DAY THREE – Light in the Dark
That morning had started slow. A few providers were feeling unwell, and the usual rhythm of prep and checklists lagged. In the OR, things moved a little more cautiously, more deliberately. But gradually — the way mist lifts off volcano ridgelines — the pace picked up. Conversations rekindled. The hum returned. By midday, we were in stride again.
There’s a rhythm to this work with new hands learning new tools in unfamiliar spaces. Day three marked our first operative day, and with it came all the nerves, focus, and quiet fire you’d expect when stepping into a high-stakes environment. By sundown, most of the new volunteers had found their stride, or at least a foothold, and the buzz of surgery hummed from one operating room to the next.
But it wasn’t all smooth.
Some of the cases today were heavy—technically complex, emotionally weighty. But the teams showed up for each other. The ORs pulsed with grit and grace as scrub techs, nurses, surgeons, and anesthetists synced into a kind of wordless communication. There’s a bond that forms when you push through challenges together—when you sweat under a surgical gown for hours and still find time to crack a joke or hand off a water bottle between cases.
And then, the lights went out.
I was in one of the ORs, watching a laparoscopic procedure unfold on a monitor, when the hospital was suddenly swallowed in darkness. Not dim. Not flickering. A complete blackout. The scope camera and all the instruments were still inside the patient. Anesthesia monitors flatlined into silence. For a breathless moment, no one moved.
Then: hands reached into scrub pockets, phones came out, flashlights turned on. We formed a halo of light around the table, illuminating the surgeon’s hands, the patient’s body, the stillness that had settled like dust. Just seconds later—though it felt much longer—the power surged back, machines beeped to life, and the room exhaled.
It’s strange how quickly we return to task after a jolt like that. We quickly reset the machines with a new sterilized focus and the work continues.
Today, the general surgery, GYN, and dental teams all moved one step closer to flow. Everyone’s still learning, still adjusting, but the momentum is building. Instruments are now where they should be. People know each other’s names. There’s a comfort in the repetition, even when the outcomes are anything but routine.
We’re here for such a short time. But in these fleeting days, something lasting is built. In the midst of language barriers and power outages, in crowded hallways and sterilization rooms, you feel it—purpose settling into place.
We ended the day with fireworks. Not metaphorical ones — real fireworks, bursting over the main plaza of Antigua, a noisy blur of music and smoke and locals spilling joy into the streets. We passed through it on the way home, worn out and walking the cobblestones, watching the celebration unfold. No one knew exactly what the occasion was, but something about it made sense. After a day like today, even the sky needed to exhale.
Brian Jensen, Team Blogger
