DAY TWO – Where the Rhythm Begins
We woke up early—still carrying the weight of yesterday’s travel in our bones. You could see it in the slow movements at breakfast, people rubbing their eyes, clutching coffee mugs like lifelines. But under it all, there was this quiet buzz. Anticipation. A kind of collective exhale, like we were all just starting to realize where we are and why we came.
Breakfast was a blur of small talk, personnel checks, and plan-making. Names still being learned. Roles still clicking into place. Some folks huddled over notebooks. Others just sat back, watching the morning unfold.
After a quick devotional, we stepped out into the streets of Antigua. Still early, the light was soft, filtering through the volcanic haze. The walk to the Obras Hospital was quiet, everyone sort of falling into pace. You could feel it—something about moving as a group through this historic city, towards something real.
At the Obras, the staff met us with warmth and order. We broke into departments. Got our bearings. New volunteers asked good questions. Returners offered quick reassurances. The admin side of things was efficient—clear, kind, and just enough structure to hold what was coming.
Then triage started.
In the courtyard, patients waited beneath the small trees—some holding manila folders, others plastic bags with old X-rays, films scribbled notes, worn paperwork. Many had traveled far. They sat still, holding onto hope. Some stared at the ground. Some looked toward the hospital door, quietly counting the people ahead of them, hoping that their name would be called next. A father waited outside a hallway with his hands folded tightly. A child curled beside her grandmother under the shade of the courtyard tree.
Inside, the surgeons got to work. General. Gyn. One by one, they met with potential patients, and listened carefully to every story shared — through interpreters, through nods, through the universal language of compassion. Vitals checked, Medical histories reviewed. Not everyone would qualify for surgery. But everyone would be seen. By mid-morning, the heat had arrived. But so had the momentum. The surgery teams pressed forward, filling their schedules for the week.
There’s something powerful in that.
Meanwhile, the OR teams stocked every room. Bins were labeled, carts filled, schedules posted. People moved with purpose. Some with a quiet focus. Others with laughter that cut through the tension. There’s a kind of choreography happening—organized chaos, but with a pulse.
We’ll be here only a short time. A week. Maybe less for some. But today felt like the start of something steady.
Tomorrow, the real work begins.
Brian Jensen, Team Blogger
