Blog, 23 June 25
7.2: this is Tony’s version number.
His devotional this morning invited the volunteers to be actively and vocally grateful about today’s version of ourselves. “I’m grateful to be alive today,” we said out loud, in unison. We said it again, out loud. Sometimes the voice in my head is sane and logical but volatile. The voice from my lips is much more solid, steadfast, sturdy. “I’m grateful to be alive today.” Tony talked about how he has gone through iterations of himself, and today he finds that iteration 7.2 (his age, as a play on operating system naming conventions) is his best self yet.
Today was the first day of surgery for Craft Team 868 at Hospital Hilario Galindo. Spirits were high and volunteers were ready to contribute to the team, to the mission. “Good.” “Ready.” “Excited to start.” “This is what we came here for.” These were the responses from all corners of the surgical team when asked how they were feeling before starting.
I spent the morning in the pre-operation (pre-op) room, waiting with some patients who were meant to be the first or second surgeries of the day for our surgeons. I met two translators there, Esteban and Ilsey, both of whom were local to Guatemala (one from this town and one from Antigua). I mistakenly assumed that they were older than they were since they were here working with our staff, who are all employed post-education in the states. I found out that they were young students, currently attending university. They told me they were volunteers. One was a volunteer for several years, despite only now being 19. “It’s such a great thing to do and I can do it, so why not?”
I met Rosa, who was 40 and traveled several hours to be here. She was sweet and ready to crack jokes. She was part of the second round of patients to be received by pre-op nurses, so while she was lying down waiting to be brought in to the OR, another patient, who’d just finished in the OR, was brought into the post-operation (post-op) area, in the same room but a curtain away from the beds of pre-op. This new patient was still asleep from the effects of anesthesia and was snoring quite audibly. With Ilsey’s translating help, Rosa looked at us and started laughing, telling us that she thought it was a machine. I told Rosa I might snore louder. She told me it can’t be as loud as her husband’s snoring. She was a delightful presence in pre-op. Her request of me and Ilsey was to let her know if she snores too. (She doesn’t.)
One of the items that staff were able to procure before departing for the mission was an SCD, or a sequential compression device. Surgeon Tracey brought along four SCDs, which are sleeves meant to promote a more natural blood flow at areas of the limbs, particularly the legs, where extended compression (due to pressure from prolonged lying or sitting) occurs. Volunteer staff informed me that anyone in surgery would benefit from the use of SCDs due to the prolonged pressure placed on legs during surgery.
Ward nurse Teresa, a big K-drama fan, told us a story about meeting a patient, post-op, who discovered that the patient watches K-dramas (Korean drama television). They bonded over a shared love of international tv. The patient Teresa was assisting was a bit uncomfortable in the ward but discovering they both had similar television tastes lifted their spirits.
At the mobility clinic Oscar helped me speak with a man Fernando who’d largely lost leg mobility and whose wife assisted in ambulation. Oscar joked that his wife was strong, and they both laughed and agreed. Fernando saw me in the doorway of the room in which he was receiving support. I couldn’t make it out properly, but in a miniature game of telephone, Oscar told me Fernando said he thought we looked alike, except for the fact that I am not Guatemalan (his words). I told him it was an honor that he thought so, and he laughed. He was actually smiling the whole time he was there. Maybe Oscar is funnier than we let on, but I think the new wheelchair helped too. He left with a new wheelchair. And a photo with his self-proclaimed twin.
Sarah, one of our translators who is on her first such mission trip, spent her first two days in the mobility clinic, where wheelchairs, walkers, crutches, and canes were distributed based on need. She was relaying to me a story about an older woman several volunteers in the clinic described as tough. This woman was of a shorter stature, under 4’6, and she walked in barefooted. When asked if she wanted some footwear, she said no and laughed them off. She requested a cane, and nothing else. At nearly 80 years old, she was spritely and fiery. And grateful for the help. Sarah noticed in all of the people she’d met thus far that, “every single person was so kind, so grateful, so happy” that Faith in Practice could provide such support and aid. “Everyone. Every single one.”
Nicolas Patelo, Blogger
