How many people enjoy oreos? Perhaps a peanut-butter sandwich is more your style. But in either case, the important part is not necessarily the cookies or the bread -its the center that counts!!! How many people get excited over two crispy "cocoa wafers" or two slices of bread? None.
So why is it, that in our life, we remember the beginning and the end much more clearly? The beginning and end are more like appetizers anyway. Why is that all the juicy middle portion gets reduced to some blurish motion that can only be described as a connection point from A to B with a few major highlights!
I don't want to reduce this mission trip by any portion. Personally I would love to think of my time in kenya as a decked-out club turkey sandwich on whole grain bread. Why? Lets break it down.
Whole grain bread: I think we can all agree that whole grain is healthy. It may not be what you grew up with, but it is a change for the best. So was my decision to come to Kenya. I took a chance on something new, and I have been enriched in so many ways.
Hummus spread: First off -yum! When hummus is on your sandwich you can't always detect the source of deliciousness, but without it, each bite would be dryer, less flavorful, and overall not quite as fulfilling. In the same way Julie and Audery were my hummus. My experience here would have been much dryer without them. They were the base layer that enriched every experience in Kenya. They were the spice -the excitement.
Cheese: Not just any cheese, but smoked gouda. You don't need much of this, just a little for flavor. I would liken the cheese to clean-up days. I love them, but it isn't wise to go over board; a little goes a long way.
Turkey: The main part of the whole sandwich! It needs to be thinly sliced, layered high, and moist. Don't give me any of that dried out turkey. This would be the health education. It has taken up the majority of my time here in Kenya. I think my turkey may be peppered turkey, because although its been sweet, its also got a bit of a kick. There have been some set-backs in the educational process, but overall, its been fresh!
Lettuce: I want it crisp; just like medical camps. Refreshing, crisp, and absolutely necessary.
Tomato: It needs to be ripe, firm but sweet. Kind of like the people I work with. Ok, call it corny, but the people that i work with are always cheery, and they are "ripe" in the sense that whatever they say, it is said at just the right time. They are firm in their beliefs which makes them endearingly sweet.
Cucumbers: Cucumbers are crisp -just like the morning runs here in Kenya.
Banana Peppers: They need to be sweet and not spicy; just like the kids that sing "how are you?"
Olives: I hate olives, and generally I would pick them off. I could call Matatus Kenyan olives. They are salty, and i don't like them. Sure, they serve some purpose, but life would be much better if they weren't on my sandwich.
Mustard: Mustard originates from a tiny seed. But eventually it grows and is processed into this condiment that permeates the entire sandwich. I want to plant a mustard seed. This seed will be in the form of a medical fund. It shall be planted in a bank, grow interest, and then be processed so that while it grows, it can be cultivated and then processed to affect hundreds of lives.
Second slice of whole wheat bread: Whole wheat is made with whole grains -its retains the fiber and nutrients that are essential to proper nutrition. Kenya has been like a spiritual nutritional revival. I have been well fed, and I know the vitamins and minerals (lessons and experiences I have had) will continue to enrich my life.
Finally, we need a tooth-pick to hold this monsterous sandwich together. The tooth-pick is of course the love of God, shown both through his quiet whispers and the incredibly inspirational people he has put in my life. They keep me together when I think all of my insides are going to fall out!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Hospital Days
As a part of my job I have the opportunity to travel with social workers to different hospitals within Eastern Kenya. Generally the children in attendance are those kids seeking medical professional care for long-lasting diseases or other complications. My feelings towards the hospitals could be described as a love-hate relationship. It is much the same in the United states; I love to see actions promoting children's health, but I hate how long it takes to receive that care. I love the fact that Missions of Hope cares enough about these children to squeeze an already tight budgets so as to ensure that these kids see proper medical professionals, but I hate that the care comes at such a high price to the school. I love holding the hand of a small girl as she waits anxiously for the doctor to call her in to the office, but I hate walking out of a hospital with less hope than when I came in.
It is indeed a trying challenge -a challenge of both perseverance and hope. Sometimes the struggles outweigh the benefits, but when so much is on the line, perseverance must prevail. Most of my frustrations have come from Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH). A few weeks ago Alice (a social worker) and myself went to the hospital with Kevin, a young boy of 9 years who was still in pre-unit (kindergarten). He had been held back for several years because he could not perform in class. He sat in the front row, squinted his eyes, and tilted his head, and still he could not see the board. But instead of questioning the reason for his lack of performance, the teachers simply held him back. A few months ago we had an optometrist visit the schools for school screenings. This was one of the intern's projects. Kevin was recommended to see a specialist, and so his case was followed up with Kenyatta National hospital.
My experience at the eye clinic should not taint the reputation of the entire hospital. This was just one case, and I should hope that it is not representative of the care that is provided in all departments. On a Wednesday morning a few weeks back, Kevin, Alice and I arrived at KNH around 9 am. Long story short, we didn't leave until 5pm. Of the 8 hours that we were there, I believe the doctors spent a total of 15 minutes looking at Kevin; the diagnosis: come back next time.
We came back again. But this time I was ready. I packed some playing cards, a few books, some activities for Kevin, and most important, a bagged lunch for the three of us. The day progressed much the same as last time. We arrived at KNH, payed out 200/= consultation fee (about $3), and then waited in the waiting room. We sat in dingy chairs and stared at the peeling paint on the walls. There was one lone poster that was stuck to the wall in three corners -it depicted some gruesome images of eye disease and trauma. So long as Kevin didn't have one of those issues, I was glad to put in the 8 hour wait. When we were finally called back to a room we were greeted by another 4-5 families -each with little children. The consultation room was a zoo! Between babies crying, young ones playing, and doctors-in-training chasing patients with a flashlight, I felt like I was in a three stooges movie. This couldn't possibly be how a national hospital performed exams??!?! There was one main doctor who was obviously in-charge of the show, and she seemed even more put-off with her trainees than I was. "Who wrote on the back of the examination form! These are to be copied and .... Where is my scope? If some one removes my belongings one more time... What did you see? Why are you doing it this way, the prism is supposed to be held like this.... Is there anyone who can tell my what I should be looking for in this nystagmus?"
Case and point, she was not very happy.
Well, at the end of the day we were once again referred to a specialist, but this time at Gertrude's children's hospital. After the visit at Gertrude's Kevin was diagnosed with low vision and was recommended to a special school. How much time had been wasted? Not time simply in the hospitals, but what about the years that had passed since the teachers first noticed his poor performance and queer posture while trying to read. I was informed that he had been taken to Kenyatta once before, but was similarily referred for a second consultation without giving any imformation to the mother. Frustrated and unable to proceed with the follow up, Kevin's mother gave up, and nothing further was done. Kevin is a bright boy, and his education is critical to his economic and social maturation. He is already 9, but he must now start anew in a whole new program. The only difficulty, is where -and at what price. Who will pay for his education when his mother is scraping uagali out of a bowl so that she can scrap together enough food to have one more bite -a small bite that will do little to staunch the hunger pains.
There is depressed, and then there is desperate. I love this family dearly, and I would ask that anyone who reads this, that they would say a short prayer for this family.
"That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day."
2 Corinthians 4:16
It is indeed a trying challenge -a challenge of both perseverance and hope. Sometimes the struggles outweigh the benefits, but when so much is on the line, perseverance must prevail. Most of my frustrations have come from Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH). A few weeks ago Alice (a social worker) and myself went to the hospital with Kevin, a young boy of 9 years who was still in pre-unit (kindergarten). He had been held back for several years because he could not perform in class. He sat in the front row, squinted his eyes, and tilted his head, and still he could not see the board. But instead of questioning the reason for his lack of performance, the teachers simply held him back. A few months ago we had an optometrist visit the schools for school screenings. This was one of the intern's projects. Kevin was recommended to see a specialist, and so his case was followed up with Kenyatta National hospital.
My experience at the eye clinic should not taint the reputation of the entire hospital. This was just one case, and I should hope that it is not representative of the care that is provided in all departments. On a Wednesday morning a few weeks back, Kevin, Alice and I arrived at KNH around 9 am. Long story short, we didn't leave until 5pm. Of the 8 hours that we were there, I believe the doctors spent a total of 15 minutes looking at Kevin; the diagnosis: come back next time.
We came back again. But this time I was ready. I packed some playing cards, a few books, some activities for Kevin, and most important, a bagged lunch for the three of us. The day progressed much the same as last time. We arrived at KNH, payed out 200/= consultation fee (about $3), and then waited in the waiting room. We sat in dingy chairs and stared at the peeling paint on the walls. There was one lone poster that was stuck to the wall in three corners -it depicted some gruesome images of eye disease and trauma. So long as Kevin didn't have one of those issues, I was glad to put in the 8 hour wait. When we were finally called back to a room we were greeted by another 4-5 families -each with little children. The consultation room was a zoo! Between babies crying, young ones playing, and doctors-in-training chasing patients with a flashlight, I felt like I was in a three stooges movie. This couldn't possibly be how a national hospital performed exams??!?! There was one main doctor who was obviously in-charge of the show, and she seemed even more put-off with her trainees than I was. "Who wrote on the back of the examination form! These are to be copied and .... Where is my scope? If some one removes my belongings one more time... What did you see? Why are you doing it this way, the prism is supposed to be held like this.... Is there anyone who can tell my what I should be looking for in this nystagmus?"
Case and point, she was not very happy.
Well, at the end of the day we were once again referred to a specialist, but this time at Gertrude's children's hospital. After the visit at Gertrude's Kevin was diagnosed with low vision and was recommended to a special school. How much time had been wasted? Not time simply in the hospitals, but what about the years that had passed since the teachers first noticed his poor performance and queer posture while trying to read. I was informed that he had been taken to Kenyatta once before, but was similarily referred for a second consultation without giving any imformation to the mother. Frustrated and unable to proceed with the follow up, Kevin's mother gave up, and nothing further was done. Kevin is a bright boy, and his education is critical to his economic and social maturation. He is already 9, but he must now start anew in a whole new program. The only difficulty, is where -and at what price. Who will pay for his education when his mother is scraping uagali out of a bowl so that she can scrap together enough food to have one more bite -a small bite that will do little to staunch the hunger pains.
There is depressed, and then there is desperate. I love this family dearly, and I would ask that anyone who reads this, that they would say a short prayer for this family.
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2 Corinthians 4:16
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