I came to India for the expressed purpose of volunteering at a missions hospital to shadow a doctor. Three days into my trip I find out that the Appacha who founded the hospital had died, the day before we were to arrive there. I was considerably distressed and I wanted to delay the trip at least a week to let the family grieve. In my mind I thought that this would be the best option, by the time I'd get there the ffuneral would be over and I'd have the week I wanted with my grandmother (before all this passport business). Unfortunately for me, after conferring with my parents, and various uncles and aunts it was decided that we'd make the trip as planned. I was mortified, how could we ask a grieving family to put us the very next day after the patriarch dies. But as it happens things happen very differently in India then they do in Canada (my next post will be all about that). We were welcomed with open arms, joy and smiles on everyone's face. What's different about this family is that they know their grandfather lives on in eternity, and that gives them hope. (I'm sure there's a more poetic way to put that but whatever) It reminded me of King David who knew his first son by Bathsheba would die but still ferevently fasted and prayed for his healing, but when his son did die he got up and worshipped the Lord. The whole situation made me feel quite philosophical (so please bear with my musings), for us dying seems to be the worst thing that could happen to a person. Death seems so final and it scares many of us. BUT, for Christians there is hope. Death is not the end but merely the beginning of our life eternal. So I've made up my mind, my funeral will be outdoors, no one is to wear black. It will be a celebration, a welcome party for my entrance into heaven. There will probably be a party in heaven (I always did like to make an entrance) so there shall be one in my honour on earth. OOO fireworks, so I can go out with a bang. Hehehe so punny.
So the first few days I was left mostly to my own devices, seeing as most everyone else was busy with visiting family and friends and funeral arrangements. So not to be crass but it was fairly boring. I spent most of my time napping, as it was far to hot to roam around outside. It was only like a week later that I got to go to the hospital. Sigh
I had avoided blogging because my experience at the hospital....because it had much to be desired. And it left me feeling like a failure. Ok so some details to know first. I thought I would be shadowing Mohan bhiaya, he is the one who does most of the "exciting" work. ie surgeries, delivering babies etc. But alas Mohan uncle left the day after the funeral to Delhi. My mother knew this when planning my trip but thought that his daughter would be a fine replacement. She thought it would be better seeing as Anouka was only a few years older than me and we'd probably have more in common than I would with her father. Unfortunately Anouka, through no fault of her own being what is the Indian equivalent of a resident, can't perform surgeries and doesn't feel comfortable delivering babies without her father present in case of an emergency. Anouka is quite an impressive person, for any age, she is very commanding, very knowledgable and is managing extraordinarily seeing as she is the only doctor at the hospital at the moment. Because of the lack of staff, the hospital is taking very few patients and the more serious patients are being directed to other hospitals in the area.
The first day I shadowed Anouka we spent most of our time in her office seeing patients that didn't need admission into the hospital. Seeing as most of the interactions were in Hindi I was left in the dark most of the time. There were only two patients that needed an examination, and they were both pregnant. It was the first time I got to hear a fetal hearbeat. That was incredible, it still blows my mind that we have the ability to give life to another being. "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb." Psalm 139: 13. That verse gives my heart a thrill and sends chills down my spine. David was a great poet. After mentioning to Anouka that I was a nursing student she had it in her mind that I needed nursing experience. And so the next day I was sent down to the ACU (acute care unit) where the nursing staff worked. There I was sent and there I sat...and sat...and sat. I did nothing but sit and look at the wall. The only enjoyable part of the day was when I got to put the nebulizer on a very squirmy baby. It was not enjoyable really, but I was glad I could actually be useful to someone. I don't think I can ever forget that poor baby, It was said that the baby wasn't expected to survive the first day. He suffered from a horrible case of pnemonia and every breath hurt him. And of course he was quite tiny for a ten month old, but he was strong. It once took four adults to hold this baby down (gently) so we could keep the nebulizer mask on his face. The next day was the same, it included me sitting and staring, asking questions when Ajitha aunty was available to answer them, and for twenty glorious minutes helping that baby. But twenty minutes in an eight hour day is not quite what I had in mind. I'd come home and weep out of frustration. I know it was wrong to overreact so, but when you feel so alone and useless, its hard not to weep. After many tearful phone calls to my parents and trying in vain to explain to them that I was wasting away here body, mind, and soul, I had given up. As many characters in books are prone to claim, I was in the depths of despair. I felt stupid, clumsy, ignorant, useless, and irrelevent. So I resigned myself to suffering in silence, I refused to speak to my parents, angry at them for failing to understand the predicament I was in for understanding my situation and expecting me to be happy in spite of it. It seemed that my parents thought I was acting out simply because I couldn't hack the heat, the bugs, the food, and the various ailments that my body was going through. These things didn't help, but I was most distressed about my time in the hospital. I would walk in everyday, and people seeing my stethoscope would think I was a doctor, then I would have to explain to them in a mix of broken English and Hindi, that I wasn't a doctor only a student, and that I didn't actually know anything. They would look disappointed and leave, slightly disgruntled that I looked like I should have known more and that I had decieved them. After explaining to, oh so many, people that I didn't know anything, I was starting to believe it myself. I thought myself a fool for thinking I could do this, still being a student, and knowing not a lick of Hindi. How could I have thought that I could be of any use being as handicapped as I was. It took a bit for my parents to see that I was nothing but a burden to let me leave before the agreed upon date. And now I felt ashamed to be leaving early or quitting, when I was so gung-ho to come here in the first place. And now I have this giant, rambly post, that I hope no one reads...
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