Yesterday, we were scheduled to go to Casa De Alegria in the morning, but I opted to stay and work in the hospital instead, and I certainly did not regret that decision in the end. There is currently only one other guy volunteer at the guest house right now, and he(Wes is his name), opted to go to the hospital as well. Wes left a little earlier than me, so I had to try to find him once I arrived at the hospital. I couldn’t find him anywhere to see who he was shadowing, so I decided to “follow my nose” and find a Doctor to follow.
Luckily, the Internal Medicine Doctor’s door was open, so I poked my head into his door and asked, “puede mirar?”(am I able to look or watch). Of course, he welcomed me, and he had a med student shadowing him as well. The medical student, much to my delight, was very interested in me as a person and asked me several questions. Through a short conversation with him I found out that his name was Jhoel, and he was from Peru, yet he went to Medical School in Cochabamba. I was glad to have Jhoel with me because he tried to include me in everything that was going on, and he tried to help me keep up with things, which was very nice because this Doctor was the quickest and most intense speaker and worker I had followed yet.
The Doctor saw 16 patients in just 2 hours. I’m sure you can do that math. Basically, he only had about 8 or so minutes to see each patient and then he sent them on their way. As many of you may know, Internal Medicine can be pretty rough. Typically, people don’t go see an Internal Medicine Doctor unless something is very wrong with them, and that certainly holds true to Bolivia.
The people that we saw throughout the day had the worst health of any people I had seen in my life. The Doctor moved so quickly that I was unable to ask him questions until the end, but I remember I often wanted to tell him, “quiero ayudar mas, pero no sabe como,” which roughly translated means “I want to help more, but I don’t know how.” This was certainly my most difficult day in the hospital, because every single patient we saw was in dire need of help. Mostly, I ended up smiling, saying buen dia(good day), and helping them sit down and stand up from examination tables.
There were two patients in particular that stuck with me. One was an elderly woman whose right lung was leaking. The doctor took her into another room and drained about 1 Liter of a yellow liquid from her lungs. I’m not sure what the liquid was, but the procedure was certainly interesting. He told her that her heart had to work much harder because of the liquid that was draining from her lungs, and he scheduled her for surgery at another clinic in Cochabamba.
While the last patient I mentioned was interesting, the final patient of the day is the one that will stay with me forever. It was a very elderly woman who came into the room with her two daughters. The daughters appeared to be in their 40s or maybe early 50s, so I am guessing the patient was in her upper 70s or lower 80s. As they entered the room I said “Hola” to them, and none of them responded. This was very perplexing for me, because everyone in Bolivia and especially in the hospital has always been kind and welcoming toward me. In fact, people usually says “Hola” and “Buen Dia” to me before I am able to say it to them. However, there was something different about the demeanor of these women, and it had to do with the health of their mother. I glanced at the mother and immediately noticed that she had three large, jaw-breaker sized lumps in her throat(A goiter perhaps, or cancer? I thought to myself). Also, the lumps were purple.
The Doctor’s demeanor was also very different during his time with these women. The very first thing he said to them was “What can I do for you?” He had dove right in with every other patient as if he knew what they needed, but it appeared that with this one he knew from the beginning that he could not give her what she needed. The women, looking and sounding distressed, told him that a clinic in Cochabamba had examined their mother and asked his opinion of the examination. Then, they handed him a piece of paper with the results of that examination, and he began to read. The room fell into a dead silence as the Doctor poured over the examination notes. As he finished reading the paper, he stopped, rubbed his temples, breathed deeply, removed his glasses, and paused for a moment. I did not know what was written on the paper, but I could tell from the Doctor’s response that it was something grave, indeed. When he finally spoke again, he said to the women “Well, there’s not much I can do for you. The paper says it plainly. She has cancer. She needs surgery or radiation treatment. Then, one of the daughters said to the Doctor, “Puedes le examen?” Meaning, “can you at least examine her?” And the Doctor said in response “Si, puede examen.”
I watched as he examined her, and I knew something that the women didn’t know. I had watched this doctor examine people all day, and I could tell that he did not examine this woman as thoroughly as he did all the other patients. Once again, this was because he did not feel like he had to discover the problem, for it was in clear sight for all to see, and the ladies had already heard what needed to be done. However, this Doctor, compassionate as he was, examined the patient with care. Afterwards, he sat down with the woman and her daughters and gave them directions and an address to a clinic that could give the woman proper care. I’ll never forget his final words to them before they left “Hay esperanza”(there is hope).
Kevin Quinby
LOVE.
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