A new blog post - also known as an acceptable reason for ignoring the pile of dirty dishes.
Five days of medical care just completed. Four-hundred satisfied clients? My brain is exhausted by the constant change between Spanish and English. "What is the word for gallbladder again?" Chispa won't come near me for fear that he'll be shut up in the house for a sixth straight day. The reality of a dog living in a second floor apartment.
My foggy head and blurry eyes feel like the consequence of facing illness, hope, disgruntlement, and relief. The result of five days of being that white woman with the power to say "yes" or "no." But the truth is that at the end of the week I danced merengue and bachata until one in the morning, and until now, forgot all about sick people.
This last week there were no tears in my eyes - not when a malnourished boy showed no weight gain in four months, not when a women came forth with domestic violence, not when I saw tears in the eyes of one of our medical volunteers. When was the last time I cried when faced with, what do you want to call it, poverty, illness, dare I also say resilience? I remember it perfectly, a tiny man, amputated above both knees, sitting in a prison cell in Cambodia, light as a feather, hallow cheeks and black hair. A tuberculosis patient. The prison staff not sure what to do.
It takes a lot to bring tears to my eyes now.
In the mean time, don't fear. There are many happy Chispa Tales to come, and because I didn't take any photos of Cambodian prisoners you'll have to accept another cute photo of Chispa instead.
Now I'm off to get the broom and mop. It's either that or accept a Chispa paw print decorated floor, which now that I think about it, sounds okay to the both of us.
Five days of medical care just completed. Four-hundred satisfied clients? My brain is exhausted by the constant change between Spanish and English. "What is the word for gallbladder again?" Chispa won't come near me for fear that he'll be shut up in the house for a sixth straight day. The reality of a dog living in a second floor apartment.
My foggy head and blurry eyes feel like the consequence of facing illness, hope, disgruntlement, and relief. The result of five days of being that white woman with the power to say "yes" or "no." But the truth is that at the end of the week I danced merengue and bachata until one in the morning, and until now, forgot all about sick people.
This last week there were no tears in my eyes - not when a malnourished boy showed no weight gain in four months, not when a women came forth with domestic violence, not when I saw tears in the eyes of one of our medical volunteers. When was the last time I cried when faced with, what do you want to call it, poverty, illness, dare I also say resilience? I remember it perfectly, a tiny man, amputated above both knees, sitting in a prison cell in Cambodia, light as a feather, hallow cheeks and black hair. A tuberculosis patient. The prison staff not sure what to do.
It takes a lot to bring tears to my eyes now.
In the mean time, don't fear. There are many happy Chispa Tales to come, and because I didn't take any photos of Cambodian prisoners you'll have to accept another cute photo of Chispa instead.Now I'm off to get the broom and mop. It's either that or accept a Chispa paw print decorated floor, which now that I think about it, sounds okay to the both of us.
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