Day 4 – The Work Begins
This morning’s devotional was about restoring faith in humanity.
About being recharged.
About remembering why we chose medicine in the first place. Why Guatemala. Why we travel. Why we step into rooms that demand focus and humility.
All this busyness comes at a cost. The world rewards frantic motion. But here, we were reminded to choose a different kind of busy — not chaos busy, but purposeful busy. Simple busy. Focused busy. The kind that fills instead of drains.
We walked briskly to the O.R.s, the air still cool, our pace a little quicker than yesterday. The anticipation was palpable. Today wasn’t about unpacking trunks. Today was about using what we unpacked.
Inside, the rooms sprang to life.
Instruments were inventoried and counted with quiet precision. Sterile trays set into place. Anesthesia machines hummed awake. Gloves tugged tight with that familiar snap.
Patients were ushered in gently.
I can’t pretend to know what they’re thinking in those first moments — fluorescent lights overhead, unfamiliar faces masked and gowned, machines beginning to beep with mechanical indifference. For many, this environment is entirely foreign. But calm reassurance has a language of its own. A steady hand. A voice that doesn’t rush. A kind set of eyes above a surgical mask.
And then the rhythm begins.
The surgeons perform their subtle choreography of donning sterile gowns and gloves, the dance that looks awkward to outsiders but precise to those who know. The cadence of surgical language settles in — smooth, direct, efficient. It’s remarkable how quickly a group of professionals can move as if they’ve been working side by side for months instead of days.
Dentistry had a curveball today — an equipment issue that disrupted their carefully planned schedule. The kind of logistical hiccup that tests patience early in the week. They will adjust. They always do.
Case by case, the day unfolded.
Between rooms there were smiles. A few hallway selfies. Quick shoulder squeezes. Encouraging nods. And already, beneath the energy of a successful first operative day, you could sense an awareness settling in:
It’s only Monday, and there is still a long week ahead.
I caught a few yawns behind surgical masks — subtle, quickly hidden, but there nonetheless. Service is joyful. It’s also tiring. Both can be true at the same time.
In the Post-Op ward, one woman surfaced from sedation slowly, blinking against the light. There’s always that fragile in-between moment — the crossing back from anesthesia into awareness. When she realized the procedure was over, that she was safe, that it had gone well, her face softened into relief.
Post-op nurse Donna stood beside her.
And then, without hesitation, the patient lifted her hand and gave a strong, deliberate thumbs up.
Donna laughed and mirrored it back.
No speeches. No grand gestures. Just two women sharing a quiet understanding: something difficult had been faced — and finished.
By late afternoon the rooms quieted. Charts were updated. Final counts confirmed. The building exhaled.
Outside, Antigua moved at its usual pace — cobblestones, motorcycles, volcanoes standing unmoved by our efforts. Inside these walls, though, something had shifted. The week had truly begun.
Tomorrow, we do it again.
Brian Jensen
Team blogger, Robinson – Jensen Surgery 888
