A crossroad of thoughts: somewhere North of rhyme and reason just South of details and structure slightly West of convention and customs and East of old and new.
25 January 2010
Somewhere East of old and new
Old shoes in a brand new town
This past weekend my new friend Martin, one of the local guys from Kloof Parish took us out around Durban. He brought us to the shore and we got to meet the Indian Ocean – it was wildly warm and the waves were enormous. He brought is to a restaurant called Moyo where we met about 10 others and ate traditional foods, saw some traditional (and also some awkwardly new age) dancers perform. After which they brought us to Ushaka, an aquarium on the water. The aquarium is built on and in an old boat. It was after hours and was closed, this they knew –but they snuck us up a back stair case to the top. We were able to see close to 50 sharks, many different kinds of fish, all of Durban, the Ocean, and the new World Cup Stadium. We all ran around like children on a make believe pirate ship, climbing ladders, calling to the sharks, talking in pirate voices and joking around... if anyone had seen us they would have thought we’d hit that bottle o' rum a few too many times...
From living a life of almost complete independence to feeling guarded at all times has been hard. I guess the word I would call it would be exhausting. I’m constantly thinking of safety- safety in numbers, safety in locking doors, being conscious of who is around you and where your exits are. My brain feels like it doesn’t rest. I’m not complaining because we by all means have it so much better than most of the population around us I just haven’t quite adjusted that’s all.
I think my roommates are feeling the same way though which in a way is comforting. We are all adjusting to life here, some more rapidly than others. Some (myself especially) are more homesick than the rest, but I think their time will come. I don’t wish I was anywhere else, but I do miss having a routine, having friends and family I can be 100% myself with. I miss showering and feeling clean. You shower here and the moment you dry off you are sweaty and feel dirty. I miss speaking during the day – I try and communicate with my patients, but most of the time they don’t understand me. I miss being alone, which for me is huge – I don’t think I’ve ever really wanted to be alone, but here alone times are few and far between. I miss friends just showing up, laying in my bed for hours and laughing. We try to make the best of situations here, and we do have our fun, but laughter especially at the worksites is hard to come by.
I don’t miss my phone, texts and phone calls as much as I assumed I would (we do have cell phones here but I only know my three roommates, the three priests, Martin and my bosses numbers... not much texting happens) I do however miss the feeling of receiving a text/call and knowing that you are being thought about. (It sounds all poor pitiful me, and I’m in no way intending that... I just miss getting a text or a call and knowing I was on someone’s mind). I also miss just texting or calling someone just because.
And I didn’t think I would ever say this, but I do miss Henri and the Doodles (Nanas stinky dogs..and yes Nana as much as you wash them they still smell... ) I’m constantly surrounded by bugs, I miss having actual pets. I miss hugs and being close to people. Touch is very guarded here.
I started by having the boys go around the room and say their name, age and grade in school. Although adorable, I quickly realized my retention rate is about 1 % with the names here- most of which are Zulu or Indian and a million letters long. One of the older boys kindly wrote all of their names on a piece of paper so I could “take it home and study it for homework”-And they did test me Tuesday when I got there...I failed miserably, but don’t worry I brought paper, markers, plastic and safety pins so we could make nametags. Typically I will be at St. Theresa’s to provide assistance with homework, but both Monday and Tuesday the boys had already completed theirs so the rest of the time was spent getting to know one another. They asked me a million hysterical and "practical" questions
-Are you a rapper? Can you bounce like Beyonce?
-What movie stars have you seen? Do you live near any of them?
-Are your eyes real? (They made me take my contacts out to prove that they were really blue)
-Why do you have an earring in your nose? Did you do it yourself? Can you pierce ours?
-Do you like wrestling? Do you know who the Undertaker is? Do you wrestle?
-Do you know Michael Jackson? Who lives in his house now that he’s dead?
-Do you know the “Cha Cha slide dance” and can you do it with us? This prompted a dance party, but not before they put on their cologne....little studs. I didn’t realize how much I miss just being ridiculous and laughing until it hurts. The boys have serious dance moves and told me “for a girl dancer I "do alright..”
After our hour long dance party I picked a book off their shelf and had each of them read a paragraph. I want to have fun during the three afternoons I will be there with them, but I also want to encourage their educational advancement. It was obvious that some of the boys (unfortunately it was mostly the older ones) were struggling with the larger words and most struggled with reading out loud. I want to encourage the confidence in these boys. I want to help them to realize their worth and let them learn that despite the terrible situations they came from, they are now in a great place and have the ability to start anew.
After waking up at 6am and having a long day at 1000 Hills or the Respite, driving 25 minutes in rush hour traffic to St. Theresa’s to supervise 10 youngsters will certainly test my endurance, but I think it will be a blessing in disguise. The children are just that – children. I think they will nurture me in ways I can’t yet imagine needed to be nurtured. I think they will force me to find humor in the midst of the chaos. I think they will teach me to step back from all that I am doing and take time to breath, enjoy, live, and think. I know they will demand love, they already do and as a result will encourage me to be the best me possible.
During my time at the RespiteI have visited a few different hospitals. Each unfortunately presented a new set of challenges and frustrations. On the outside Don McKenzie, the local Tuberculosis clinic (Where my boss Maryann’s husband is a Doctor) appears to be efficiently run, clean, and organized. When you arrive at the front gate they have you sign in, they check your ID and search your trunk for weapons.
Operationally speaking Don McKenzie looks much like a hospital you would see in the States. However after sitting in a waiting room for over four hours waiting for a prescription I got some insight into the disorder lying beneath the pleasant exterior. Mary Kate and I spent the majority of our morning bouncing from Doctor to waiting room to Nurse to waiting room to Counsellor to secretary to intake to waiting room to Pathology to waiting room to Pharmacy to Doctor to Pharmacy to waiting room to Counsellor. We finally found a Doctor who would write the prescriptions for us, but then were told that the patient had the same ID number as another in the system. And by system I mean a huge book with pencilled in names, no admit. or discharge dates. It took forever to locate the two patients, and change their Id's.
I am excited to learn this year. Learn about South Africa and the Zulu culture. I am excited to learn about my roommates and their views on the world, life, love and religion. I feel fortunate to be able to work at St. Theresa’s, 1000 Hills and The Respite alongside many exceptional women and men who will help me understand how best to utilize my talents.
My old shoes, they fit the same, they hug my feet in just the right places, but they feel different walking around in this brand new town. I don't know if its me making something big out of something little, but I feel different. I notice a feeling of humility for those I now walk alongside.
22 January 2010
Your turn to update me....
South African Creepy Crawlies
20 January 2010
Beauty in the broken
1000 Hills Helpers
1000 Hillis community care centre is a health and wellness clinic, children’s infirmary, educational resource facility and development facility. There is a clinic, feeding scheme set in place, crèche (daycare), and home-based care. I will be able to help in any of the aforementioned as well as the on site pharmacy or accompany paramedics on home visits and the transportation of patients tothe facility, hospitals, or hospice care in the ambulance.
Yesterday, 5 minutes after being there I was asked to help in the children's infirmary. The morning flew by. I think between Becca and I we took stats on probably upwards of 50 babies. A large majority of the women do not speak english and as hard as I try I only know 5 words in Zulu (Hello to one person-Sawubona! Hello to more than one- Sanbon! How are you- Unjani? I'm fine-Nygiphilla Thank you-Ngiyabonga) It became very frustrating and then very awkward not being able to communicate. I had to try and mime do you breast feed, does your child have diarrhea, and does your child have a rash. Thank God for Katie and Kendra telling me stories about their ESL adventures in the Bronx last year - I used my hands, I danced, I made motions and awkward sounds I didn't think I would ever feel comfortable doing. It became quite a little joke. They basically all laughed at me and probably were just saying yes or no because they had no idea what I was doing, but their charts got filled out.
Mid morning a Gogo- grandmother of sorts, not necessarily blood related brought her very sick child in. He hadn't eaten in days and was extremely dehydrated. He was so weak he didn't respond to pain (we pinched him to keep him alert and he didn't even flinch when we put his IV line in). We wound up putting him on oxygen to pump up his veins because we couldn't find one for the IV. His poor little body was quivering and he was in an absolute daze. Once he was pumped with IV fluid he became more alert. I brought him sugar water and he drank aprox. the equivalent of a bottle and a half in about two minutes. Poor little tyke was so thirsty. The whole thing happened so quickly that I didn't really have time to think I just held him down, attached the oxygen and thankfully he turned out peachy keen.
In the afternoon Becca and I played in the nursery and outside with the toddlers...we were quite the celebrities. They LOVED my hair and got quite a kick out of my nail/toe nail polish. Four of them sat and braided my hair for a solid 20 minutes, mind you these are three and four year olds. The rest kept touching my nails and piling my lap with 15 soccer balls. They thought it was hilarious when I was trying to say Sawubona - hello, because clearly my inflection and accent totally botch the word. It was an exhausting day, but ending it with them was so precious.
Funny moment of the day: The nurse not only asked me to give a child a suppository, but expected me to. This poor child had terrible diarrhea and a rash on her vagina. I put on my gloves and made it happen. It kept coming out because I was too nervous to really put it up there. I guess I'll soon learn that poop is poop and body parts are body parts.
Uncomfortable moment of the day: I suppose the suppository could fit into this category as well, but that was more awkwardly funny. I was told that if I went to the kitchen I could get a cup of tea. Considering I still haven't fully adjusted to the time change mid morning hit and I was getting tired and needed a caffeine boost. Not only did the cook stop making lunch to make me tea but she insisted on bringing it to me. She carried it across the property on a platter, with milk, sugar and a saucer. I was shocked and mortified. I don't want to be treated like royalty because of the color of my skin. I was to uncomfortable to even drink the tea so I let the Gogo who brought the sick little boy in drink it. Although I know she thought I was a crazy person for miming "are you thirsty, do you want the tea, do you want milk, do you want sugar, drink the tea" she drank two cups loaded with sugar and was very happy :)
Hillcrest AIDS Centre - Respite Unit
Hillcrest is a home away from home run by 14 caregivers with registered nurse backup where patients can be cared for in a loving environment. Patients receive a bed, food and whatever medicines they have been prescribed and either recover from acute illness or die with dignity and in peace.
My job as I learned today is very flexible and I will be doing a great variety of tasks each day; all levels of patient care including feeding, bathing, changing wounds and assisting with other daily tasks. I will also bring patients to appointments, transport them to clinics, and go with rescue workers onhome visits.
Mary-Kate and I were thrown into work the moment we stepped foot in the door of Hillcrest, 6:45am. We were paired with a nurse who showed us around, I was put with Happy. Happy is a wild woman. The first thing she asked was "you married?" I said no. She said "You date american?" I said no. She said "Ahh you find man here and marry and then have Zulu baby and be my friend forever" I was like uhh... um, sure...I don't know? She burst out laughing, hit me and said "I funny!" willlld woman.
There is a very high learning curve at Hillcrest, and she among others insisted we jump right in. No easing ourselves in on the first day. She had me fully body bathing patients, distributing meds whose dosage was in milliliters which I double, triple and quadruple checked.
Besides Happy there were two other people who made a huge impact on my first day at Hillcrest. Kevin, the only white South African patient who I believe is mid 40's spoke perfect English - turns out he knows Zulu and Afrikaans as well. Kevin quickly became my saving grace. Every time I was overwhelmed he seemed to catch my eyes. He made me laugh by telling me I could remember his name because Happy was Happy and His name is Sad. And I made him laugh when I gave him extra sugar in his Custard (somewhat of a protein shake) and told him i was going to call him Sweet instead. He got hysterical when I yelped because a monkey sitting in the window a foot away from me and he scared the crap out of me. The windows don't have screens and apparently monkeys get mad when they can't steal your food.
I appreciated the fact that in a predominately Zulu speaking facility I could have a conversation with him, but I also genuinely enjoyed being around him...he is witty and personable.
When I walked over to him at one point during the afternoon he said "do you notice anything about me?" I quickly checked his med chart to see if he needed meds, I checked his bedpan and water cup, I checked his blankets...all to no avail. I must have looked at him so puzzled. He finally breaks the silence and point blank states "I'm also white" giggled and rolled over and took a nap. I think he'll give me a run for my money and also a sincere friendship.
The third person who impacted my day was a man whose Zulu name I one can't remember and two couldn't spell or pronounce even if I tried. Friday I will learn it though! Happy and I bathed him - his head, stomach and feet and then she brought me to get gauze, cotton balls and medicine which I thought was to replenish the stash in his room.
(this part is graphic and I apologize, don't read it if you have a weak stomach)
She warned me that he had a wound that we needed to clean, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. She pulled down his sheet and from his mid back to upper thighs was a gaping hole. His bum was completely gone. i could see inches into his body. His spine and hip bones were both exposed and blood and puss were everywhere. The smell of bacteria and rotting skin was overpowering. I know he was embarrassed; he wouldn't even look me in the eyes until I had cleaned and dressed his wound, put his clothes back on and pulled his blankets snug around him.
It took all that I had in me to keep composure during the 45 minutes it took us to squirt the wound with salt water and then inch by inch soak up the puss, blood and quarter sized pieces of his skin that were peeling off. I couldn't get the flies to leave him alone which infuriated me. Patients in the States have such better facilities and it just makes me sick to think that this man during his last days has to worry about the flies on his wounds. ughhh....
When it was all over I realized my mouth was filled with my own blood from biting my cheeks the entire time. Every time I stopped I thought I was either going to throw up or cry. It wasn't the sight of his wound that got to me...I hurt for him. Every time I put a cotton ball in him I saw his eyes fill with tears and his face with pain. I wanted to treat him with dignity and respect so I couldn't allow myself to show emotion other then consideration and love and a gentle hand on his back.
I don't think I have ever taken a deeper breath then when today was over. I'm proud that I didn't give up but it is paralyzing to think that a third of the population of Embo, the town directly below my house has HIV/AIDS. And that is just those who got tested and reported it. Overwhelming. I know that the days will get easier as I get hardened to the injustice and devastation that these patients face, but in all honesty I don't want to get to a place where I'm that 'used to it'. I don't want to be tough. I wan't this to get to me every single day so I continue being compassionate. Hopefully I will learn to be more constructive with my emotions instead of crying for the past hour while typing a blog, but if not then a soggy keyboard we'll have.
Sorry this was such a downer post. Good things have happened too! Pat left today, and yes that is the good part. Nah just playing, I will actually miss him a lot, he has been a great resource and we have the same sense of humor which is always great. I drove him to the Durban airport which is like 25+ minutes away and made it back safely and without getting lost. Quite a feat!
Also, we made our first dinner for the priests and they loaded us up on wine, good conversation, many laughs and a little picking on us. I think they will be an excellent outlet and a great source of friendship. Benjie from the Philippines (which he calls the pillapines which I love) insisted on calling me MIG like a figtree and after hearing that I made the salad dressing told me that I will make a sexy housewife. Outrageous.
Again, it is far past my bed time. I need to recognize that I am not on US time anymore.
Lalani kahle! Good night