What We Carry Home
Thursday, April 16
There is a distinct feeling to the final morning meeting of the clinic. Our trip leaders walk us through the timeline for the end of the clinic day—how we will begin packing supplies, breaking down the clinic, and loading crates and boxes back onto the semi-truck waiting outside. At the same time, our conversations begin to shift toward what we’ll carry away from the experience when we head home.
Before we begin to pack up the clinic, we still have the opportunity to care for many more patients. One of the patients we met was Eisa, a 12-year-old girl with spina bifida who has never been able to walk. She came to the clinic due to frequent urinary tract infections, but her story extends far beyond that. Eisa has never had a wheelchair. At home, she moves by dragging herself across the dirt floor, having worn a smooth path over time. When she leaves the house, her grandmother carries her on her back, as her parents are often at work. Despite these challenges, Eisa is full of joy—constantly smiling and eager to engage. She was fitted for her very first wheelchair and beamed at the thought of gaining independence, especially at school. Along with the wheelchair, she received antibiotics and vitamins, and her grandmother was taught how to support her mobility moving forward.
Adelso, a 61-year-old construction worker, came in complaining of knee pain. Through conversation with the medical team, he revealed that he had suffered a serious injury at work—stepping on a piece of rebar that pierced through his boot and through his foot. Our orthopedic physician determined that the infection from that injury had since spread, reaching his knee on his other leg. His wife had been treating him with natural remedies, but his condition required urgent medical attention. He was given two types of antibiotics and clear instructions to seek care at a larger hospital if he did not improve within a day or two. His case was another reminder of how important communication is in uncovering the full picture of a patient’s health.
Later in the day, the team cared for Aldea, an 18-year-old young man with brittle bone disease. He arrived with a fracture in his leg and a large mass on the side of his face and neck. Aldea was gentle and attentive, listening closely as the doctors explained his care. Though he asked few questions, his gratitude was clear in his demeanor and quiet smile. Our team created a splint for his leg and will refer him to specialists for both his leg and the mass. His mother was visibly relieved to learn that he would receive further care, and by the end of his visit, our mobility team had modified a wheelchair to support his needs, giving him a greater sense of independence.
As the clinic came to a close, we took time to express our deep gratitude to the village community that made our work possible. Local volunteers helped recruit patients, guide them through the clinic, assist with registration and vital signs, maintain the facilities, provide water, and prepare the school for our arrival and return it back its original state. Many of the volunteers stayed at the clinic all week to be present and support us and their neighbors. Their generosity and commitment were essential to everything we accomplished.
We are equally grateful for our medical providers, translators, and wheelchair team. Despite many of us meeting for the first time, the collaboration felt natural and seamless. Everyone stepped in wherever needed.
The days have been long, and the work has been demanding, but I overheard a couple doctors talking about returning next year. Both said they hoped to come back every year. For them, this experience offers perspective, a reminder of what truly matters. It’s something we carry home and something worth returning to.
