finish filing charts or sending faxes or responding to emails.  But I've become aware of the fact that if I am really supposed to be here as a Mercy Volunteer, then my biggest service to people has to be just being present.

This concept of mercy sounds kind of miserable, but that's not how I feel.  Instead, I feel completely full of joy in understanding further each day how I am uniquely related to every other human being.  Of course I get sad and frustrated on a regular basis, but sharing in peoples' sorrows also means sharing in peoples' joys.  And through my own struggles and successes, I've become quite accepting of the way that everyone has both in life and that everyone deserves to share both with people who care.

Hmm...looks like I've also started to further define "solidarity" for myself in this attempt to sort out my thoughts on mercy.

Las fábricas

Today as I was leaving work, I looked in my rear-view mirror and caught sight of what appeared to be city lights.  I was really confused, since Savannah doesn't have a sky line.  Then I realized that I was looking at the paper factory that I smell every time I go outside.  I'm not sure I've ever paid attention to it in the evening, but it looks much prettier all lit up than it does during the day with all sorts of thick gray smoke surrounding it.

Factories are a very important part of my patients' lives.  Many of them work in meat-packaging factories, which is another way of saying that they work in giant refrigerators.  I get frustrated because those with the same employers all seem to have the same ailments: headaches, dizziness and stomach pains.  They also complain of very dry, burning eyes and weird skin rashes.  I would love to know the long-term side-effects of working in one of these factories 12 hours per day for several weeks/months/years.

Factories symbolize a lot for me.  My grandfather went from working as a chemist in Italy to working in a factory in Massachusetts before he learned English.  At that time, hard work in a factory meant being able to support one's family and potentially even "move up" in the world.  Today, thanks to stagnant wages, full-time factory workers are generally still living significantly below the poverty line.  This is bad enough in the U.S., but factory workers in most parts of the world have it much worse.  And the argument about sweatshops is always a difficult one; after all, is it better to have a job making little money in bad conditions or no job at all?

Our society loves cheap goods that are made on assembly lines.  Thanks to de-industrialization, most of this labor is out of sight and out of mind for people in the United States.  Thus, we often don't think about the human price that is paid.        

El Día de Acción de Gracias

Happy Thanksgiving from Savannah!  It doesn't actually feel like Thanksgiving here since it was 80 degrees and sunny.  I actually went to the beach while the turkey finished cooking...

This was my first Thanksgiving without my family, which was kind of strange.  It's also the first Thanksgiving I can remember in about a decade when I didn't have tons of homework to do after dinner.  Instead I happily indulged in watching "Elf" and chatting around the table for hours.

We celebrated with Linda's children and grandchildren, which was pretty awesome.  I really enjoy seeing Linda in the role of family matriarch :)

This year, I have so much to be thankful for.  I have the perfect service placement, an amazing community, and beautiful surroundings.  I think the best part is that last year at this time I NEVER would have predicted that I'd be where I am now.  It makes me pretty excited to think about all the possibilities for between now and next Thanksgiving!

Thank you to all of you who are part of my amazing support system <3

Caminando

I went to the vigil at the gates of Fort Benning in Columbus, GA for the first time when I was a freshman in college.  I barely knew what I was getting involved with, but my roommate convinced me it'd be a good idea.  I went to an info session hosted by WHINSEC, which is at the location of the former School of the Americas, and became a little confused about what I was actually protesting.  I enjoyed the trip as a whole, but I felt full of questions on the 16 hour bus ride back to St. Joe's.

I was unable to go on the trip sophomore year because of an organic chemistry test that I wasn't allowed to miss.  I was a little disappointed, but I got over it pretty quickly.

Then I studied abroad in Costa Rica during the summer between sophomore and junior year.  One of the courses I took was on the history of Central America.  My professor had studied at the UCA in El Salvador under several of the Jesuits who were later martyred and was therefore very passionate about teaching his students the role of the U.S. in the civil wars that plagued Latin America during la decada perdida (also known as the 1980s).  The hardest question he ever asked me was why a building that was used to train many of the leaders of terrible war atrocities (aka the SOA) was still being used to train Latino soldiers.  He understood quite clearly that the school's name had been changed in 2001 and that they no longer offered courses on torture tactics, but he also couldn't quite understand what good the school was doing for those of us (aka people paying taxes in the US) who were supporting it financially.  For many places in Latin America, the school that is still standing represents torture, repression, loss of loved ones, and poor US foreign policy.  Yet most people in the United States don't know of the school's existence.        

Suddenly, the pilgrimage to Columbus made sense for me.  Each year since then, as I've walked in solidarity with thousands of others to remember those who have died at the hands of SOA graduates, I've thought about the faces I know who have been most affected by the school's work.  I've thought about stories of torture I heard first-hand in Guatemala and El Salvador, along with the countless terrible pictures I've seen of war atrocities done at the hands of graduates of the SOA, and I feel like as a US tax payer and voter, I have a responsibility to voice my criticisms of the school.  After all, the people who have suffered the most no longer have voices to use.  So in their memory, along with those who can't be present due to the failure of our immigration system or other miscellaneous reasons, I stand presente.


This past weekend, instead of taking a 16 hour bus ride from Philadelphia to Columbus, I made a 4 hour car ride with Regina across the state of Georgia.  It was strange being there without many of my closest friends who have made the trip with me so many times before, but I enjoyed being with several wonderful Hawks for the weekend.  I also got to experience the Golden Corral with the Sisters of Mercy, so I really couldn't ask for more.  There were noticeably fewer people than usual at the vigil and rally, especially since the Ignatian Solidarity Network moved its teach-in to DC the weekend before.  A lot seemed different overall, yet my reasons for being there were as strong as ever.  After all, most of my patients at Good Samaritan Clinic are from countries that suffered at the hands of SOA graduates.  

I don't necessarily agree with everything that happens at the rally at the gates of Ft. Benning.  It sometimes feels like every organization present has its own agenda and like very person needs to feel like they are the most progressive one there.  But when I get past all that and simply weep for those my government helped kill in places where I have left part of my heart, I know that I am in the right place.

El altruismo

Disclaimer: This post will probably come off as pretty cynical.

A few months ago, someone asked me if I thought I was altruistic. I had no idea what she meant, so instead of me answering the question, the conversation turned into a philosophical debate about why some people care about others and why some prefer to only worry about those with whom they have close relationships.  It then turned into a debate about whether or not altruism even exists.

Altruism: (n) The principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others (opposed to egoism) (Thanks to Dictionary.com)

Is it possible to do anything completely unselfishly?  After all, each person has a unique set of personal needs, including the need to feel important and to have a purpose.  And I would argue that most people who make their life revolve around service are gaining much more than they would ever be able to give.  I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, but it makes using the word "altruism" a little complicated, to say the least.

Currently, Extreme Makeover Home Edition is building a house for someone at the end of my street.  My street is now blocked off to traffic and is full to the brim with trailers and random equipment.  (I've never actually seen the show, so I'm not sure whether or not I've seen any famous TV personalities...)

I find myself frustrated by this presence.  I'm not really annoyed about having to prove I live on my street or about the random noise...after all, it's only for a week.  Instead, I feel like I am morally opposed to the show.  After a lot of reflection over the past few days, I think the reason I don't like it is because it gives the sense that the people involved are altruistic, whereas my impression is really that those involved are seeking external approval and fame.

From what I've gathered, the premise of the show is that a family is chosen based on some cute sob story.  They are then whisked away on vacation for a week while a team of 'round-the-clock volunteers knocks down their old house and builds a new one.  The family is then brought back to their house and the cameras are rolling to show the rest of the country their reaction.

I don't find anything wrong with helping people rebuild houses.  In fact, I've done it myself a few times, and they have been very transformative experiences.  I was never on TV for doing it, and instead I faced a lot of criticism for "wasting my break" and "helping people who didn't deserve it."  (Maybe this is where part of my frustration lies: after all, I bet people wouldn't have been so critical if I had been doing it on a reality TV show and if the family's story was a good tear-jerker.)

According to many different sources, in order to be selected for the show, the family needs to own their own land and needs to have a really compelling story (I guess my neighbor has a really sick child or something like that...)  We are in an extremely nice area of Savannah...there isn't a high risk of crime or really any form of visible poverty until you cross several blocks.  I guess this provides the various volunteers a way to feel good about themselves without being faced with questions about housing inequalities or problems in the education system or lack of access to health care...

I understand that what is being done for this family is nice.  It's like that stupid parable about the starfish (moral: even if we can't help everyone, a difference is being made for this one individual).  But I also think the show was created to make money, not to provide better housing.  After all, if they wanted to do that, they might think to build more affordable housing.

Also, I am kind of frustrated by the waste that is incorporated in building this one house.  They completely knocked down what appeared to be a solid brick structure.  The house was a million times nicer than the average in the United States.  I have no idea what the inside looked like, but I feel like it was unnecessary to knock it down in order to make it better.  And so far the new house is completely over-the-top.  I'm not trying to say that the family doesn't deserve an absolutely beautiful home...but when I see homeless guys lining up for lunch at a park about a mile away, I can't help but question peoples' priorities.  Plus, I don't understand why this house needs to go up in a week.  Have the producers of the show never heard the phrase "haste makes waste"?  I know they're using a lot of volunteers, but I'm convinced that 90% of them just stand around in blue t-shirts and white hard-hats so that it looks like there's a large amount of community involvement while the other 10% are under a lot of pressure to get things done.  I wish someone from the set would explain this all to me in a way that made sense, instead of just walking around acting like they own my neighborhood...

Who knows...maybe this show or lived experience in the neighborhood will inspire people to become more educated about different types of poverty and the reasons behind it...One can only hope...

Do I consider myself altruistic?  No.  I've learned and grown more by doing "service" that I can't even call it that seriously anymore.  But do I wish more people would join the good fight because they were seeking to understand the true meaning of solidarity (or something along those lines)?  Absolutely.

I'd love to hear what other people think on this topic...

Los bebés y el río

I am SO sick of the story about the babies floating down the river.  You know... the one where a village discovers dead babies floating down the river and keep pulling them out, one by one, until finally someone thinks to go up river and find out exactly why there are babies dying and floating downstream.

Lately I feel like I'm constantly pulling babies out of the river while my heart just wants to run up the river and work on the underlying issues.  (I guess it's a good thing I'm applying to public health school instead of medical school...)  Obviously the big underlying issues I'm dealing with are health care and immigration, but I think it would help to be a little bit more focused in my case.  Currently, there are two big on-going issues at the Good Samaritan Clinic:
1. Tons of our patients are from more than an hour away in rural Georgia.  This makes their care quite difficult, since they can't exactly run down the street to get their fasting lab drawn or to have an X-ray or whatever.  In fact, most of them can't make it to do a new patient assessment with a nurse before their actual appointment with a doctor, which creates less productive appointments in the long-run. I get super frustrated by this and wish I could just go start another clinic with Good Sam's model in Claxton or Hinesville or Glennville...but instead, I spend hours on the phone each day trying to coordinate peoples' appointments based on travel and my patients waste valuable work hours in the car going to and from Savannah.
2. Another clinic in Savannah is absolutely horrible according to many of its patients.  The clinic is a federally qualified health center (aka it receives lots of federal stimulus money) and currently gets all of the Chatham County health care funds (the latter point is supposed to change soon, but that's a relative amount of time in the south...).  They charge their patients based on a sliding scale, but are very militant with making sure to collect the money.  Most people are charged $12 per visit and $7 per prescription, which isn't a lot of money and obviously doesn't help much with the operations costs.  However, many of the people who come to my clinic are barely making it financially, so an extra $20 or so will actually break the bank.  Theoretically, the other clinic isn't allowed to turn people away if they can't pay, yet person after person has come to my door and said that they were made to feel unwelcome because of their inability to pay (especially at the end of the month).  Good Samaritan doesn't receive federal, state, or county money, and never has.  We want to serve everyone we can, but it seems ridiculous that we would be expected to pick up the slack of another clinic in town that keeps getting more and more funding.  I want to find out why the other clinic is being so ridiculous (after all, maybe it's just one or two tough employees) and what we can do to work collaboratively.  However, I feel so overwhelmed with keeping up with all the other daily operations work at Good Sam that I would have no way to figure out what's going on at the other clinic.

In a way, I know it would be worth the time investment to think creatively about how to be more efficient with the care at Good Sam.  I can think that all I want as I sit here calmly, on my couch on a Tuesday evening.  However, when the phone is ringing off the hook and people are ringing the doorbell and Good Sam is experiencing lots of internal changes as it is, it seems nearly impossible to do more with my working hours.

No wonder people are scared of big reforms in this country.  I think it's kind of a comfort to focus on what's in front of our faces and not dig deeper.  After all, asking questions can lead to very messy answers.