January 5, 2007
On Saturday morning, I met up with Emily, Mabeh, and Lindsay to go to the Mother Theresa Orphanage and Clinic. Upon arriving at the clinic and saying our greetings, we walked past the many patients that were waiting to receive medical attention to an outdoor area at the back of the clinic where several foreigners were treating wounds and providing medical care. The leg of the man that was being treated as we walked by was several times larger than normal, black in color, and an entire chunk was simply missing, leaving a bloody abyss about 6 inches across and a foot long. Emily and I walked over to the orphanage, while Mabeh and Lindsay stayed behind to help at the clinic. Upon spotting the nun at the orphanage, I went to speak with her while Emily returned to the clinic.
The orphanages that will forever linger in my mind are the HOINA orphanages in southern India, founded by Penn State alumna Darlene Large, which are beautiful structures filled with color. Though being at the HOINA orphanages elicits a lot of philosophical questions, some of which I still struggle with, it is almost guaranteed that when you enter the orphanages children will run up to greet you with big smiles on their faces or that you will see them playing games, singing, or sitting and talking with each other. I did not expect the Mother Theresa Orphanage to be a replica of HOINA, but with Mother Theresa being such a high profile figure I expected to find a pleasant environment with happy and healthy looking children.
Upon looking around the orphanage, though, I was truly overwhelmed, and it took all I had to hold back tears. Even at that, I could not help a few from escaping. The children seemed to be oozing with various fluids, and many had severe disabilities. The couple playground items were set on concrete, and the children sitting on the merry-go-round sat expressionless the entirety of the time I was there (at most two hours). One child, who seemed to be covered in pus and files, lay face down on the pavement, unmoving. Everyone, including the nuns and the assistants helping with the children, was frowning and unfriendly. The highlight of the hideousness was when the security guard sent the children scattering as he chased them with a large tree branch after he saw that they were playing with pieces of a balloon. A couple of the teenage girls also donned sticks to intimidate the younger children. One little boy, probably around six years old and with minor disabilities, approached me with outstretched arms, wanting desperately to be picked up. ``No, sister,`` one of the girls said to me, pushing the boy away. ``He will eat you.`` The English interpretation would be funny if it also was not so sad. The boy had bit one of the babies and the finger of someone else and was now unable to escape the stigma of being a biter. Not wanting to lose a chunk of skin, I made sure that all of my appendages were out of reach of the child, but his sad eyes and outstretched arms continue to haunt me.
I spotted a foreigner in one of the windows of a building, and went to seek her out. Her name is Stephanie, and she is a German social worker on her second volunteer trip to the orphanage. I expressed to her that I was feeling quite overwhelmed at the place, and she said that she did when she arrived as well, particularly knowing what orphanages are like in Germany. My purpose in going to the orphanage was to inquire with the nuns as to whether I could do an art project with the children on Saturday mornings. I was told by the unhappy looking nun in charge that this was possible, and then she told me that she was busy and could not speak with me. To be fair, this orphanage is not the extreme that you find in 20/20 or 60 Minutes documentary specials where children with disabilities are perpetually chained to their beds or just given grub to eat. However, just because a place could be worse does not mean that it shouldn’t be better, particularly when children are involved. After I could not take being there anymore, I left thinking that I had just witnessed the type of place that you want to push to the back of your mind and thereafter pretend that it does not exist.
After the orphanage, I returned to, ironically, the comparatively cheerful Clinic for the Sick and Dying (actual name) to join Emily, Mabeh, and Lindsay in Dr. Rick`s clinic. Although I know that becoming a medical doctor is not in my future, it was fascinating to have the chance to join Dr. Rick and other observers in the room where he examines patients (something I would never be able to do in the U.S.). Some of the cases he sees make the various extreme ailments faced by patients on a fictional TV show like Grey`s Anatomy seem almost mild in comparison. On the afternoon in which we sat Dr. Rick`s clinic, the first patient we observed was a 20-year old man with a heart condition. As he lay down, one could clearly see the heart beating in his chest, his skin raising with every beat. Next, a young, and very cute, little boy came. He looked fine expect for his huge, round stomach. Dr. Rick noted that his spleen was enlarged to about 15 times its normal size. He prescribed for the little boy a medicine that should help bring down the swelling.
In Ethiopia, there are many cases of severe spinal deformity, both scoliosis (where the spine twists into an ``S``-like shape) and another deformity in which the spine grows away from the body, almost in a mound, severely protruding from the body (think Hunchback of Notre Dame). Rick tries to get children and adults with this condition free medical care in countries such as India, Ghana, or, in extreme cases, the United States. Doctors, in addition to altruistic intentions, are sometimes willing to operate for free on such patients because they represent the extreme in the profession, whether it is a tumor that has gone unchecked for years or a variety of other ailments. Several people did come in with tumors that encompassed half the face, protruded from the check, and, in the case of one women, completely covered her eye. Another woman came and, upon removing her shawl and a bandage, it was apparent that half her face was missing; where her check and neck used to be was now just a white, yellow and red hole. A taxi cab driver brought in his eight year old son, who has some sort of neurological problem, is unable to control his bladder at school, and relies on crutches to walk. Dr. Rick prescribed various tests for him to take in order so that he can better assess his condition. I also met a perpetually smiling 10-year old boy named Workina, who is an absolute sweetheart but has a problem with his hands that is almost beyond description. The palms of his hands have grown in large mounds (imagine if you cut open the skin on the back of your hands and stuffed beneath it multiple tennis and golf balls until your hands were several times larger than their normal size), with the five fingers on each hand protruding at odd angles. One of his hands is becoming infected and is probably unsalvageable (it will likely be amputated), while the other might be able to be operated upon. Dr. Rick has found a doctor in Los Angeles that is interested in operating on Workina provided that Workina can get the necessary documents and paper work.
Not surprisingly, many of the patients that come to see Dr. Rick are poor and come from various parts of the country. He will reimburse some of the patients for the transportation costs associated with coming to and from the clinic, and he will also assist with school fees for families that cannot afford to send their children to school. A visit to his clinic is a stark reminder of how important health is to development. My visit there confirmed that my interest is less in the medicinal aspects of health as compared to the factors and conditions that lead to poverty and poor health, as well as the economic and social conditions needed to improve health, service delivery and, ulimately, livelihoods.
