tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76283620732147686242024-03-13T13:28:52.399-07:00one individualfor those of you who don't get it, my name is Amy; that's Amy, pronounced A-ME. Just say it out loud a few times, you'll get it.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.comBlogger104125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-52020896193310229112020-01-12T10:45:00.003-08:002020-01-12T15:02:29.405-08:00Tetanus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday as I was getting report (update of all the patients) from the off-going nurse I commented on how much I've learned and seen already. Things I would never see "back home". Diseases so horrifying and cruel that faces, images and families are burned in my mind forever. Diseases that have been all but eradicated through vaccination in more developed countries. Things, that sadly, due to willful ignorance I may actually have to see break hearts, families and bodies again"back home".<br />
I mentioned that the only thing I feel like I haven't seen, and that I hope to never see (as it is one of the most gruesome and torturous diseases imaginable) was TETANUS.<br />
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That day I saw tetanus. I wish I never had. Torturous is the right word for it. It's easily contracted through the soil. Yes, even in the U.S. soil and that of other developed countries. Just a small cut, sometimes so small it goes unnoticed or thought of as insignificant is enough to the let the tetanus bacteria in where it releases toxins. Within days these neurotoxins cause a systemic infection causing every muscle in the body to wrench, tighten, twist, and contort. A person has the tell-tale "lock jaw" sign in which the muscles in their face and neck (and everywhere) are so stretched, and strained, and tight that one cannot open his mouth, the jaw is locked shut. The back muscles constrict so extremely the skeleton is bent painfully, unnaturally into an awkward, arching, twisted backbend that lifts the patient off the bed as they whimper and cry in torment. But even crying is hard because the face is so taught. I watched it happen.<br />
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Aside, from vaccinate immediately (playing catchup), treat with antibiotics (often for several weeks/months) and try to relax the muscles with drugs and give pain meds for the unearthly contortions (all of which help...some...but not enough to make it un-excruciating).<br />
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I will try to portray to you, very briefly, the image I keep seeing over and over. As we went to move the patient from the emergency stretcher to a hospital bed, his father slid his arms under his shoulders and under his knees as you would to normally carry a child who had fallen asleep up to bed. However, the patient was rigid, and not a little. There was no bend in his knees, no flopping of his head or falling of his arms to his sides as he was lifted. Rather he lifted as one straight-backed stone, arms bent harshly at 90 degrees, muscles so tight it kept his whole body as if it were only one very solid piece. All I could think of was that it looked like someone trying to carry a surfboard. Because of the awkward stiffness of the patients body, it took two other people to carry this frozen body to the bed.<br />
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DON'T write/speak/tell me anything about anti-vaxx anything. Just don't. </div>
aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-7941669565895136072020-01-12T09:51:00.001-08:002020-01-12T09:51:39.834-08:00No shortage of need in this world<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">While at the hospital families provide all the cares for the patients. Many come from very far away and have almost no resources. A caregiver is required to be with the patient at all times except in extreme circumstances where there is no family or family is also hospitalized-or if they are an orphan. With the infants, many parents actually climb inside the crib and sleep with the baby in the crib. Others, sleep in the hospital bed with their child...and sometimes a spouse...and other children they had to bring along. These are not large hospital beds and sometimes an entire family sleeps in the bed with the patient (technically not allowed, but when there is no space, what are you going to do? Others sleep outside on the ground or in the outdoor concrete corridors of the hospital. A few have tents, many use whatever they have on hand to build a makeshift shelter for the night, days, weeks, months they are here.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The hospital doesn't feed the patients or families. The families either make or buy food and bring it in. This a problem for many who either come emergently or have no means to buy or make food once they do arrive. They also do many of the cares, like counting how much the patient eats and drinks, weighing and counting diapers and ensuring physical therapy exercises get done after they have been taught how to do them. It is all up to them. (This is common in many hospitals throughout the world, particularly in developing countries.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As I mentioned before, many people come from far away and risk a lot by coming, particularly at this time of year. (Some villages don't even have roads that lead to or from them.) It’s harvest season and bringing their child to the hospital means they may lose an entire years worth of crops and salary and work. For those who come from very far this might mean walking, a scooter with several family members crammed on, or a long bus and tuktuk ride. Laos has very few “cities”. The majority of Laos is incredibly rural with very basic housing housing many generations together. There is no clean water. It all must be boiled or bottled. Much of Laos doesn't have electricity. Some parts of Laos that do have electricity often have shoddy, jerry-rigged set-ups and fires are common because the makeshift addition of electricity with crazy wires, etc hanging to/through a house not intended built for it. The villages (which are counted by how many families live there, not the number of people) are small and often only work as subsistence farmers, meaning they only grow enough to feed their own families and trade within their small communities without much, if any, excess. So again, missing the harvest can be devastating. I can only imagine the strain and stress this puts on them, not to mention the whole ordeal of having to figure out how to get here, often not knowing how they will get home. Mad respect for all of the people in Laos. There is some help the hospital can give for these families to ensure they have food while they are here, and in extenuating circumstances will sometimes help them get back home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> As with most places, those who live closer to the city have more access to care, and are often more educated regarding medical care and disease prevention. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">One especially great thing about this hospital that I’m sure makes a huge impact is the “Outreach” program. The outreach team will, I think twice a week, go out to visit previous or chronic patients that have missed their appointments or ensure the family is doing the home care correctly. The outreach team will also ask if there are any sick in the village and bring them back to the hospital if care is needed. Some times they go out for several days if they are going some where that is difficult to get to are far away. They kind of work as a home health, social work, patient and family advocate, solve every problem team.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> We have one child here right now that lives several hours away that outreach brought in. They patient has a serious chronic condition reliant on frequent blood transfusions but the family has no way of getting here. Outreach went out and found this child 5 months after he was due for an appointment. He, of course, is very, very sick. I would say we probably have about 10 kids with this exact story every week. Outreach does amazing work, and they do what they can but there are simply too many, too far away and sometimes family does not want, or cannot come in and the children pass away. There is no shortage of need in this world which is difficult for me to completely fathom, even in the midst of it, having come a from a land of so much excess. </span></span></span></div>
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aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-12595608815978753992019-12-30T10:12:00.002-08:002020-01-12T09:57:07.465-08:00Volunteering in Laos, the beginning- Initation by fire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The staff here is pretty fantastic. Not only are they knowledgable, they have the tolerance and humility of saints. I can’t imagine having new volunteers come every month or few months and having different ideas of what is important or how things should be done. I, of course, have things that I wish I could emphasize and change but the truth is they are doing a pretty great job and I have to understand the relativity of the situation along with my own personal biases about what is most important and what should be done or improved upon next. The longer I am here the more I realize that I am actually not “doing” much. The staff know what they are doing far more than I do. The deal with things like preventable disease like meningitis, Japanese encephalitis, polio, tuberculosis, among others things like burns and tropical diseases like malaria, dengue, weird fungal stuff, far more than I do. In these, and many other situations, they are the experts, and I learn a lot from them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yes, the longer I am here the more I feel like my job is not necessarily medical as much as solidarity and to stand as a witness. I don’t know how that translates or comes across but that is the best way that I can think to say it. I am experiencing a lot. I am seeing a life that I knew was remote and less fortunate than my own, but I am seeing a ruggedness I hardly believed existed anymore…and I am in the city. And seeing now that my job is more of a witness, and hopefully, a help I will attempt to share some of the things I see and experience. I understand that my view is colored very much by my own life and as I am seeing on the regular, with much humor involved, many things are misconstrued or lost in translation. So, forgive me if things are not quite right or “lost in translation,” either from my misunderstanding or because they are passing through the filter of my mind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In regards to a lack of frequent updates, I have learned sometimes you just have to wait for these things to come out in their own time. They can’t be forced just because I have the time or desire to write. Sometimes my mind and spirit-and the story-need a little time, a little distance and a few breaths before being able to “speak them out loud”. All that being said, here goes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ended my second shift ever at the hospital coding an infant. I’d made friends with mom, even though we don’t speak the same language, throughout the day. Her baby was sick and we moved him from the main area (where he had been for a few days) to the Emergency Area where we could give him more attention (when I say we, I mean the Lao staff, I technically am not allowed to provide patient care, only support to the staff). I had put my arm around mom when he first took a turn for the worse. A few hours later things got really bad. As soon as chest compression started on his little body, mom ran straight at me from across the room and collapsed crying into my chest. I held her for several minutes while they performed CPR on her new little baby. In the end, he did not survive. When he was gone and lying still, I helped mom into a chair next to a bed and placed him in her arms. He was very sick and we have limited resource. Too tired to cry right now.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ve witnessed many deaths since I’ve been here. More than we would at home. The hospital does a great job and saves a great number of lives but there is still a lot we can’t do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-43390120367952715282019-12-30T10:08:00.002-08:002019-12-30T10:08:25.909-08:00Taking this act behind the scenes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm going private. Very few people even know this blog exists but since I plan on sharing it a bit more, I want it to be a little more secure. Let me know if you still want access to it as I'll be changing it to private in the next few days. </div>
aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-63408788989107031642018-06-03T14:09:00.002-07:002018-06-03T14:09:29.034-07:00More from Bangladesh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I always have to be in the right mood to write about my travels and it’s difficult to get there sometimes, I guess because it’s hard to face and because I wish I were still there. Plus there is always a certain amount of perspective that comes with any travel especially to a country very different from one’s own. That perspective can fade quickly and you can be a little ashamed of yourself for how quickly it fades. I also almost feel a little bit that real life is happening in places like the camps and in developing countries and that my own is life is very much a facade or a shadow of what real life is. And that is certainly true considering more people live without adequate basic resources let alone feel oddly “poor” because we can’t have everything we instantly want despite having an excess amount of food and access to any amount of clean water we could hope for. I don’t quite feel like I’m accomplishing anything in my little life here in the states sometimes despite being incredibly busy and worried about who knows what. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And so I begin, trying to convey complex feelings even I don’t understand and to tell the stories of another world so very different from our own that I don’t know where to begin. And the world in the Rohingya refugee camps is definitely that. These people deserve, more than most, to have their stories told-for the sake of all humankind their stories need to be told. Now, I know that whatever I write someone will find a way to criticize or be offended by. I ask those people to keep their mouths shut or go help in the camps and then tell their own stories, not to judge me by mine-seen and experienced through my admittedly imperfect eyes. I can only write from my own experience, using my own thoughts through the eyes I have, at the present time of experiencing it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I put this disclaimer here because I am not what most people think of when they think of a “humanitarian”. Those who know me, know that I can come off a little cold, abrupt, rigid…sometimes ice-queen-y even. I’ve been told this about myself. I don’t know why I come across that way but I know that I do. I also know I am not overly sweet nor do I see the world through rose-colored glasses. I’m incredibly sarcastic with the dry, morbid sense of humor shared by many a nurse and most accurately once described as an optimistic cynic. I do love kittens though. My only reason for telling you this is to point out this…you do not have to be a perfect person to do something good. Even with our dark or imperfect sides, or even if we do not “look” like what others want us to look like while doing a certain activity, we can still do and be some good. Even if we are not “good” in a way that other people want to us be. Now to the camps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s difficult for me to convey individual stories this time because we really only had one translator. I signed up go with SAM’s (Syrian American Medical Society)-the same group I went to the Syrian refugee camps in Jordan a couple of years ago. It turned out that only 3 of us ended up going. It was two pediatricians, Promise, a long-time private-practice pediatrician from Washington D.C., Samantha, a newly trained Brit from London who has done extensive volunteer work for long stints in developing countries with various NGO’s, and me. This was our team going Into the camps. Just the three of us. They each saw anywhere from 70-80 patients a day each and used the local Bengali doctors in training as translators. (There were two newly graduated Bengali doctors but who haven’t taken their exams yet. SAMs was paying them salaries to help out in the camps but mostly they were doing it because they were amazing, exhausted but tireless people.) I tried to help triage but since I had no translator our little triage information was basically limited to vital signs and and physical appearance. And mostly, the three of us, were there trying to give some respite to the doctors and “medics” taking vitals who’d been doing so for who-knows-how-many months, generally 6-7 long days a week. God bless each one of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There were a few friends that generously sent me money to help me balance the cost of this trip and buy medical supplies for the clinics. Most of what I bought was basic stuffs like blood pressure cuffs, thermometers, stethoscope, etc. Although my job was incredibly easy it was complicated by not being able to communicate with the medics who were there before me who I think appreciated the respite but didn’t want to dump on me and I didn’t want to come in and step on toes but we did all in all get along and felt each other’s good intentions even if we couldn’t communicate in words. One of the medics even used my sharpies to make me a beautiful drawing and presented it to me with a shy smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There was one little girl, about 9 years old, who came to the clinic several days in a row for something that the doctors were following. She would have to wait for hours to be seen and would shyly watch me (well stare at my eyes really and try not to get caught) So I brought her over to my little triage table. I taught her how to use the equipment and take vital signs. Her whole demeanor and smile changed throughout the week. She became my little nurse’s assistant. It also made a lot of the people who came to the clinic to be seen crack a slight smile to see working there along side of me. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I need to talk a minute about the children there. The Rohingya in general seem to be a very mild, somewhat shy people. But even in other places, like the rest of southeast Asia where, culturally, the people are very calm and mild, the children are still curious and still smile and play. The children within the camps were abnormally stand off-ish and mistrusting. (Understandably so.) They did not try to interact at all. In fact, it took quite a bit of coaxing to get them to interact. It makes sense given what they’ve been through and are still going through but it was so drastically different that it stood out immediately. Eventually…I did get them to open up :). If I had any kind of impression or thoughts while preparing for this particular trip it was, “focus on the kids”. I think playing with the children helped the adults to relax and trust us a little bit more too. It softened all us a bit to have the kids start to smile, including the staff members working with us and the neighborhoods surrounding our little clinics. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There were two clinics that we went to in different areas of the camps. Mostly we saw primary care type stuff. But really next level primary care. People came with colds and body aches but much more severe colds and body aches than what we might go to the doctor and complaining about. People had really, really bad colds that had gone on for weeks/months. They had respiratory infections that were extreme. And the body aches, I can only imagine were exponentially worse than any body ache I’ve ever experienced. The amount of work and walking they do in a day on almost no calories (if any), not to mention the referred pain from the traumas and emotional stress that they experience probably puts my worst stress headache to shame. We saw 60lb women carrying 30lb bags of rice and double buckets full of water (I think a gallon weighs like 17 lbs or something). The heaviest patient I recall seeing, including men, weighed 119lbs. It is not a stretch to compare their physical appearance to that of what you may have seen in holocaust videos. Everyone was malnourished and some of the babies were terribly, terribly thin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I do have to mention that there are supplemental feeding clinics for babies and breastfeeding mothers. There are a few “hospitals,” one particularly that has and “ER” with inpatient capacity set up by Doctors Without Borders. There are women support groups and even some education going on. In the space we were using as our clinic, another group was training some of the women as mid-wives. There are people helping and doing some very good things. However, the amount of help available in comparison to the amount of need is heart-breaking. If our help was a drop in the ocean, it wouldn’t even be big enough to make a perceptible ripple. It goes back to something I’ve come to realize and shared with people in the past. I cannot change the world, I’m not going to solve world hunger, what I do is not enough. But it is what I can do. I have very, very small circle of influence but I will do what I can within the tiny speck of my world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We saw several cases of the mumps, a few cases of the measles, lots of chicken pox (completely preventable diseases with vaccination) and there was an entire clinic set up to the treatment and containment of diphtheria (also preventable with a vaccine) by Samaritan’s Purse. I have to admit the clinic was impressive. From my standpoint and impression based on that clinic and what I’ve seen elsewhere, they do phenomenal work. Unfortunately, we saw very young children already developing cataracts and losing their vision. I don’t know if this is from the sun, dust, or disease but we saw it more than we should have. I don’t know if anyone is there doing or screening for this but I sure hope so. To see people have permanent damage, go blind or even die from easily preventable circumstances in our day and age is so frustrating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The need for basic life necessities was incredibly scarce, despite the amount of aide attempting to be provided by the host country of Bangladesh and from various groups and NGO’s throughout the world. I saw unimaginable-and even as I witnessed them- unfathomable problems of pure survival. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Again, we mostly saw primary care issues: colds, asthma, muscle aches, a few wounds…only of course they were all a much higher degree of “sick” than what we in western cultures might consider going to the doctor for. The colds had gone on longer and were more severe. The muscle likely much more extreme due to sleeping on the ground in addition to having all the extreme physical stress they put on their bodies from the amount of physical labor it requires to survive on nothing. I’m sure we can all agree they likely have much stronger emotional stressors that contribute to the pains, hurts, and exhaustion that can lead to physical, emotional and mental illness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Throughout my time in the camps as I went about trying to do what little I could while there I kept finding myself grateful for the little things. Seeing all the dirty, swollen, busted up feet I suddenly found myself very grateful for shoes. I was more appreciative of each bite I took while there. And, oh, how thankful I was for a hot shower at the end of the day to rest, relax, and be very clean after being so hot, dusty and sweaty. And I’d think, as I indulged in what felt like a much “needed” shower and washing away of a long day, that most of these people had likely never had a long hot, shower like that. Even before they escaped across from their home country of Myanmar/Burma, they likely did not live in such a way that afforded for much rest, let alone hot running water with the turn of a knob. And I grew more and more thankful for little things. And as I grew more thankful I grew more charitable and wanted to give more. As I watched this happen within in myself there was a thought that kept surfacing: Giving out of guilt doesn’t do anyone any good. Giving out of gratitude will change both the amount that is given and the feeling with which is received. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There is always a temptation to feel guilty for what we have. Especially when we see such extreme, dire circumstances. I do’t believe that guilt does anyone any good. Wouldn’t we all rather receive a gift from a friend who is happy to give than a hand out from stranger who feels guilty? Even with the language barrier, maybe because of it, these were my friends and I was made happier for what I do have and simultaneously happier to give what I could to my new friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Thank you again to all those who helped. It makes a huge difference in what I am able to do when in the camps and for my faith in humanity. God bless you all. </span></div>
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aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-87255940725458965022018-04-19T20:23:00.003-07:002018-04-19T20:23:49.009-07:00Bangladesh-Rohingya Refugee Crisis <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’ve had a difficult time writing about Bangladesh. Even as I write out all that I can remember I feel a little hesitant about posting it. I don’t want human suffering to become a spectator sport. Not that any one of my friends reading this-and especially not those who personally sacrificed to support me-would view it that way. I have just been stuck. And I want to make sure it doesn’t come across as me taking exotic trips and coming back to tell the tail. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">That isn’t what it is like. These are serious problems and real people living them. And very real evil causing painfully real suffering to more of our fellow man than we can understand. Even being in the camps I don’t think my brain, heart or soul was able to fathom the magnitude or severity of the situation. And I don’t want to exploit or romanticize it in any way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s difficult for me to get the stories of those I met this time out there because of the language barrier. I did not have a translator to help me. All the work I did was done through non-verbal communication. Whereas I do think it is beneficial to share individual stories-I feel that each person deserves to be seen and heard-I can’t do that for anyone this time. (I also think it helps those of us who’s worlds feel so far removed from the situation that it renders us unable to comprehend the Rohingya (and other) refugee crisis or other deprivations and horrors going on throughout the world.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I will tell you that I think the heaviest person we saw, including men, weighed 119 lbs. I saw 60 lb women carrying 30 lb bags of rice. I saw too-skinny people walking up and down steep hills to carry water and rations they’d waited in line for back to their makeshift tent-homes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We saw several cases of the mumps, a few cases of the measles, lots of chicken pox, (completely preventable diseases with vaccination) and there was an entire clinic set up for the treatment and containment of diphtheria (also preventable by vaccine) by Samaritan’s Purse. Unfortunately, we saw several cases of very young children who have already developed cataracts and are losing their vision. I don’t know if this is from the sun, dust, or disease but we saw it more than we should have. I don’t know if anyone is there doing anything or screening for this but I sure hope so. To see people have permanent damage, to go blind or even die from preventable circumstances is so frustrating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The need for basic life necessities was incredibly scarce, despite the amount of aide attempting to be provided by the host country of Bangladesh and from various groups and NGO’s from around the world. I saw unimaginable-and even as I witnessed them- imaginative feats of pure survival. Despite the incredible lack of resources the camps are always bustling with industry and invention. The people are not lazy. They are industrious and fighting to survive and have done an impressive job of making a homes, a city really, out of nothing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Throughout my time in the camps as I went about trying to do what little I could while there, I kept finding myself grateful for the little things. Seeing all the dirty, swollen, busted up feet I suddenly found myself very grateful for shoes. I was more appreciative of each bite I took while there. And, oh, how thankful I was for a hot shower at the end of the day. To rest, relax, and be very clean after being so hot, dusty and sweaty. And I’d think as I indulged in what felt like a much “needed” shower and washing away of a long day: most of these people had likely never had a long hot, shower like that. Even before they escaped across the border after being chased from their home country of Myanmar/Burma, they likely did not live in such a way that afforded for much rest, let alone a long, hot shower with running water with the turn of a knob. And I grew more and more thankful for little things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This trip for me personally, turned out to be a lesson in gratitude. I know that is a feeble a weak thing, a true luxury really, to take away, but it made a difference in me. And as I grew more thankful, I wanted to give more. Another thought I had briefly was that I really should fell guilty for all that I do have but then I quickly realized that giving out guilt doesn’t do anyone any good. Me not taking a hot shower is not going to save the world any more than me not taking it is going to vicariously allow someone else to have it. But an increase in gratitude made the shower fantastically better and made me both able and willing to give much more. I think it magnified both how much I gave and the attitude with which I was able to give. Giving out of guilt I think takes some of the dignity away from the receiver as well. They can feel the intent with which it is given I believe. When given from a positive place, such as gratitude, I believe it can be received a little better as well. I know I would having an easier time accepting something from a friend who is happy to share than one who feels obligated by guilt. You become a little more sensitive to stuff like this I think when there is a language barrier and you have to go more off of “vibes” than verbal communication.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Thank you again, to those who helped make this trip possible. The work we did there was good but it was minimal in comparison to what is needed. Nevertheless, I am glad we were able to do something, even if it was something small. Because doing something is always better than doing nothing.</span></div>
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aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-58520284744970827202016-10-04T21:21:00.001-07:002016-10-05T09:02:45.058-07:00Syrian Refugees in JordanThank you for your donation. <br />
It went directly to the refugee camps in Jordan. These camps are full of God’s children who need to be reminded that they are loved and that there are those out there, like you, who remember them and love them and are willing to make sacrifices in your own lives to improve theirs. Generally when people ask if they can give me money I try to use it on a specific person and hand deliver it. Such as the set up of the camps and the extensive amount of travel time and limited resources in the area I was not able to hand things out personally as I usually do. I am happy to let you know that if you donated goods (like underwear, scarves, or baby carriers) then I was able to distribute these to people either through social workers, or by sliding them into the pockets, scarves or secret handshakes with those that seemed in most need of them. We often took two to three people into our little closet triage room where they were separated from the masses. This is where I did most of the subtle distribution of goods ;). <br />
If you donated cash, whereas there were a million things I could have tried to procure and distribute, there was very little time and very little resources available to me due to travel time and work in the camps. The biggest need we found was medications for those with chronic conditions like high blood pressure, diabetes, and even those who had received transplants (kidney and heart) prior to having to flee. As a group, we pooled our money with SAMS and these connections to supply these medications to the people. There were pharmacists in our group originally from Jordan and Syria who had family member who worked in distribution. I know this is likely slightly different than how you thought your money might be spent but through these connections we able to get medications at a very good price and supply these people with 3 months worth of medications. If you are unhappy about how your money was spent, I am happy to reimburse you out of my own pocket.<br />
The Lord is performing miracles and granting kindnesses to people all over the world and He allows us to be a part of it, if we want to be. And let me tell you, we will be witnesses to immense miracles if we look for them, even in the worst of circumstances.<br />
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It is difficult to write something like simply because of the magnitude of it. I wish I could tell each person’s story because surely each person’s story deserves to be told. Because of the language barrier and massive amount of people that needed to be seen I know very few details of each person’s story but I can also tell you that there are miracles taking place and that there are incomprehensibly good people working hard to alleviate suffering. Meeting, getting to know, and working along side these people reminds me that despite how much evil and consequent suffering there is in this world, that there is still light. That there is still good. It is quieter than the evil, but it is stronger, and it is changing lives. <br />
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One such miracle occurred in the last minute arrival of two unexpected donors. A company entitled, Medtronics that makes medical supplies and LDS charities. Somehow these donors quietly got connected to SAMS (Syrian American Medical Society-the group I went with). I do not know the details of how Medtronics became involved but I do know that of LDS charities. It seems quite happenstance but the results of their last minute involvement changed everything.<br />
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I happen to belong to the LDS church (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) but I did not have any affiliation with the church for this particular project, but recognized another “Mormon” when I saw one. On night one of our arrival in Jordan (where we would be visiting the Al Za’atari Syrian refugee camp) I walked in to our first official meeting and saw two people who I had a suspicion were also LDS. As the meeting went on they were introduced and spoke a few words. They told of how just a week (or two??) before they had seen the local Jordanian office for SAMS and had decided to stop in. The organizer and chair of our group, Majd Isreb, was in Jordan for just one day and was in the office that day. It turns out these two LDS persons were service missionaries. Their primary responsibility is to seek out those in need and to evaluate what needs to be done and determine if the church can help. The missionaries recognized the amount of good SAMS was doing and asked how they could help. With the donation of heart stents supplied by Medtronics and miraculous assembling of an instant cardiac team of physicians the only thing left was lots of money. The LDS missionaries asked SAMS to draft a proposal, which was submitted and approved in a matter of days. <br />
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You guys, paperwork doesn’t go through that fast. It did. The money came through and while my team was in Jordan, over 100 life-saving heart surgeries were performed for refugees. Over 100! <br />
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Generally, if people ask if they can send money to me I think of it as me being an on ground proxy for them. Basically, it is them doing the good, I am just the messenger. I use it kind of in a nickel and dime sort of way to provide for needs I see along the way on a very small, individual scale basis. This time, because of the last minute miracle of heart surgeries and overload of work we were doing within the camp itself, as well as the difficulty of obtaining and more extreme difficulty of distributing goods, I wasn’t able to do that exactly. <br />
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As the group would meet and discuss what was going on and what was needed we found ourselves with more needs created by the miracle of being able to perform so many heart surgeries. You may or may not know that basically any heart surgery requires one to be on life long medications. SAMS, not wanting to be irresponsible or short-sighted in their care (a major thing I respect about this organization) knew that these people would need follow up care and medications. One of the volunteers-and a great force for good-was a physician who had come to volunteer with SAMS. She is originally from Jordan and has family there. One family member in particular who was a pharmacist and could get medications at a wholesale price. I took all of the money I received and donated it to SAMS in order to provide these medications and other long term medications needed to keep people safe and insure they got real, proper care. I hope that you feel as ecstatic about how long-reaching and real the affects of your charity will go with how I used it. Given the circumstances, I knew that in this case, SAMS and its volunteers and connections, in this particular case could do more with it than I could on my lonesome this time. Although I plan to continue to do as much as I can within my small sphere of influence, I feel that God took my small sphere and combined with just the right people at the right time and magnified both mine and your contributions to make it have much more far-reaching effects than I could have on my own in this instance. And I am grateful to Him for it. <br />
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If for any reason you are unsatisfied with how this money was spent, please let me know and I will pay you out of my own pocket to reimburse your gift.<br />
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Other places where you money/donations went<br />
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Because of the conditions and number of patients we were seeing this wasn’t possible. I had no time to discuss much of anything other than main medical complaints and their vital signs. Unfortunately, the camp life culture and scarcity of supplies has made it difficult to help. <br />
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Two places where items were given away. <br />
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We quickly learned that we couldn’t give anything out to children, particularly young children because they would flaunt what they had been given and get hurt (sometimes badly) and have it taken from them. We would be overwhelmingly swarmed by children wanting something too, (which also often resulted in children being hurt). It came down to either having to hand things out to people who happened to be carrying a bag or large pockets that day that had extra room we could slip things into and that we felt off intuition could be discreet. I would estimate that approximately 2/3 of the items donated were distributed through the psych-social program set up by SAMs. <br />
After spending my first day with this program I felt very comfortable allowing this. The program is set up very much like a referral visiting teaching program. (For those of you unfamiliar with this idea it is a program implemented by the LDS church. Members of the church go and visit each other to offer support, friendship and resources when needed.) Because 80% of Syrian refugees living in Jordan actually live outside the camps along side of the Jordanians, there are massive needs there that also go unnoticed. Those volunteering for, or employed by, the SAMs outreach clinic will visit Syrians they know about and ask them if they know of any refugees. They will also ask Jordanians on the streets if they know of any Syrians living in the area. It felt quite a bit like “tracting” or knocking doors, as missionaries often do. I was impressed with the great amount of effort put into finding and helping refugees. Because they do house visits and professional needs assessments and because of the difficulty of distributing in the camps, I felt more than comfortable sending a lot of your physical items donated with those doing the outreach within cities. They could distribute to those most in need. The other 1/3 were handed out by myself and other people I worked with within the small clinic inside the camp. <br />
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I spent my time at camp Al Zaatari, which is the biggest camp. In fact, it has now become the fourth largest populated “city” in all of Jordan-even though it is not even technically a city-or a permanent residence. But other volunteers found the items useful and also took some items to various camps they were working in to hand out when needed. <br />
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Scarves. They scarves were beautiful. Thank you Saratoga stake. I am not a scarf connoisseur, but one of the muslim women volunteering along side of me mentioned that they were all very high quality, exceptionally beautiful scarves. I commend you on your taste and generosity ;). I gave these out mostly to young women that I felt likely had a desire to feel more beautiful and fashionable in such gloomy circumstances. I also found one girl, who was clearly new to wearing a hijab. (Hijab: the scarves worn over their heads for modesty. The hair is covered because it is thought to be one of a woman’s most beautiful features. Girls begin wearing the hijab once their menstrual cycle begins-many choose to start wearing it around age 10-12 at the beginning of the new year so as not to be embarrassed by the obvious announcing of receiving a first period with the sudden appearance of the hijab right after.) I thought it was unlikely this 12-ish old girl had a wide variety and I hope it made her feel special and beautiful. I have to tell you, she was sweetly humble and very excited to receive it. Both because she was chosen out of everyone to receive a gift, but most especially because I could tell she actually loved the gift itself. I gave her two :). <br />
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Underwear/hygiene products: These items were handed out through the psych/social program set up by the group I went with and by myself and fellow volunteers in the camps themselves. We were limited to being able to give them out to those we were felt could be discreet and were lucky enough to be carrying bags that had extra space that we could slip things into. <br />
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Soccer Balls/Frisbees.<br />
I somehow ended up with two hidden away in my luggage. (Guess that means I’ll have to go back.) <br />
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I also really like to provide pictures, but partly due to religious reasons, and partly because I am sure people want to maintain their dignity and do not want to look helpless and thirdly for security reasons. If their picture were to surface they may be located and targeted, or more painfully, their families who have either not been able to escape or who have chosen to stay in Syria could be punished. <br />
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the kids. oh the kids. <br />
Hug line.<br />
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As I mentioned before it was difficult to give anything to the children. It was also difficult to really play any games with them that included an item. From soccer balls being stolen so that no one can play with them, to frisbees being thrown on roofs to ruin the game. Even handing out stickers turned to chaos and resulted in injuries. The smallest gesture of drawing funny faces on hands with a pen even became troublesome. It hurt me so much to see all of this. I know they all want these things-along with attention, but I could not reconcile doing something the resulted in children getting hurt or abused. Lines didn’t work. In fact, they seemed to make things worse. The bullies would just off to the side and beat up (not slightly) and take from the kids who had waited in line to receive whatever it was we were trying to gift. All the kids new and understood the idea of a line but with the bullies and the pushing and the fights breaking out in the lines, it wasn’t working. I thought (even prayed) about what I could do and give to these kids that would not cause them to get hurt or have a game ruined seconds into it. Hugs. They need hugs. They can’t be stolen, taken, or ruined. I swear to you, the strangest thing happened. I know it sounds almost too cheesy to be true, but after the very first hug or two that was given out the best line you have seen formed. There was minimal pushing and shoving, and the bit that was done did not have the same violence that seemed to occur in the other lines we had tried to establish. I gave the absolute best hugs I could give. Nice and tight and long and full of laughter. The kids would get their hug and then immediately jump right back in line for another one over and over again. One boy in particular, determined to keep a scowl on his face came back more than anyone else. He would get to the front of the line and stare me down, a bit like a dare. I would stare right back and squeeze him till the edges of his mouth cracked. After several hugs or this little guy (probably about seven years old) the stare down lasted longer than usual and his smile was trying to break through even before I hugged him. I waited. He tried to fight the creeping smile. When I waited before hugging him he started nudging me. His arms were folded. Always. He couldn't bring himself to unfold them so he would basically do a little body slam/nudge with his arms all wrapped up. He bumped into me repeated, the anticipation pulling at the corners of his mouth until the best hug I could muster wrapped around him and he'd stay there, glowing, trying to not to smile, arms folded. Then, to the back of the line again to wait his turn for another hug. It might been the most productive hour of my life to date. Remember, over half of people living in refugee camps are children. Many of them are unaccompanied, meaning they have no parents. Some of them are known to have been killed, some are separated from them still living in Syrian or other places, and for some, we just don’t know. The other thing to remember that even the children who have parents, may not have parents who are able to fully devote themselves to their children. These people have seen terrible things, witnessed horrific offenses and experienced crushing loss. As a result, many have PTSD, are depressed, and have a myriad of other issues they are dealing with. Unfortunately, what sometimes happens is that they are not able to function as they would like as parents. At best the children are left to fend for themselves because of the depression of the parent. There are other extremes you can imagine that include violence, abuse and impatience with the children. <br />
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Perhaps one of the most difficult things for me to see was the desire so many had to contribute, to help, to be productive. Syrians in general tend to be very well educated. The camps are full of people who are used to living very meaningful, productive lives, and in order to stay alive, they are now sitting in boxes in the middle of the desert with nothing to do. They want to move on, they want to cope and survive and overcome but with nothing to do but literally sit. and wait. and sit some more. they are fighting hard to hold on to sense of self and dignity. Seeing people come through the clinic who were once very self-sufficient and who are longing to help themselves and their people and now being forced to live like beggars is hard to watch. <br />
After seeing so much of this, one man in particular that came through the clinic broke me. He came into our little triage area (a 4 foot by foot room that we were shove 6 people into at a time to take histories on before sending them to the doctors). I don’t even remember what his medical complaint was, for some reason I don’t think he had anything serious. As I was taking his vital signs he said in perfect English, “Let me help you.” <br />
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“I am a literature professor. I can help. I can translate, I speak perfect English. I can speak to the people. I can help you understand each other.” He tried so hard to keep himself poised so as not to sound like he was begging. It took everything he had to present himself clearly and professionally. I can’t quite accurately describe what it is like to see a man, who truly does and wants to have so much to give, do all he can to hold on to his dignity and identity, grasping at any situation to find a purpose and something to take his mind off of the horrors he’s seen and experience. (I am sobbing as I write this-as I have done so many times before while trying to write this. This story alone is what perhaps has taken me so long to be able get this out to you-it’s difficult to relive...and to see through tears enough to get this out.)<br />
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The truth of it is. He could have been very useful to us. We needed translators, perhaps more than anything. But because of the organization and the difficulty of keeping order in an impromptu, what was supposed to be temporary housing for a few, that has turned into 100,000+ people the camp is very strict about who helps in the clinics (they came by and checked out credentials from time to time). They have their own local staff that we have to work with on their terms, by their rules. We weren’t allowed to let this man help. Watching hope for a purpose drain from his eyes as we told him he couldn’t help broke me. Broke me in places so deep I feel the broken pieces every day. Now I sounded like I was begging as I told this man that we do need him. He would be useful and I wish we could use him. I frantically searched and asked those around me what could be done, how can this man with so much to give not be allowed to help us in our (and his) time of need. I tried to convey to him...everything: that I saw him. that I understood him. That I had so much respect for him and his fight to persevere. I don’t know that I conveyed anything other than a helpless girl that was of less use in the camp than he could have been. The only difference being that I didn’t live there, I’m not trapped. And I happen to have a passport from a different country. As he walked out, with a little more of the light he’d been fighting to hold on to draining from his eyes, I broke down and sobbed-much like I’m doing now. The only other nurse on the trip, Barbara-who had been many times, simply closed the door to the triage room and let me cry. When I finally managed to put myself back together, we opened the door to the triage room and went back to work. The man was already lost in the crowd. It’s not right. It’s not fair. And I will do anything I can to make sure that these people are seen and fought for.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-78171716418564937222016-01-23T04:29:00.002-08:002016-01-23T04:29:27.836-08:00Day 2 Ubud, Bali, IndonesiaIt’s amazing how good I feel here. How different I am. How much more...me. At least I hope this is the real me. I’m much more calm, confident, kind, humble. I know this is all starting to sound very yogi of me, which believe me after taking a beginner’s yoga class today it again proves that I’m not. But I am much more myself. <br /><br />I got up and went for a run this morning. I credit the jet lag for allowing me to be up early enough to go before the sun got too warm. Aside from being confronted with still being out of shape (although, I’m getting there), it was a great run. Gusti, the owner of the guest house showed me a few runs to try out that would be quieter and with much less traffic. It was perfect. <br /><br />I guess now that I think about it was a mind, body, spirt, kind of day, which I guess are the main components of a human and where all this need for nourishment and “balance” among them comes from. <br /><br />After my run I came home to Pratama House (I lucked out here with it being kind of tucked out of the way from the hustle and bustle in a quiet little neighborhood really just 5 minutes from the business but worlds apart), I came home and read about Christ teaching the Samaritan women about the well the difference between needing water (body) that you need to drink but will always need again and the living water (spirit) that comes from Jesus Christ and his teachings. These teachings, when applied, transcend the physical need for thirst and are everlasting. After that I did a lot of homework (mind)-very uninteresting stuff at the moment. I’m actually a little concerned, okay a lot, about one of the professors being able to understand how places outside of the USA function and how the things I teach here might need to be addressed differently than if I were to teach people working in the US system about healthcare. <br /><br />After a grueling morning of homework, I rented a scooter and became all too comfortable weaving in and out of traffic. I went to a yoga class at a way too trendy and overpriced studio. However, the class itself was good and the best part was that as you face the front of the studio, it looks out over a small stream and lush, wild greenery. The whole front of the studio is glass with floor to ceiling windows that open. The minute class started the sky tore open and a huge storm broke loose. The rain was so loud we could barely hear the instructor speaking. It went on the whole time. It was suuuuuuper cool. <br /><br />I drove around for hours and finally was able to recognize my street. At first I wasn’t sure if I was recognizing my turn off or just other streets I’d been lost on before. Either way I was happy on my little scooter and felt pretty cool, although I likely didn’t go about 25 mph all day :). <br /><br />I’m hoping to drive the hour or so to Kuta, the island town where the LDS church branch is located for services tomorrow. I’ll have to ask Gusti what he thinks of the drive as some of the areas he says police wait for, I forget the word for white people-but for white people-and pull them over forcing ridiculous bribes from them. I may have to find an alternate way of getting there if it isn’t too expensive. I would love the ride though, plus then I could check out Kuta to see if want to spend any real time down there. <br /><br />I have my little room and most excellent porch at Pratama house for the next two weeks, then I have a flight to Malaysia that I had to buy to prove to immigration that I would eventually leave, that I may take, or I may just wait another 2 weeks until I’m required to leave to renew my visa. I bought that one because it was half the price of the others ($40-ish dollars) and I could change it if necessary when I get here or if I decide to go somewhere else for a while I could do that too. <br /><br />the evening is coming to close and I’m going to take yet another shower to wash away the sweat of the day and then likely sip some herbal tea on my porch without the usual anxiousness and telling myself to unwind like I’ve had to do lately when back in the US, which only leads to more anxiousness and need for distraction. It’s taking some time but after only two days here I feel much more okay with just...being, and not having to be entertained or productive. It’s amazing actually how much more productive and entertained I am when I’m not forcing myself to be. <br /><br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-79724284662115178272015-04-10T06:44:00.001-07:002015-04-10T06:49:31.548-07:00On the road again....well, a ship anywayOn the bright side, the ocean IS lovely. I’ve seen schools of flying fish soaring over the waves for longer distances than you might think possible. At times I thought they must have been birds to go so far and for so long out of the water, but they are not. They are just really cool creatures doing what God created them to do. <br />
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I’m happy to report that I have excellent sea legs and tend to really miss the sway of the boat when we are docked or moving slowly in calmer waters and it can’t be felt. I am also grateful for my strong digestive system that seems to be doing just fine with the what-you-might-imagine-military-food-is-like food. Although it is neither tasty nor with much variety, it is sufficient and all part of the experience. <br />
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It is very warm, especially the higher up you go in the ship. The berths where our racks (the living quarters and beds) lie at the very bottom of the ship are cool at the beginning of the evening and even during they day but seem to heat up as it fills with 100 or so bodies sleeping at night to the point the warmth wakes me up and it makes it difficult to sleep. <br />
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The mess deck or galley (cafeteria) is stifling quite often. Specifically in the lines, they try to keep air moving, if not cool air, through out the tabled area where we eat. Back in the kitchen I hear it reached over 100 degrees which is why we have been using paper plates and utensils the past few days because it was too warm to add the heat from the dishwashers to it. I feel for the guys who work in the kitchen, if I’m overly warm while eating they must be dying standing over the warming plates of re-heated food. They still tend to be friendly and willing to serve (even if by force). I try to be extra nice to them. I would jump ship if I had to be in there all day. <br />
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There are a few air-conditioned areas that feel like a dream and a first breath every time I hit them. Oddly, sadly, the gym-of all places, is not one them. Not so much as a fan in that room. It’s a small, square room with three rows of equipment. And it’s very loud. I have to take a few breaths to try to regulate my breathing with the thick, sweltering air in there before I step in all the way when I go. But alas, I’m glad it’s there. <br />
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It is 82 steps from the berth to the mess deck. That’s from the bottom of the ship to the top. And although one must travel this route several times a day, one must also travel to decks in between to get from one end of the boat to the other as well. For example. I work on a deck just two decks (or floors) above the berthing. However, I must walk up three or four (I can’t quite remember and when you walk them so many times it hardly matters whether it’s three or four) and then across to go down another stairwell to get to the deck I work on. Basically, the decks don’t connect all the way through from one end of the ship to other, only on certain floors, which you must first get to to travel horizontally and then find the corresponding, color-coded stairwell the reaches to the vertical direction (up or down) that you’re going to. I walk a lot, at least half of those steps-probably much more than half-are on stairs. I hope to have a perfectly, perky bum by the time I’m finished here. It’s also great rehab for my ankle. I’m hoping my gimpy fin (my atrophied calf on the previously-bad ankle side) gets sufficient rehabilitation to balance out with it’s stronger counterpart on my other leg.<br />
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With all these details, and having been on the ship for twelve days already I am very ready for patients to finally start arriving today. I'll post what I can when I'm able. Thank you to everyone who has given support and words of encouragement. Can't wait until I am more interesting things to tell you.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-36281050293758063742014-12-04T22:49:00.002-08:002014-12-04T22:55:35.994-08:00An Honest-unedited-post: to serve or not to serve? This post is just streaming as it comes. It's not written for an audience and no thought is given as to how it will come across. It's an attempt to voice a few worries to the universe and clear my head before bed.<br />
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Last time I embarked on a journey to provide all that I could in a humanitarian effort, I was met with a lot of miracles and a lot of opportunities to serve. I was blessed (if one can use those words) in the wake of a disaster, to be put in a place where I could make a difference. <br />
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I was also met with a lot hurt and had no way to grieve. I’m sure that I appeared very cold (which is not uncommon for me to come across as I’m told, and can understand the misinterpretation) and, unfortunately maybe it even feels like I’m a little annoyed or angry to those around me.<br />
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As I’m again considering donating a significant amount of time (and money in the form of lost income and a few recurring bills that will continue while I’m gone), I find myself most conflicted over not wanting to come across this way again-as I’m sure it is confusing and hurtful to my counterparts and those I’m hoping to aide.<br />
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When the storm hit The Philippines last November I got there as soon as I could and did everything I could, to help as much as I could while there. My first sight of the destruction made me numb. Moments later it became so painful it hurt to breathe. Without an appropriate outlet, and using all my emotional resources to maintain my composure my interpersonal skills were left lacking. In my attempt to not show how broken my heart was I simply went to work. Avoiding getting to close to the people because I couldn’t bare to hear another story of loss and heart break, I poured myself into the little clinic we had built working as many hours as I could, seeing as many people as I could, helping as many people as I could....without getting too attached. <br />
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I’m sure there was more than one person I could have confided in while there, but I’m not really a talker and at the time my ankle was still so messed up that I couldn’t run it out (actually I was in a decent amount of pain/discomfort while I was there the entire time...later diagnosed as the funky autoimmune disorder that was also attacking all the connective tissue in my body, specifically my ankle and foot; my entire body was swollen, sore and tight for weeks. I found out when I got home that I had three ligaments that were completely ruptured, something that was also aggravated while working there). I wanted to just be alone and have an ugly, shameless, therapeutic cry. We were working quite a bit, and living in a chapel with several wonderful people who had lost their homes, and worse...family and friends. Plus is was not safe. There simply wasn’t a moment for solace, let alone space enough to be had in our close quarters, that would enable my release of emotions. I tried a few times to find some space and some quiet, only to be met by the smiling playfulness of children who wanted to make sure I had company :). <br />
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On top of that, it seems a little odd to be the one crying over a devastated country filled with millions of individual stories attached to millions of individual lives that were torn apart, when those who were devastated are smiling and doing all they can to ensure my comfort, happiness and inclusion. <br />
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It’s like at work, some times I start to get teary-eyed and more emotional than my incredibly strong, coping, dying patients. Or that time I felt awful for crying at a friend's father's funeral when my friend did not cry. It’s kind of rule, you can’t cry or be more than person who’s actual problem it is. <br />
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I worry that by going, despite my good intentions, my coldness may be counterproductive to my desire to bring love, light, and blessings to the lives of these people. And it gets in my way of being able to be a witness to such beautiful moments as I spend my time oppositionally guarded and hurting. <br />
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I promise you that many of these people, even with heartache, deformity, and injury are genuinely happier than you and me (generally speaking as a population, concerning satisfaction with life). <br />
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It reminds me of a sudden, startling moment of intense jealousy I felt while visiting Cambodia. While looking out my air-conditioned bus window, I saw a man working peacefully, joyfully, late into the evening. I wanted to be out there working. I wanted to be doing something necessary and rewarding. His life mattered, what he spent his time doing mattered. <br />
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The people in these places have smiles that are big from the inside out. I know that I will find the same thing if I were to go on this next adventure. <br />
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If I’m honest, (hoping this doesn’t sound too self-deprecating or like a self-esteem crisis), I worry about subjecting others to my close-mouthed emotions that when they do spill over, come out all wrong. <br />
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And, I guiltily worry about what I had planned to accomplish before this opportunity came up. I was planning on going to school this whole year. Hmm, go to school or change someone's life?<br />
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I am more than happy and excited to help. This opportunity would be huge. But I tend to be more realistic about situations the most. And the reality is, I like my alone time. It’s how I cope. It’s how I release. And I like space, and autonomy.<br />
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This would be six months. On a boat. In close quarters. No alone time. Lots of rules. Hmm. Rules. Yeah.....I think we just found the biggest problem of all right there. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-35251022507130065892014-09-20T19:42:00.001-07:002014-09-20T20:19:49.882-07:00Update from Sikatuna Ward (Cebu City, Philippines)I got this message not too long ago from one of my first friend’s in The Philippines. <br />
When I arrived in The Philippines, a friend who served an LDS mission there arranged for a local LDS church member to pick me up from my hotel (as mentioned in my earlier post, her name was Doris). She took me to the Sikatuna Mormon chapel in Cebu City, where the refugees who were lucky enough to get off the island of Leyte (where typhoon Yolanda hit hardest), --some of which waited in line for 5 days without food after having walked several days to find any help and to eventually get in line--were being housed. This is where I spent my first few days in The Philippines. When I got to the chapel they had a Filipina nurse who had spent long, long days there caring for the refugees. She was nine months pregnant and happy to give me a quick run down of how things were going and headed home to take a nap. She later came back that night to sleep on the floor next to me so I wouldn’t be alone. (Although I am plenty used to being alone and may have been more comfortable that way because I can’t handle the sweetness of such gestures without getting teary.) <br />
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Her message is as follows: <br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><i>We're good. All the survivors went back to their homes except for 2 families which we adopted. The one with the wheel chair's family and the one who lost his family is with us. They are our adopted families. <br /><br />I would like to ask: Where can we find the organic rice that you brought because there is none here and we need it. </i></span><br />
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I remember the story of every single person she is talking about. I remember their kindness and strength in the midst of their greatest sorrow. <br />
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The “one with the wheelchair was a woman in her 70’s who had been paralyzed for (I think) 13 ish years. Somehow, out of all the people who survived this awful storm, she and her 7 year old grandson made it through. This is the woman whom I bought a camping sleeping pad to sleep on with the $15 my friend Jobetta Hedelman sent me (even the littlest bit changes/saves lives y’all), because she was getting bed sores from being wet for so many days and from sleeping on the hard tile floor of the chapel. <br />
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Their story of survival is not all glorious and is not over yet. They, of course, lost many friends and family in the storm. And after the frightful hours and hours of horrendous flooding and 300 mile an hour winds, they emerged only to witness horrible looting and violence. The seven year old boy, watched a gunman kill several people shortly after stepping out in the world after the storm. He hadn’t spoken since. And I never saw him smile. He was numb. I don’t think it was the storm that broke his heart, I think it was seeing how ugly people can be even after the miracle of living through a storm like that. I’m glad to hear they have been adopted. I hope and pray that now being “adopted” by the saints of Sikatuna he can feel hope and peace again. If anyone can heal someone with love it is the wonderful Filipino people, specifically the enormous love generously given by the people who cared for these refugees in Cebu. <br />
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The other man, the one “who lost his family”. Was a very new father. A sweet, sweet gentle, now very quiet man, who still managed to smile and thank us every time he saw us. He was running from the storm carrying his three month old baby when it was swept from his arms by the ugly forces of typhoon Yolanda. He also relates the story of watching his wife get carried off in a giant wave created by the torrential rains and combining winds while running next to him. I’m glad to hear that he to has found a family in Cebu with the kind souls there. And that everyone else was able to return home. <br />
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The “organic rice” she is asking about is the quinoa I brought from the states (with generous help from Janelle Bentz, her Costco card, and her family). I had enough food for me and probably 3 other people for two weeks and left some of it Sikatuna when I bought other food to take with me into the disaster zone. (I brought it thinking it was much more nutritional and substantial than the white rice they traditionally eat and that was being handed out...and even what was being handed out was pathetically and shamefully very little and to very, very few people.) Needless to say, they loved it :). <br />
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I’ll tell you more about the kids, and how looking back now, I can see how perhaps I meant more to them than I realized as a mother figure. It’s odd for me to say that because I don’t see myself as very motherly. A weirdo aunt, sure, but not so motherly. The only evidence against this is the monstrous pain I feel when thinking of how any of them could be hurting so much and how I want to take it all away.<br />
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The children you'll see in the pictures are mostly all siblings. Nine of
them, being raised by a father in the rural parts of Leyte Province.
Their mother works in the United Arab Emirates I believe as “house
help,” earning money and sending it home to The Philippines. The
children were very rambunctious.<br />
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Apparently they weren’t so
playful before my arrival. “The children are so much happier now that
you are here,” one woman commented to me. <br />
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The boy in black, of to the side, in the 7 year old that wouldn't speak<br />
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Miko, the youngest, I think...had an awful ear infection from the storm water. We would clean out his ears three times a day with seemingly no end to the pus and brown water. He hated it at first, but eventually would ask to have them cleaned out even when he didn't need it. He would also follow me around and just hold on to my pocket. Just to be with me. <br />
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I still have that hat. <br />
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Quality time with the chillrens...<br />
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Initially I thought it was because they were likely in shock from the storm-which I’m sure was part of it-and because they were bored living in a chapel and I had brought silliness and games. As I look at the pictures now and think back to their reactions and affections for me, I realize I may have been a somewhat of a short term mother. Hugs and play was always available to them from me. Open heart and a bit of discipline and we were instant besties. I think leaving them hurt me a bit too much, so as to prevent me from being so open the rest of the trip if I’m honest. How could I possibly love that like again and leave...yet again. I still hurt for my babies in Ecuador, who I can’t adopt, or change the direction of their lives or protect them from a world without a mother. And here it was happening again. How cruel love is some times. <br />
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It often leaves me to lament with the line from the movie Nacho Libre, “I hate all the orphans in the whole world!” Although, I clearly am using it out of context, it is what I try to tell myself to stop from hurting so much for all the children I’ve fallen in love with. <br />
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Regardless, and back to the story at hand. I am so grateful for people with bigger hearts than mine, who’s capacity to love and welcome with open arms those who are hurting and who’s stories can hurt them. I am thankful for Agnes and Doris and all the other wonderful people of Cebu City who are taking it upon themselves to love those whom I have loved and could not help more than the little I was able in those short few days I spent there. <br />
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I aspire to have that kind of depth and compassion, although as I rummage through this world on my own, I find that I often instead come across as cold and distant because I love too much and know I cannot stay and cannot take away their pains or alter their paths. Not at this time at least. I only hope I become more like these people, the survivors and the saints I worked along side. The are the salt of the earth.<br />
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Perhaps one day I’ll fulfill my dream of going around the world and collecting all the people I love so much and building a family of those of us stretched across the continents. <br />
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*the stories told here are as I remember them and as I was able to understand them through the language and emotional barriers. I hope to have gotten them as correct as possible.<br />
<br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-42311785010779524532013-12-22T13:14:00.001-08:002013-12-22T13:14:08.461-08:00I'm ready. With a huge life adjustment hitting me in the face as soon as I arrived back from The Philippines and a flood of emotions every time I thought about writing about my time there, I’ve put off writing out fully or posting anything since my return. In fact, I haven’t even really shared pictures with anyone yet. <br /><br />But now I think I’m ready. <br /><br />I’ve decided I’m going to write individual stories and experiences rather than chronologically. I hope you enjoy them. Thank you again for everyone who helped me. From me and from the beautiful filipino people.<br />
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<br />Watch my blog in the next week or so for continued updates and stories.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-42804265501951482722013-11-22T14:06:00.000-08:002013-12-22T14:10:42.634-08:00Yolanda Day 2: Sikatuna Chapel: Refugees in Cebu<br />
Day 2: <br />
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I slept on the floor last night. I’m told most Filipinos sleep on the floor at home as well. Someone brought in their extra special “high-tech” mat for me to sleep on last night to make sure I was comfortable :).<br />
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(This is my high-tech mat. I'm using my airplane pillow and towel for a blanket.) <br />
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A Filipina nurse, who is six months pregnant slept on the floor next to me for a portion of the night before getting a ride home with one of the church members here. She’s been spending many hours working as a nurse here at the chapel with the refugees.<br />
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Doris went to class last night but had stayed with me the entire day before and came back after class to make sure i had someone to sleep with me in the room they had given for the night at the chapel.<br />
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It stormed loudly, so much rain that even just the sounds of falling water was loud enough to wake me up. All I could think of was all the people, that I hear, are now waiting in a five day long line to get evacuated from Leyte province (the effected island), here to Cebu and other places, standing in that rain.<br />
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Food is being forced upon me right now. :) I need to go. I hate that I have so much food here and there are people I can’t yet get to that have very little or none. <br />
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At breakfast I just met another woman who lost her husband in the flood. She says he was “washed away in the wave” and that he had to be buried in a mass grave. I’m told this is adds salt to the wound as Filipino tradition is to have the body on display and to mourn for a week. So a mass burial is kind of like disrespecting the dead. <br />
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I also found out at breakfast that I am an old maid and that I will have to get married after I am dead. :)<br />
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That is if Loralei (the nurse who is 6 months pregnant) hasn’t found my ideal match by the end of the week out of every single man she knows ranging from age 18 to 100. <br />
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I’m at the clinic now. I’m so happy that as I was packing the night before I left that state to find that I still had a bit of room in my suitcase, so I went to the store to get as many supplies as I could before I left. As I strolled through the first aid section, something that should have been so obvious caught my eye: Athlete’s foot treatment. What a no-brainer. Thoughts of trekking through water and all the foot problems that come with it. How had I not thought of this sooner! Stupidly I only grabbed on can of spray. I’ll have to find more here and get some as it’s proved so far to be one of the most valuable items I’ve brought. <br />
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Two women in particular had foot infections so bad that almost the
entire sole of their feet had peeled back and they had a hard time
walking with the deep lesions in the soles of their feet, along with
toes that were completely covered in infected skin and gnarly hanging
pieces of flesh. However, I’m SO happy that the medication is working so
well, and so quickly. I’ve only seen one of the women so far today but
she was all smiles when she came in and I sprayed her feet again. She’s
walking better already and the infection is almost completely gone. If
nothing else, so far, and already, we’ve made a difference to these
women. I can’t tell you how good it feels to see people heal, physically
and otherwise. One woman commented on how a few of the children I've
already attached to, have relaxed and opened up since I've been playing
with them. I'm always thankful for kind people who say kind things,
giving encouragement and meaning to help I'm trying to give. Help I hope
is truly helpful and useful.<br />
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I took a picture today, I wish I would have thought to take one before I treated it.<br />
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(This is the foot of one of the women after just two or three treatments. It looks great here, especially compared to what it was. I can't believe how quickly it has healed. I'm so pleased!)<br />
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(This skin has closed up and she is able to walk!)<br />
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The neosporin (compliments of Janelle Bentz and family), is of course, also being put to good use as nearly every one of the survivors has lesions and cuts of some sort, which before were just be treated with iodine and gauze. We’re going to need much more of it despite the 8 tubes I brought with me as they will need continued treatment and as these refugees find more permanent housing and the next group comes in. I’m assuming as they come in they will have more severe problems as they’ve gone longer without treatment and they are living in daily dangerous circumstances. UGH, and 5 day lines!? Five days?! And that’s after they’ve fought through who knows what just to get to the aide stations where they can get in line.<br />
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I know it must all sound so very melodramatic but I don’t think I could ever adequately explain or understand enough to explain, what the people have been through. And I’ve only seen thirty people. I might just have to stop writing all together when I get to Ormoc and see what I'm trying to prepare myself for knowing what must await us there. It just hurts and inspires so much. <br />
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After clinic. There are 20 children and 10 adults here of the 30 refugees. Nearly all of them have cuts and scrapes, most of which are healing nicely after even just a few days treatment. I gave my camera to one of the kids here from Cebu and he had fun documenting wounds and taking pictures of all of us today during clinic time.<br />
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(At first the children were scared and hesitant to be seen. By day two, they were fighting over who's turn it was in the chair :). They're adorable.<br />
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(This guy had a awful ear infection. We were cleaning clumps and clumps of dirt out his ears even with cleaning it three times a day. It was a never-ending task)<br />
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(Out little clinic. I can't wait for you to see the comparison pictures at the end of the trip. To think, this is how we started out.)<br />
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It’s beautiful they way all the children look after, help and protect one another. One boy held all the feet and spots with cuts while I dressed them.<br />
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He is also going to accompany me to the temple when I go there to meet up with the other group today to find out the plan for going to Ormoc. <br />
I’m very please with how healthy the refugees we have here right now are. Just have to keep the cuts clean and most of them came through surprisingly unharmed, or at least no permanent harm. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0Cebu City, Philippines10.3156992 123.8854366000000510.0657982 123.56271310000005 10.565600199999999 124.20816010000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-36883490200695644132013-11-21T06:12:00.000-08:002013-12-18T06:14:49.290-08:00Typhoon Yolonda/Haiyan Day 1I can’t even begin to tell you how bad the storm and it’s devastating effects were. Whatever your imagining, it’s worse. Even the stories of survival are laden with tragedy and life altering pain. <br />
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A local girl named Doris (a friend of Suzi Lauti, a friend who was a missionary here before) picked me up from my hotel around 1:00pm after having arrived at the hotel around 1:00am that morning. She wasted no time in getting me to the chapel saying that they did need help. <br />
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I was welcomed with open arms by local church members (members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) and introduced to the thirty refugees who are staying at the chapel. <br />
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I saw two men building a framework of small rooms with the church cultural hall in order to house more refugees as they are expecting upwards of 50 to come from the hardest hit island later this week. <br />
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I spoke of mangoes and my love of the fruit here. Before I could even lift a finger to help out, I was whisked away to a fruit stand where I tasted several delicious fruits I’d never had before...and of course mangoes. They made sure I had tasted everything and tried to not laugh at my messy, lack of mango-eating skills. <br />
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I ended spending quite a bit of money on fruit to share when I got back to the chapel (about $25). As we were cutting into the fruit I was told that the fruit was too expensive to share and that they refugees would be eating bread and juice. I couldn’t believe their kindness. <br />
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How could I NOT share? These people had been through so much and been hungry for so long before making their way to the chapel and now they were going to bread and juice while I binged on tropical fruit I was later informed they didn’t eat often because it was too expensive for most of them to eat regularly. How could I NOT share?! And, so there was a feast of fancy fruit. It never would have tasted right had it not been shared. I was so happy when I went back later to snack on another piece only to have found that it had all been devoured. I loved when a sweet boy of seven (I’ll tell you his story in a moment) sheepishly picked one small “seed” portion of the mango (I’m told no one likes to eat the “seed” part because there isn’t much fruit on it and it’s harder to eat). I handed him the other seed portion on the plate and waited for him to finish both of those only to follow up by filling both his hands with big, fat, juicy portions of mangos...he smiled. Something he doesn’t do often I’ve learned.<br />
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This seven year old boy survived, somehow, with his grandmother who is paralyzed from the waist down (an old injury I’m told). I believe they lived in an area of the island with slightly higher ground and the chapel they took cover during the storm only filled with water about 4 feet deep (remember the people here are small, most any them no even 5 feet tall, and the women that squeak that line are few). How awful is that to say? That this poor seven year old boy and his paralyzed grandmother ONLY had to fight through hours and hours of winds near 200 miles an hour and 4 feet of water. How they made it out, I don’t know. But I do know that after having survived that scariest event I’m sure he’s ever had to experience, that seven year old boy immediately had an even worse experience than the frightening storm: he witnessed a gun fight. People who had survived the storm, then killed each other in front of him. He hasn’t talked much since. He is very withdrawn and often gets very apathetic and just stares off into space for moments at a time. He has the one of the most gentle spirits and is obviously very sensitive toward other human beings. <br />
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At the end of the day yesterday, he spoke a little to the doctor, to everyone’s surprise. He barely said his name and shook his head yes and no as the doctor asked him questions. After his examination, another little boy was obviously trying to get him to play, he put his arm around the seven year old like they were old friends. He engaged in small conversation, meaning he said a few words to the boy and did not pull back from the his touch. I could tell how excited everyone was to see this boy’s improvement. Even if it was small.<br />
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(It seems to me the Filipino people are instantly comfortable and old friends with all new people, including me. As I had several people treating me and touching me like we old friends sharing and inside joke the moment we met. I was happy to see this little boy was welcomed as I was.) <br />
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There is another family here with a beautiful story. Although, still very sad. The mother had left a few days before to find work in Kuwait, leaving the father and their nine children at home when the storm hit. Yes, nine children. My guess would be that they range from age 13-ish to 6 mos. With these nine children the father somehow made it to the roof of their home as the waters reached over 16 feet deep. That in and of itself is a miracle but the trouble is not over at that point. Remember the winds were nearly 200 miles a hour, enough to blow over houses, trucks and cars...let alone the thousands of bodies of those who didn’t survive. And yet, they all did. I hear they were floated (violently blown is probably a more appropriate description) for three hours in the flood water, including that baby. They then walked until the finally found rescue ships. They waited in line for 2 days with little to know food for their turn to leave the island. There must have been so many miracles one right after the other to aide in the survival of entire family. A family of nine, including one very young baby, who incidentally is the happiest baby on the planet and lights up the whole world when he’s around. <br />
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Another young mother, I don’t know much of her story, but I know the blessed part, survived the storm with her one year old daughter. I’m told they were able to hold on to something while on a rooftop through out the storm. She had put a box over the baby’s head to protect her. At one point the baby was so cold she was turned blue. When the storm had finally passed a milk van had crashed nearby. They were able to feed the baby milk to help her survive until they were eventually evacuated. <br />
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A much better story than the man who is here, and broken. He lost his two year old in the storm. He still has his new baby with him when the storm was over. When he found others to join, but the baby was already dead in arms. <br />
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There are so many stories. These are the ones I heard my first few hours here in the Philippines. <br />
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I’ll take just a moment to add a few more details. I was going to go after our little clinic time with doctors last night to meet another group at another chapel near the Mormon temple here that are repacking relief supplies for distribution to get over to the island where the storm was and more even more help is needed there than here. <br />
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I was convinced to not go until morning. It’s too dangerous they say. They didn’t me traveling in the dark. They say it’s normally not the safest thing to do, but a prison was destroyed on the island with the storm and over 600 prisoners escaped and have come to Cebu and have been causing trouble here in the city. <br />
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The ones that are still on the island have broken out in extreme violence (along with several other that weren’t prisoners but have taken advantage of the typhoon’s massive chaos and destruction. People who managed to live through the typhoon are now being shot, beaten, and raped. I’m not to cross to the island unless I am with a large group. That group is at the temple. Taking their advice and touched by they protection of me, I stayed. I’ll meet up with the group tomorrow to find out details. <br />
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I’ll find out more then but I think the plan is to leave for the Ormoc (a hard-hit city on the island province of Leyte, the one I’ve been referring to) on Monday, three days from now with a medical team to treat wounded there. And to find more survivors. Many of the more out-lying areas still haven’t even been accessed yet. Any survivors from those areas of walked for hours or days to get help but mostly, no one knows what’s left of those areas and if those who survived the typhoon have survived the secondary effects of infections, wounds and starvation yet. <br />
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To make it worse, the corrupt government is now trying to charge fees and made-up taxes on the bodies and victims of the storm exiting ports and evacuation planes. I know of one Swedish rescue ship who had to change plans from landing in Cebu and fly back to Manila because they were trying to collect money from the Swedish plane and rescue workers for every Filipino that they had rescued. How sick. That in a situation like this you’d rather force payment (a tax that doesn’t actually exist) and delay medical care (the worst and most severe injuries were coming in on stretchers from those ships) and discourage foreign aide by taxation than allow a human to be cared for. The locals that are not in power are clearly outraged by this cursing their governments corruption and the lack of concern being given to those who are being helped by foreign government. <br />
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I need to stop now. I’ve been invited to eat. And if I’ve learned anything from my time traveling, and invitation to eat is an invitation of friendship. I could only be so lucky to have these beautiful and giving people to have me as their friend. <br />
God bless. <br />
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p.s. I hate to tack this on here but the reality is we’re already using up all the supplies I’ve brought and my savings are rapidly depleting. If you’d like to and can send money for supplies, I have a paypal account set up under the account name of atecowwoman@yahoo.com. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0Cebu City, Philippines10.3156992 123.8854366000000510.0657982 123.56271310000005 10.565600199999999 124.20816010000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-6695419567494411962013-08-18T15:11:00.000-07:002013-08-18T15:12:25.468-07:00I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want.I want it all. But mostly I want a million kids. Orphans. And my own, that’d be cool, too. A science experiment with someone else to see what happens when you mash our genes together. I’d like that too. But definitely orphans. <br />
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I want to be the crazy lady with 40+ kids. I feel like God as put my kids all around the world and I need to go and collect them. And I will apologize to each one of them telling them I’m sorry it took me so long to find them. I will take in anyone who’s ever felt unloved. I will beat it into their heads that they are mine. And always were, just misplaced. And I will spend forever forcing the truth that I love them on them until they are so sick of hearing it they’ll want to puke their guts out. <br />
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And I want to play with them. I want to bless and hug them. I want them to be happy and healthy. Pretty much my main motivation for learning sometimes is so that I’ll be more proficient than I am now at things, like eating healthy, and being kind for when I do have my kids.<br />
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In a lot of ways, I feel like I’ve spent a large portion of my life trying to parent myself. To teach myself the things I wish I had learned as a child. Even just basics, like brush your teeth, comb your hair, share. Like learn to apologize. To let things go. I do the best I can to coach myself in things like this so that when I have my first, and 42nd child I’ll be a better coach for them so that they will grow up with a passion for learning and because knowing these things young can have a huge impact your entire life and make it much more enjoyable from the start. I’m still trying to teach myself some basic things that a lot of people have never been taught. <br />
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Often when I’m really struggling with something, I’ll think to myself, what would I hope my children would do, what would I counsel them to do if they were in this situation? To be honest, a lot of the time I get over things so quickly...but even if they don’t matter much to me...in my head... I treat it as though it is really impacting me so that I could learn how to get through it and be a better resource for my kids.<br />
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And I want to be a world traveler, going around collecting my children from wherever they are in the world and bringing them back home to me and then taking them out again scouring the planet seeing all that God has given us and bringing more into our family. Our perfectly chaotic, blissfully weird family.<br />
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Although, being on my own and lacking funds and time for the support of 40+ orphans right now, I’ll have to start with just one or two. I already found three of my children, in Ecuador. I don’t know how to get them though. Their mother won’t give up her rights, although from what I can see-all three of them being in the orphanage-she doesn’t want them. And in Ecuador you can’t choose the child you want to adopt. Two major obstacles to getting them here. Okay maybe five. Five of my kids are there but three of them are siblings and want them together, so I’d take them first to prevent them from being split up into different orphanages, even they haven’t been already.<br />
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I’d take them home today if I could. I don’t say that tongue in cheek. I would actually take them home today and I would make it work. Whatever it took. <br />
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It’s so frustrating to love someone so much and not be able to have them. Not even really to have them, but to make sure they have what they need. Even if I don’t have them, how can I make sure they have all the could ever possibly benefit from? I’m sure I’d be okay with someone else having them if they’d be good to them. Sure, I would rather have them. They are mine. But if I couldn’t...I at least want them protected, blessed with the opportunity for whatever future it is they want. I want them to have a choice. <br />
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There you have it. I want to be crazy, orphan-loving, adopting mad woman. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-42200957227951965942013-08-18T13:11:00.000-07:002013-08-18T14:43:57.977-07:00Apparently I blog on Sundays.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Because the topic of me dating comes up a lot of church-well everywhere really-with being a traveling nurse, I end up having a lot of conversations about it on Sundays, and apparently...I blog on Sundays.<br />
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A guy sent me this song once when we were kind of dating, saying he thought it described me and saw me living kind of by this philosophy. Okay, great song. I do identify. A bit. Okay, I can see how it would appear this way on the surface. But the reality is, as Kelli says, when I fall it's going to be hard. And she's right. And no guy will ever feel more special :). <br />
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People often tell me, "if you don't slow down, how is anyone ever going to catch you". My response to this is: Why should I have to slow down, why can't a guy just keep up?<br />
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That is still my philosophy. I'll never settle, and I won't be settled for. I was once so in love that I broke up with the guy because I knew he didn't love me enough back. Had that love not been so strong and allowed for any kind of selfishness, I'd be married now. But I loved him enough to break my own heart and to let him go. I knew that he could never love me as much as I needed him to, and mostly, I wanted him to be able to feel the way I felt about him toward someone someday. So I let him go, to find someone he could really love. And there was no way I was going to marry someone who would be convinced by those around him that he was settling, which was also the case.<br />
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I won't settle. And I won't be settled for. I'll be happy regardless, but I promise you this: If I ever do fall deep in love enough to marry it will be one the greatest and brightest loves you'll ever see...because that's what I'll give, and I'll accept no less in return. <br />
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<br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-83322151570201932512013-08-18T11:25:00.001-07:002013-08-18T11:31:05.237-07:00Nothing of importance... I’ve written a few things lately. None of which are suitable for a general audience. It’s strange the things that come out of yourself sometimes. I’m in Charleston, South Carolina now. It’s lovely. It’s a very chill place. I think I’d really like it here if I was around long enough to form a group of friends. Because it is so chill it seems like a place best enjoyed by making your own fun with people you get along with. And I prefer to do the outdoor active stuff with people, like kayak/paddle board the swamp. Water is always much for fun to play in when you have accomplices.<br />
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My youngest sister, Lois, is due to have her third child (gender unknown!) shortly after I finish my contract here. I’m pretty excited about that. I was able to be at the birth of her first child and arrived one hour after the birth of her second child. (It was my last day of a contract in San Diego and when I heard she was in labor I begged to skip town to hop a flight to be there.) I’m hoping I’ll be able to be around for this one too.<br />
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After Charleston that’s my only plan as of right now. But with my student loans being paid off I’d also like to go back to school. And conquer the world, and a myriad of other things. I’ll probably keep traveling by default but as of now I’m planning on going to see her baby and maybe take the rest of the year off to enjoy the holidays. I may start collecting again for the orphanages in Ecuador and spend part of my time off down there. Maybe I’ll take a permanent job after that for a couple of years so I can go back to school. Or since, I no longer have student loans I could sell my car and travel until I completely run out of money. Or maybe, I’ll try to see what can be done about my ankle.<br />
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I’ve always been afraid of surgery because I think it can be pretty damaging to the body. Now, after having had my tonsils out (the world’s simplest surgery) and no longer being able to open my mouth all the way along with the chronic, sometimes pretty intense jaw pain, I”m more scared than ever to find out for sure if surgery is my only option. *Sigh. I did work with a sports medicine chiropractor for a couple of months in Texas and saw some slight relief. He pointed out though, that if I hadn’t fully recovered or at least able to weight bare appropriately after having put in so much work it's most likely a problem needing surgery. Lame. (HA! Lame. get it. I can’t use my foot. Lame. Shut up, it's funny.) <br />
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Of all of my options, taking a permanent job scares me the most. What if I hate where I live. What if I hate my job. What if I have to work more than 7 months out of the year?! Is it worth it to go back to school and maybe even get my ankle fixed? Aye aye aye. <br />
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It was funny in church today as a few people mentioned their big, scary move out to Charleston where the only people they knew would be their wives/husbands and how would they ever make it. I forget some people feel that way sometimes. I may be getting too comfortable on my own because it’s becoming very difficult for me to relate to people when they say things like that. Or when they introduce themselves as "new" in the ward, only to find out they've been there a year. I know I look at them blankly searching for something to say but I don’t even really understand the sentence. Maybe that’s bad. I don’t know. All I know is, that I’ve really enjoyed my life. It’s got it’s pros and cons for sure, but I realized that I only ended up working about 7 months last year and all the cool things I was able to do and the great people I’ve been able to meet, I’ve felt very blessed.<br />
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The plan was always to go back to school once I paid off my student loans, but ooh...it’s scary. Not the going back to school, having to stay in one place with zero time off. That’s scary. Not being able to avoid office politics and staff meetings. YIKES. How do you people do it? Is that not the most terrifying thing ever? <br />
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And besides, where would I live, if I did stay in one place? I really am liking the south. But the pay here might not be able to support me while going back to school. <br />
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This is basically a post just to put something up on my blog. There is nothing particularly interesting happening in my life right now other than the anticipation of Lois and Robert’s new little nugget coming. EEK! I’m so excited. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-36521698647754178102013-03-01T05:25:00.002-08:002013-03-01T05:25:53.537-08:00Chetumal: Border of Mexio and BelizeWithout having any plans and not knowing exactly what I would find in Chetumal I got off the bus. I don't think a lot of backpackers stay in Chetumal. I think most people try to do the border crossing in one day, but well, you read my last post so you know I didn't plan ahead.<br />
There was one lone backpacker in the terminal reading a book. I asked her if she had stayed in Chetumal (thinking probably not since she was waiting for a bus out of town at the end of the day probably spent in Belize) and she had. She gave me good directions to a hostel (Hostel Paakal) that I was able to walk to in about ten minutes.<br />
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Not only did they have room, but I was the ONLY guest. (I think I'm learning that unless you book 24 hours ahead of time the sites will tell you there is no availability-or in other words, there's no telling what's available with less than that time frame, as people like me just show up.)<br />
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It's a really nice hostel. Brand new building. Lots of amenities: free wifi, pool, jacuzzi tub, good breakfast included, helpful staff.<br />
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I was sticky and stinky when I arrived and the over-sized jacuzzi bath tub filled with cool water was rather enticing. However, since my last hostel and it's noise level, I got too excited about sleep and took a semi-long shower instead just to get the stink and stick off and to relax then jumped right into bed. (Also I thought I had to be up at 530 a.m.)<br />
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The flyer said that the bus leaving from Chetumal to either Caye Caulker or Ambergris Caye leaves at 7am. Cay Caulker and Ambergris Caye are two of the islands off Belize that I want to visit. I haven' decided which one yet as the one hostel on Ambergris Caye keeps getting rave reviews about it's pizza and I've been wanting pizza-and haven't had any-since before getting my tonsils out. Caye Caulker on the hand says it's a slower-paced, less expensive island. I like both of those things.<br />
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As I lie in bed realizing that I didn't know how long or how much money it would cost to get to the dock I decided at this point I didn't care and sleep was more important.<br />
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Super awesome when I wake up and the hostel had made breakfast an hour earlier than it is usually served so that I would miss out on it. Not only that, there is a cab waiting for me to take me to the dock. I love seemingly little things like that. They aren't so little when you're traveling. They are HUGE and get the tone of an entire day. I really lucked out in multiple ways with my stay here.<br />
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I'm back at the hostel now though because apparently there is only one water taxi to Belize and it leaves at 3pm. Or so said the only man at the dock says. And some posted advertisements at the dock confirmed. I cabbed back to my hostel who also thankfully has a late check out time of 2:30 instead of the usual 11 or 12. This really isn't a tourist town so I don't think I could find a bike to hire and I'm quite happy to settle in for a nap shorty and catch up on the massive amounts of lost sleep.<br />
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I chose to do the water taxi because I hear it's easier to cross the border going through customs at the dock and I love taking boats when traveling as much as possible. That and I can go directly to the cayes rather than take a bus across the border to Belize city and then circle back. Hopefully the idea is the border crossing will be easier, get me to where I'm going more directly, and cost less rather than paying for another bus and then a water taxi.<br />
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Anyway, I'm off to nap.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-5279625251392630752013-03-01T05:09:00.001-08:002013-03-01T05:09:31.418-08:00Mexico...we all know I don't editWe all know I don't edit so here's a few started paragraphs completely spewed and unedited (like it was started multiple times and then finally dubbed, "finished" because getting me to write in the first place is hard enough without getting me to re-read).<br />
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I haven’t really been in the mood to write, but I have at least been able to relax a little bit. The two weeks previous to this one were pretty annoying. And as I usually do when I’m annoyed or stressed, my left shoulder locked up completely, which made packing and sleeping difficult.<br /><br />I say I’ve been able to relax, which has been lovely, but sleeping is a different story. I chose a hostel that boasts being several blocks from the downtown party so that I could get some sleep. What I found is that yes, there was little outside noise, but the hostel itself played loud, wall-thumbing awful music until about 2am IN the hostel. Other than that (and THAT is big. I like my sleep. And I hate club music) though it had a great vibe to it. Calm quiet music during the day. <br /><br />As you can guess there aren’t a lot of solo travelers in this area. I’m in Playa Del Carmen by the way. It’s about 1.5 hours south of Cancun. Since I was headed south anyway and I’m sure Cancun is even louder and more touristy than here I chose to come here.<br /><br />It’s a pretty cool city. Built solely for tourists, though. No really. It’s only 18 years old (I hear) and pretty much built as an alternative to Cancun. I must admit the beach is beautiful. The vibe is beach calm and it’s nice. I would’ve liked to have more time here...to spent at the beach. Maybe I’ll stay a night or two on my way back up to the Cancun airport, just to go the beach.<br /><br />Today was supposed to be my beach day, but it’s only in the 70’s and breezy, with some mist on and off. Not awesome beach weather, and since I’ve got to head south anyway...<br /><br />The food is pretty great too. <br /><br />Yesterday I walked around town and ended up at he beach. The beach is pretty awesome. I couldn’t help but lie on the unimaginably soft, white sand even though I wasn’t wearing my suit (that I had to purchase last minute as I didn’t own one. I know. Terrible.). I laid there for a while unable to even think about doing anything else. I had no interest in my book or music, or anything. I was able to just completely relax. I was happy as could be to just lie there and do...nothing. (After the last couple of weeks and the future worrying to come over work, it felt great.) After a short while I found a bike rental and just wandered through the town. I ended up back near a golf course and newly built homes, so it was a in a really nice area. The beautiful area and the beautiful weather was enough to keep me happy.<br /><br />The downtown/city area is nice. Really nice actually as far as downtown tourist areas go. The fact that there are nice things and that this town was built solely as a tourist city, an alternative to Cancun (I hear it’s only 18 years old), the prices reflect in everything.<br /><br />The food is pretty good too. In fact the food today was so good that when the waiter misunderstood my changing my mind from the tacos to the fajitas and ended up bringing out both I did not correct him. YUM. It was a pricey lunch-by backpacker standards (about $12), but I won’t be hungry for a while, which is good because after a perfectly pleasant and delicious lunch I was having one of those accomplish nothing, have all my bags with me, stuck in limbo kind of travel days that everyone dislikes-and I ended up on bus to Chetumal, which is the border town on the Mexican/Belize border.<br /><br />After my brief visit the beach without beachwear yesterday I had decided to stay an extra day in Playa Del Carmen, and just make it a full on beach day and ensuring that my trip to Belize would taken care of in advance. Well the weather today is not good beach weather. Grey, overcast, occasionally misty, and only in the 70’s. I know that sounds silly, because that’s not weather to complain about. But I decided this would make for a good travel day if I couldn’t immediately get into a different hostel. <br /><br />My hostel was fine during the day, nice vibe, very calm and relaxed atmosphere but then right as I was ready to go to bed the music would change into awful, wall-thumping, club music that seemed to be turned up at the precise intervals when I thought I was ready to explode from the current noise level. I specifically chose this hostel because it boasts not being able to hear the clubs from it’s location. I didn’t realize they’d make up for by playing their own club music well into the morning. I need my sleep and I’d already had almost two weeks of not being able to get to sleep. Unable to get clear directions to the one I found outside of town and not knowing precisely where the bus station was I did a lot of pointless wandering/walking and wandering how much hassle it would be to get to the bus station early enough from an out of town hostel. I finally found the bus station and there was a bus leaving for Chetumal right then. I asked it if was too late to get a ticket, the helpful woman hurried to sell me the ticket and called out to the guy that I was coming. So here I am, on my way to the border. <br /><br />I checked this morning and all the hostels were full (I think there are only two in Chetumal) so I’m going to end up paying a lot for a place to stay tonight (probably at least $40, which I think has been about what I’ve been spending per day so far, on average). But here I am listening to Iron Man II in Spanish and getting very sleepy on the bus. <br /><br />Apparently my orphan Spanish is just good enough that it appears I can speak Spanish. And although I’m having fun using the little bit that I know I do not speak it well enough for someone to speak it to me at full speed, or to even respond in more than one word answers. :) The people are mellow, calm and friendly. Because it’s a beach city and they are used to tourists and way more money than I have, they are not overly aggressive in their sales and not interested in discounting things since the cruise ships will come in and pay inflated, even for the U.S., prices.<br /><br />I picked a good day to travel as it is now a bit cold, for here (and for me :)), and it’s pouring rain. I love pouring rain. Better to be on a bus enjoying the rain and the country side than sitting stuck in hostel somewhere where. Not that a rainy day can’t be absolutely enjoyable I’d rather spend my time at the beach....at the beach. And I really don’t mind bus rides, especially ones on really nice buses with very few people. Again, pricey for a backpacker though, $26! aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-26984922838125467822013-01-11T10:38:00.001-08:002013-01-11T10:38:49.480-08:00Who are you going to be?Some times you can stand at a fork in a road and see where each ends up just by seeing what’s standing at the first step of each path. And sometimes you can seemingly stand at the end of each path looking back at the point they diverged and see what’s going to bring to their respective ends.<br /><br />I saw this very clearly yesterday when taking care of two teenage girls, who were outwardly, very similarly. But inwardly completely different beings entirely. The differences were so vast in how they carried themselves, how willing they were to take responsibility, and the biggest difference was how they made the entire world around them feel. <br /><br />“Who’s blessing is that?” Can be taken two very different ways when receiving report as a nurse. Sometimes it is a sincere blessing and other times it’s the polite southern way of saying, you’re about to go through something very difficult.<br /><br />I think of this phrase and both of its meaning when retelling my story of a day that I hope I don’t soon forget, especially when choosing which path I’m going to head down/lead children down. I hope that no matter how far I may find myself down the undesirable path I can jump ship and work harder to get and stay on the, in every imaginable way possible, a better path, knowing and having seen very clearly where each path separates from the other and ultimately leads.<br /><br />I watched their interactions with their parents. I watched their interactions with staff. I saw how they interacted with themselves as I passed by and they had time on their own. <br /><br />The one, we’ll call her, hates-everything-and-everyone-girl. Couldn’t be pleased. Everything she asked for she got and it was never enough. It was never right. She was always on a rampage. She would manipulate, whine, and cower before then mock, her mother. When going out of your way to help her she would only grunt and look around you at the television. When left to herself, her room was dark, she laid in bed, she huffed and puffed and tried to sleep the day away. Even when she did sleep her face was twisted into a grimace. (Even one of dr’s mentioned that she would only venture to go in her room once every 3 days, because she couldn’t handle the misery of being around her.)<br /><br />The other, we’ll call, I-hope-my-children-see-the-world-the-way-she-does-girl. Was very kind, forgiving, and had a sense of humor, even when things didn’t go quite right. She was polite and comfortable with her mother. Not submissive and fearful. But open and talked freely with her, even laughing easily. She said thank you for everything, so sweetly that one would work hard just to hear it again, even if it was offered as a gratitude for something simple. When she was left alone in her room, she snuggled down comfortably with her blankets on the couch on her room. She enjoyed a nap, near the window where the rain poured down. She smiled when you came in the room and woke her up. <br /><br />I feel in some situations I tend to me more like the first, which makes me sad, which is another difference between the girls. The first I look at with shame and pity to ever think I could find a part of her inside me. The second, is something to aspire to. And when I think I might see a glimpse of herself in me I feel contented and hope that it will become a bigger part of my view of life. I feel hopeful and excited rather dejected and powerless over my life. I have peace with myself, my life, and others.<br /><br />I hope to not remain unchanged by the very stark, very real differences observed that day at work. <br /><br />So, again this morning, I stand at the crossroads and, will several times through out the day. As I do, I hope I remember the differences between these two girls, their actions, and results of those actions. I hope my actions make me more like the mother of the second girl, who I’m sure lead to her development into such a wonderful young woman.<br /><br />After having met both mothers of the girls, I can also see a little further toward the start of the paths that lead these girls to where they are now. <br /><br />The second girl’s mother and I had a conversation about how people speak to one another. She couldn’t understand how someone at a gas station could have responded so rudely to such a simple question by a woman who was having a very difficult day. (An event she had witnessed earlier that day.) <br /><br />“Why?”<br /><br />Was her question. <br /><br />“Why did they have to talk to her like that? They could have said the same thing in a much kinder fashion.<br /><br />It’s as though they had decided to to be angry for no reason whatsoever. Why can’t people just decide to be happy for no reason whatsoever and reserve the anger for time that merits that kind of response. <br /><br />Instead people just walk around angry for no reason waiting for something good enough to make them happy.<br /><br />You’d think they would just walk around being happy until there was a really good reason to be angry.”<br /><br />In deed. In deed, you would think that would be how people choose to live their lives. <br /><br />I know I’m guilty of often living angry for no reason some times. Or at least responding angrily. Sure I can come up with a bunch of stupid rationalizations for it, of why I deserve to be angry (like that’s a good thing or something I want to have “earned”). Or how and why I’ve become jaded....but why would I choose to remain that way? The truth is I’d rather be happy. Any reason I have to be angry, hurt or jaded should be used as a reason to say, I deserve to be happy after having gone through any of that, rather than I deserve to be angry. So deserving or not. I choose to try to be happy by altering my thinking to more accurately mimic the behavior exhibited by the second girl and her mother. aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-27840421799591924372012-12-08T17:33:00.001-08:002012-12-08T17:33:08.086-08:00Change of plansI have the strangest feeling that my life is not going to be at all what I expected. This is particularly odd because I’ve never really had any expectations of what my life would be like at all. So to feel like it will be different, different that what, I wonder? But the feeling is still there. <br /><br />It’s like that story where the woman prepares her whole life to go to Italy, saves her money, studies the culture, learns the language and then is suddenly surprised to find herself landing in Norway (or wherever). It’s still a beautiful country. There are still many adventures to be had. There is still the opportunity for a beautiful life there, but she is entirely caught off guard and unprepared. There it is, a beautiful life to be had with many beautiful experiences...completely different from what she had envisioned.<br /><br />Again, I hadn’t ever really envisioned anything. And along with any heartache, that comes with it, I’ve always (nearly always, certainly as an adult) had an underlying calm about things and life in general. I know that the Savior loves me. I know that I can try again, even when I get frustrated with my own laziness and inability to make myself try hardly at all. I knew the opportunity was there. The opportunity to be happy in any circumstance. In any location. Perhaps my job choice is merely a subconscious effort to prove that point over and over, every three months. :) <br /><br />When I decided to go on a mission I had one thought in mind: I want people to know that they can be happy. I want them to know that whatever their story is or was, or will be, they can be happy, even through the hurts.<br /><br />Are there hurts? Please, are there ever not hurts? Are they ever too much? Sometimes it certainly feels like it. Can you pick yourself back up? I wish sometimes I could stay down, but surely enough, a few minutes, days later I find myself hopeful again. Blast that unquenchable hope and underlying knowledge that there are still things to enjoy once the hurt has had its moment. It’s embarrassing at times. To be so maddened and upset at one moment to find myself only a short while later singing the praises of what fun ride this life is. <br /><br />And it really is. I’ve always seen this life as very short. It’s amazing how one can always feel like they’re right in the middle of their life. But I do. I have very strong memories from the time I was very young and I remember thinking, even then, how quick this life would fly by. I also remember knowing that I didn’t want to waste it. That I want to soak up all the wonderful things, and all the fun that this first time mortal can conjure up to endure, like tasting new wonderful foods for the first, or even disgusting foods for the first time. HA! (Frog legs. Yuck. Not that I’m the most adventurous person with food. Just that I enjoy learning and growing in this crazy, short life.)<br /><br />When the topic of this life is brought up at church and how we all rejoiced at the idea of coming to earth and being blessed with the gift of agency, having to push through difficulties, heartaches, and overcoming weaknesses, and constantly having to correct ourselves and drag ourselves back to the path, I still get all excited. <br /><br /><br />I think to some extent, we all do. When kids ask for a puppy I think they really are excited to take care of it, feed it, walk it, clean up after it. I think they know exactly what it will entail and it enthralls them. Of course, like the rest us with this life, they get lazy, they get distracted, they get bored, or think there is something more important than the puppy (or whatever else it is we want) that they wanted so badly in the first place, the puppy and all the challenges that come with it.<br /><br />We’re created to love a challenge, or at least growth. I’m terribly lazy and my faith lacks more in myself to care for a puppy, or do what it takes to get, keep, maintain the “puppy” rather than the promised and sure reward that will come from having whatever it is that I want. The exhausting, constant, tedious, re-correction, that in the end is part that means the most and that we become most proud of.<br /><br />We’re more proud of the culmination of events, dedication and survival of preparing for a the marathon when we cross the finish line than those last 26.2 miles we just completed. These are all metaphors I assure you. I’ve never run a marathon. Not yet anyway. I did train for one once though and got up to 17.5 miles...then I got strep like 6 weeks before the race. But that’s another story for another time.<br /><br />I don’t claim to be a motivated or productive person. In fact I think I score very low on both ends of those measures. But it doesn’t mean I don’t see joy in the today and for whatever reason am very excited for the road ahead, whatever it is. <br /><br />This is kind of on point, but probably more off point. I think about this subtly when I think about my dad. His birthday is coming up and I’m trying to think of the appropriate way to celebrate. There are so many to choose from. And any or all of them would have some sort of sweetness to them. <br /><br />The hurt is still there. He’ll always be dead. Time can’t fix that, like it can the frustration of a friend canceling plans, a failed work out, a bad day at work, or a bad haircut. For the rest of my life, I won’t have a father. And nothing is going change that. But it sneaks up at the oddest times. And strikes the most unexpected cords some times. But even while I’m releasing the tears, whether they be of fond memories, or past hurts, I know that when the hurt has had it’s bittersweet moment (because sometimes it feels good to hurt-it forces you admit that you care-and that there are things worth being hurt about...that your soul is shapable), I will continue on again and, sometimes despite my best efforts, find joy in life again. <br /><br />Do you know that when my father died, and since, only three people in the entire world asked if I was okay? Many offered condolences. Many asked questions and were kind and it was all well-received and very appreciated. But only three looked me straight in the eye (well, two looked me straight in the eye the other via phone, I could tell was sincere, and was really asking, choked me up at the thought of someone seeing through me in the midst of it) and asked how I was doing. It meant the world to me. Just being asked was enough. I didn’t even need to respond. <br /><br />But like I said, despite the hurt, there is an underlying calm. A peace, happiness, and assurance that all is right in the world. Not that everything will eventually be right, but that right now, even during the hurt, everything is just fine. I’m just as capable of picking up right now and enjoying life (even enjoying the ability to care enough to hurt) as I will be in ten years or was ten years ago. It’s supposed to be that way, and it’s useful. And it’s wonderful.<br /><br />So here I sit, looking at my beautiful Christmas tree decorated in memories (I used pictures of family, children in Ecuador I fell in love with, and pictures of really good moments that remind me of exactly how I felt in that particular moment), feeling like my flight has just be redirected to some unanticipated path. I look forward to looking back on it, like I do the pictures on my tree and being amazed at all of it.<br /><br />I’d love to promise you a post about how I end up celebrating my dad’s birthday but we all know I don’t have that kind of follow through.aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-47879372528374705812012-12-02T13:42:00.002-08:002012-12-02T13:42:34.379-08:00Me Again...another Ecuadorian tangent.I may have mentioned this before, or many of you know, the past few years were pretty rough. And although I thought I got through them just fine and had returned to normal life, I really hadn't.<br />
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Ecuador brought me back to life. It was a big catalyst for me. And although, it's something I have always wanted to do, and plan to continue to do (the whole international travel/volunteer thing) the timing was quite perfect.<br />
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Time had done all it could do in the healing me from my Father's passing, the scare of my mother's cancer, and letting go of a guy I really cared about but new it would never work, but I didn't have that spark/zest for life again yet. And I didn't even know it.<br />
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Through these years I still found plenty to be happy about and some things to entertain me. And I don't know if it was just because I was bored or if it was because I was a bit numb. If I was numb I didn't know it, but looking back I can see how maybe all my resources were put into "getting through" that I didn't have much of me left for anything else. (And I did it all alone, which is sometimes easier, and sometimes harder.)<br />
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Either way, Ecuador came at a perfect time. I feel pleasantly guilty for how much I got out of loving those children. Whereas I always thought of everything in terms of plane tickets, I now think of everything in therms of orphanages and children and getting back there.<br />
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My poor ENT who told me I need to get my tonsils out, (I do, they're really bad. It's quite disgusting), who had me break down in his office in tears because of how much it would cost and me sobbing, "But that's orphan money!" I felt like an idiot.<br />
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And I realize that I will remember them much more than they me. I just hope that if I do get to go back to Ecuador the orphanages will let me back in to volunteer. (My sister-in-law, Kelsey-who btw, is one of the coolest people I've ever met- got me in the door the first time. I don't know if she knows how cool she is...) Ecuador will only let you in for 90 days in a 12 month period. By the time I could go (May) and by the time I save the money (set back majorly by the tonsil-thing...if I ever find a way/someone to babysit me when I get them removed), they most likely won't remember me or be fine with me just walking in the way I did before.<br />
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When I was there I felt totally alive. Couldn't wait to think of something else to do with the kids, to watch them grow and progress. And I had a good enough report with the staff and those who ran the orphanage that I feel like I was getting into a position to both know what would be useful there, and had their trust enough to start adding/making changes that would benefit the children and the home as a whole.<br />
<br />(Thanks to everyone who gave, especially that last minute effort to get the propane tanks. We were- able to buy two of them, for the record-so that the kids could have warm showers. What they really need now though is showers. I think there is one or two for all 52 children at that orphanage.) I'm sure we could do that without too much trouble...get them showers I mean. I don't know. I don't know what it would take to build like a little bathroom/locker room. The teenagers were clean for the most part, but the younger ones I don't think were cleaned/showered very well/often. And anyway, like I said, I no longer have the report I had with the staff to have them let me start a project like that. It takes time to build a relationship and I don't want to just walk in and step on toes or act like I know what's best. Because it also takes time in the orphanages to see what they, for me to even know/recognize what would be helpful.<br />
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(The books were a MAJOR hit! But I was there almost 2 months before I knew that's what might be most beneficial to that orphanage at that time.) <br />
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:) Like I said, I think of everything in terms of orphanages now, rather than just plane tickets. That was quite a tangent to prove my point though.<br />
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Those kids brought me back to life. And even though I'm home now I've been changed. The flip has been switched back to "on' and I care about things again. I'm excited about things again. I care about learning, and knowing, and doing, and loving. And I'm calm. I feel like me again. And I'm so excited to be back. I owe those kids myself. <br />
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<br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-54436247543462853732012-11-05T07:08:00.002-08:002012-11-05T07:08:46.061-08:00Dating on the Run<br />
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(only video of this song I could find....would have been much funnier with Prince's version. I guess this one sounds more like my kind of music anyway) (But for full effect of this post, go ahead and just find the Prince version and play it while you read ;). )<br />
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Inevitably one of the first questions people ask me when I move somewhere is, what on earth do I do about dating if I move so much. <br /><br />The truth is, I’d do just about anything for the right guy. I’ve even made some good faith gestures to let the universe know that I’m open for anything. However, I some times feel like it backfires, or is misinterpreted.<br /><br />You see, I’m only somewhere for approximately three months at a time. (Although it sometimes ends up being longer than that, if I like it, like the nine months I spent in L.A.) Now granted, that isn’t a whole lot of time to get to know someone, but in my book it’s long enough to know if I’m interested, and that on the off chance that I do meet someone, I can always extend for another three months just to see where it goes.<br /><br />To me, this is the perfect set up. Staying somewhere I like for another three months, isn’t a huge commitment, and if it means I get another three months with someone I like, to figure out it’s worth yet another three months, great. Major bonus. I also see it that if I end up staying three months and things don’t work out, neither one of has had our lives interrupted, and BONUS, you don’t have to run into someone you’ve dated previously, over and over again, no matter how well it ends.<br /><br />The universe doesn’t seem to understand my logic, however. The universe, or rather, guys, still see me as a flight risk. Not understanding that I just figure everything will work out just fine eventually. I’m sure this leads to uneasiness and a lack of ability/desire to get close/trust, whatever to believe me when I say I’m interested. I’m sure of it because I’ve had guys say it to me. <br /><br />Obviously, I haven’t been interested enough, or they haven’t been interested enough (or believed that I would stick around for them if things did go somewhere) for me to actually stick around indefinitely. <br /><br />I have put out into the universe (admittedly, always more for the universe than the guy, thus far) those good faith gestures, you know just to let the universe know, that I would stick around to figure things out if necessary, by signing up for additional contracts in the area where I thought there might be something with the guy. <br /><br />Now obviously, as I’m newly in Dallas, and very, very single, there wasn’t ever really anything worth sticking around for, but the universe should really know now that if I needed to I would, for the right guy. Or even just for a guy that seems like he could be the right guy. If he’s not, no worries, I can go back to traveling.<br /><br />A lot of guys, and even people in my life, wonder if I really have any interest in meeting someone. Sure I do. <br /><br />Many I think, feel like I’m “running away from something”. Nope. <br /><br />I would love to find someone and create a life with them, even if it was only in one place. I don’t see it as scary or confining, I just see it as a different kind of adventure. Truth. <br /><br />I live the way I do now because it works for me. It works very well. It allows me to enjoy the advantages of being single. And I might as well enjoy those advantages now. Just as I intend to enjoy all the advantages of being with someone if and when that happens. <br /><br />There are many people who think my life is super exciting (And I admit, it has it’s moments ;), but it can be kind of dull sometimes, too). <br /><br />I’ve never been an either or kind of girl, so I plan on having both. I think I’ll love being single. And when I get married, I intend on enjoying every minute of that as well, and will love it even more. <br /><br />I hope this clears some things up. Or really, maybe it’ll just give me a reference page to hand to all the people that have and inevitably will ask me this question again the next time I move :).<br /><br />I’m super excited to meet someone and have a family, which will include at least a few orphans ;). (Too bad Ecuador doesn’t let you choose the child, otherwise I would seriously be in the works right now of bringing my kids home, which would include a permanent job near a good support system.) But the reality is that I don’t have that now. <br /><br />I don’t see marriage as a trap or confining or undesirable. Quite the opposite. I see it as my greatest and most exciting adventure ever! (Think “My Adventure Book” from UP :).) I very much see it as something I look forward to and hope to have one day. But in the meantime, I think I’ll live it up anyway. And be quite happy to do so.<br /><br />So, right guy, when you find me, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. <br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-13112224838120572312012-09-09T22:15:00.000-07:002012-09-30T21:08:49.832-07:00And the dam breaks<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"> I miss my kids in Ecuador. I feel like I
loved each one of them SO much and then they are just suddenly taken
away from me. :/ I was thinking about that a lot tonight and trying to
figure out how to get back to them, and if I do get back to them, how do
I get back to them again after that and how long could I stay and could
I make a difference, and how do I get them all the things I want them
to have. And not just stuff, but like the love and attention and
encouragement and knowledge of possibilities. I feel kind of selfish for
how much good it did me to love them. And to be loved back. I miss them
so much. I actually couldn't talk about it for a while when I first got
back. Too much. it was just too much. I loved them too much and missed
them too much that telling people about it seemed trivial in comparison
to what it was.</span><br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">I have 3 weeks when this job ends before my next contract, and although it will completely blow all the tiny bit of money I will have recovered-and then some-from this most recent job, I'm looking in to figuring out how to get back there, if only for those short 3 weeks. </span><br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Having been down there and knowing how things work, and what they have and don't have, I know better what to bring with me and what help I'd like to try to provide. It's on my mind quite a bit. </span><br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">...And so is the wonderful shawarma ;) and potato soup.</span>aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628362073214768624.post-31444478101570147102012-07-01T15:51:00.002-07:002012-07-01T16:00:38.561-07:00Meet Maria Belen and little bits of BIG HappinessI’m surprised how long it’s been since I posted something. I guess I just write these in my head or jot down notes and forget that it never quite made it all the way to the blog. I came back on here yesterday to find a link for the paypal button for a few friends who really wanted to help. God bless ‘em. I think God must be a big fan of children, especially ones in need of a little extra love. Turns out there are a lot of amazing people out there who’ve got the extra love to give. I’m so happy I got the chance to be here and to see so much good in the world. Thank you to each of you who have offered, prayers, financial assistance, encouragement, kindness, and many combinations of these and more. <br />
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I must let you know that people here, here in Ecuador, are generally the friendliest and kindest people I’ve ever met. And I’ve lived a lot of places. They are more than just kind, they are very giving. I’m always surprised by how many people hand over change to anyone who asks it, whether it be a street performer juggling between stoplights, a person jumping on a bus with some spiel or song, or even just a beggar woman who’s in the same spot everyday probably making a killing off of people’s goodness and generosity, they give. I’m always surprised just how many of them do give. <br />
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I have to relate a story to you that happened to me just last night before I forget to write it down and I will also try to get additional past stories up for you to read as well. (Even if I’m not the best at writing/keeping a blog just know that goodness is here and the children I work with...if you can call work-I love every minute of it-continue to melt mine, and many others hearts. And although I only got to be here a short time...just shy of 3 months...I’ve loved as much as I could. I’ve done as much as I could. And even if the only life here changed is mine, it has been changed forever and for the better. I do hope that the love I’ve given, or should I say that God himself allowed to just pour, no flood, right out of me, makes a difference to these little ones. (In fact, I loved one little girl so much she got a bit jealous the last time I came to the orphanage and had to take time away from my talking practice to help another little boy who fell. She cried for a long time and just looked deserted. I can’t say that I didn’t feel a little bit of sweetness in that moment. I do hope that someone continues to work with her after I leave.<br />
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Speaking of which, thanks to many of you and another baggage miracle (if you don’t remember the first one, or if I didn't post it here...I don't remember...I was over weight by like 4 pounds, I almost had to leave some stuff behind and the lady at the counter let me take out some of my own books (my scriptures: Bible and Book of Mormon), she weighed the bag and was like, "hey look it's good", printed the tag and then let me put my books back in. this made sure all the donations and my scriptures, really everything I'd packed made it to Ecuador. :) ) a plethora of books will be arriving tomorrow! In fact, 5 boxes of books and developmental toys arrived at a friend’s house and he will be transporting ALL of them to Cuenca, Ecuador in his suitcases. I really believe that this sweet girl (approx 1yr 3-4mos old)-who is so full of happiness, I just refer to her, and her baby sister (6mos-ish old) who looks just like her-as liquid sunshine, will take to the books so rapidly that who ever comes after me won’t be able to stop her from talking once she starts getting read to. In fact, I’m going to have her saying at least 5 new words before I leave this next weekend. I WISH I could show you pictures of these heart thieves. And so you that bright smiles of the faces of the children you’ve helped, but gladly the government does protect them and I’m not allowed to post pictures of them on the internet. (If I’m every in person though and you’d like to see them you can bet that I’ll be so excited to show the photographs of these angels...and terds. Funny how kids can be both and so often at the same time. Aaaaaah, little buggers! I’m tearing up just thinking about their smiles and mischief.) <br />
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I will describe this one little girl to you at this time though...you know, instead of getting to that story from last night that I initially intended to write first. I doubt you’ll mind the side track though. :)<br />
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She is light as a feather and so small you wouldn’t expect her to be able to be so incredible and agile and balanced as she is. She’s an expert walker even though she looks too young to walk. A pixie really. She is black...well African American, but I can’t really call her African American...I mean I guess she could be. More likely Caribbean? Islander? African-South-American? Whichever is correct, or whatever you prefer. I guess she’s just Ecuadorian to me, or really she’s just a cute piece of heaven to me, with slightly darker skin and tight black curls, yes, a little fro. It’s short, or looks short and tight against her head. Lots of hair, a little pixie sized afro. And the BIGGEST smile you’ve ever seen with lots of excitement lines around her eyes and mouth when she does smile. Her eyes are beautiful, too. Super dark. Almost like a mirror (I’m so glad there’s another one just like her-her baby sister/clone.) In fact, the other day when I walked into the orphanage I mused to another volunteer, “does her hair suddenly looks like a whole lot bigger?” We both giggled as we realized her hair was definitely...bigger. Later that morning the speech therapist (I think that’s her title) came into the room we were playing in and patted her head and started laughing. My Spanish is horrible, but I did understand the story. She, the therapist, had tried to brush out--I’m pretty sure with an actual brush--out her hair. She said the little girl wouldn’t have any of it and hated having her hair brushed, but brushed it was and the more it was brushed, the bigger it got. Hence, the aforementioned, new...bigness. She was so extra cute that day with her poofy hair. Now big hair or not this girl is the happiest little thing I’ve ever had to pleasure to meet. I can’t believe anyone is just born that happy. Let alone able to be SO happy SO many times over SO little. At the mention of her name this little girl is rendered immobile. She gets so excited by someone saying her name that she smiles so big you think the skin on her little face may stretch so far it’ll never go back, and doubles over, more like curls into a ball and can’t move. If you happen to be holding her when you say her name she’ll wrap around your hand (or arm, but really she’s so slight that you can hold her with just one hand) like a little potato bug (aka rollie pollie bug). She laughs so hard she only squeaks at the very beginning then can’t make a sound for the duration of her giggle just jiggles like a silent Santa Claus. I love this little girl so much. I’m so glad God made a clone. her baby sister-also at the orphanage-will light up just the same when given any kind of attention. It’s as if the entire human race could be rebuilt from ruins just with the glow and happiness contained in the tiny little package of this one little girl. <br />
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She’s like the all-spark for the human race (for those of you who know transformers ;).) <br />
<br />
Back to my story from last night. I was chatting on Facebook, of course about my time here and how I don’t have much left, specifically about wanting to get some propane tanks (for hot water and fuel for cooking) for one orphanage (the one with 51 kids...that’s a big hot water and cook need)...that they have asked help in getting when someone, Amy Awesome Big-Hearted Sharpe, mentioned posting on my old San Diego ward’s Facebook page (a ward being what we call a specific geographic congregation in my church). Now Amy has already done a lot with helping with books and so much else, wanted to be able to contribute as well. So I posted on the Pacific Beach ward’s Facebook page and on my status as well that the opportunity to serve had once again come. I was overwhelmed by the response. In fact, some people who probably don’t even want others to know they’re big ol’ softies, donated as well. An old friend from High School that I haven’t seen since caught the conversation and donated. Even a sweet cousin (Cherie-yes you) who I remember only meeting a few times when I was young (thanks Facebook for keeping family reachable). People just want to help. Not only do they want to help, people, given the opportunity WILL help. Even some that may not have much to give, give, and wish they could give more. I found myself wishing I could help. My heart was bursting with how many wonderful people there are in this world. There are so many people who showed me what I want to be. People I wish I was more like. I was absolutely glowing by the time I headed home from the internet shop last night, bursting with gratitude and the excitement of being able to go to orphanages and tell them, “YES! We can help. We can get you the propane tanks. YES! We can make needed repairs, and YES there is good and beauty and God in this world.” As Mother Teresa says, “God does still love this world. He loves it through me and through you”. (Or a very close approximation of those words. She repeats that several times in a book entitled, “Where There is Love There is God”.) <br />
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I can’t believe with as many good people I know I ever forget that. That God does love this world, and also according to a friend, “Kindness...it’s contagious”. It totally is. And thank you for infecting me. <br />
<br />
Anyway, so here I find myself walking home, starving, and fully infected wishing I could pass this on RIGHT NOW. Wishing I could give and share the love that I’d just been filled with. I detour a Pizza Hut I’d seen near my house to pick up some dinner and to honor my American peeps who’d just donated...and because it’s my last week here and it’s Saturday night. Turns out it’s 2 for 1 night at Pizza Hut. What I’m going to do with one medium pizza, let alone two is craziness. The lady seems stunned I don’t my second pizza, but really, WHAT am I going to do with a second pizza. Again, I do not speak Spanish, but we all got each other when I turned to the lady next to me and asked, “tu quiero?” She smiled, I smiled, the cashier smiled, her teenage son (or kid with her, don’t know if it was her son) smiled. We all smiled. And she got a free pizza that night. I know it’s silly and small, and didn’t cost me anything, especially compared to what many of you gave, but I’m sure it made her night. Or at least made her smile for that time. It was a kindness of another human being. And she appreciated it. And good humor filled that little Pizza Hut waiting room. <br />
<br />
I thank God for that little opportunity to...pay it forward...I guess one could say. Because I was about to explode with happiness, gratitude, and desire to give more. I’m glad that silly little opportunity came my way. <br />
<br />
It really is the little things. The one dollar, the ten dollars, the free cup of coffee (or hot chocolate in my case ;) --Mormons don’t drink coffee ;)...) on a any given day, especially one when you’re in a funk and don’t deserve someone to be nice to you, that makes all the difference. And even if one can’t give something tangible, the kind word, the whispered prayer. It all, though small, makes the biggest difference in the world.<br />
<br />
I’m glad to know such good people, including these children that I’ve grown to love so completely. It’s makes me want to curl up like a little potato bug around God’s strong hands, I’m so excited and happy. :)<br />
<br />
Maybe this is why I don’t post so often...a small post turns into several pages of me gushing. :)<br />
Also, for those who were looking for it here's the link again so you don't have to scouring through old posts to find it:<br />
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<br />aihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16540085011731248716noreply@blogger.com1