Life has a funny way

Change is inevitable- exciting and scary. And seems to be the only “normal” in my life in the past 13 years.  Today I figured out that since leaving for college, I haven’t lived in one physical place for more than 2 years.  Guess I keep getting the 2-year itch and find the need to keep my parents guessing “what’s next”.  Since coming back from a whirlwind and wonderful trip home for Maggie’s wedding, many people asked me “is it weird to be back?”  They asked in both directions of the trip, when I was “home” and when I came back “home”.  My only response was “it’s weird, because it isn’t weird”.  Things back in California were as I remembered, except not.  My parent’s house is not the house I grew up in even though it’s all the same furniture rearranged in a new place, and my parents could not be happier there.  My brother and sister in law are the same, except now they are parents to a 15 month old son who is hands-down indisputably the cutest toddler that exists.  My friends are still as great as ever, except now they are getting married, having children, traveling, moving, living their dreams. Hell, I got to be in my childhood friend’s wedding, where my family was represented three generations deep (my mom played music, I was a bridesmaid, and George was a ring-bearer).  That’s pretty special. 

BUT I knew my stay was temporary, and I knew I was coming back to this other place I call “home”.  Coming back felt as normal as normal can be when you live somewhere so unlike anywhere you have ever lived, and impossible to explain to people back home.   Whenever I talk to people about my experiences living abroad (wow, now a plural statement- that’s cool), I always say that it should somehow be required and that it should be for at least a year.  Walking down the street now I feel like I fit in (as much as a tall gringa can), and I try my best not to look like a tourist, because I am not. Someone at the river the other day asked me “are you here traveling” and my answer was a confident “no, I live here”.  Even if it’s temporary, I live here. 

I am not sure where I am going with all this, except to say that I’m feeling quite contemplative today as I realize my 1 year anniversary is in 6 short weeks.  I decided, on my way home from work, that I need to soak it all in and really appreciate where I am because it will be over before I know it and the next change will come.  I've realized that I haven’t taken nearly as many pictures this year as I did during my year in Spain (which is ironic because I had one film SLR camera then, and now I have 3 digital devices), but this year has felt different.  In college, I knew it was only a year- long adventure with some studying sprinkled in (still not sure how I pulled that off), but this adventure is just as much about my professional development as it is personal growth with no particular plan once the year-contract is complete. I think I always knew at some point in my life I HAD to live in South America, and I wanted to feel like I live here, not just passing through. (Mom and Dad, it’s still your fault, ya know- had it not been for Olinder and my bilingual education, I probably wouldn't be here). 

So in my effort to “soak it in”, today I took the back streets home. One block up from the main street that’s paved with sidewalks and buses and taxis zipping up and down, I walked the gravel, uneven roads filled with chickens and potholes, unattended kids playing in the streets (which would never fly in the states), abandoned cars, wood shack homes, the central market teeming with life. I walked behind the bus terminal where diesel-spewing seemingly nearly broken-down buses come zipping around the corner. I walked along the river where corrugated metal roofed homes line the bank, asking to be swept away in the next rainstorm.  I took some pictures, but I mostly just held the camera in my pocket and did my best to instill it all in my memory bank.  

After a year here, things feel normal. But stepping outside of my usual routine for a moment and really taking a good look around me, and comparing it to the week spent home, nothing is normal. And that’s what makes it all meaningful. Not to be confused with easy, but definitely exciting, interesting, and worth the journey.   

Now, I’m sure your next question is going to be “so, what’s next?”  And for those of you who I haven’t seen or talked to recently… I don’t know! And that’s the beauty of it all.  Here I am, back where I was a year ago, not sure what exactly was ahead of me, and look where I ended up. Not bad at all.  So here’s hoping the next adventure is as good as this one has been.  

Click HERE for some pictures of life around Tena. 

Doctorita Emily, orthopedic surgeon.

Hello again dear friends! This time I am writing to tell you I have decided on a career change.  I recently participated in yet another medical brigade, and had the rare experience to assist some surgeries, and based on my performance, I will now be doing surgeries in the jungle of Ecuador.  Ok, so not quite. Not at all actually, but wouldn’t that be amazing!? J Okay, so here’s what really happened…

In July, my birthday weekend, to be exact, a group of doctors/surgeons/techs/dentists/everything came from the big private hospital in Quito to do a philanthropic trip to the jungle for 2 days at the local Catholic hospital in Archidona, the next town over from Tena.  This hospital is where Nicole made her start here in Ecuador, so she is in with all the docs there, and arranged to have some of our kiddos checked out by the pediatric orthopedic surgeon.   Here is a perfect example of when you are probably assuming that it was a smooth, uneventful process to have our kids seen by the docs… and yet again, you’d be wrong. Besides, that doesn’t make for a very interesting story, does it?  See, since the last time we talked, our clinic in Tena was moved to a new location (I’ll explain that later), which means some of our kids haven’t been coming to therapy- Some of whom we had hoped to get hooked up with this brigade.  But since Tena is a fairly small town, and Nicole has been closely involved in these kid’s lives for the past 7 years, we spent a couple days driving around town, trying to track down some of the kids to give their parents the information on where and when to show up.  Again, it would have been a lot easier if everyone had cell phones, to which they provided us the number, but AGAIN, wishful thinking.   One of the kiddos was the little sister of Marlon (remember the tear-jerker entry about the kid and the wheelchair?), whose name is Maite and she has club feet so she isn’t able to walk.  Thankfully for that amazing experience with Marlon, I knew where they lived, so one day, Nicole and I jump in her car and head off for an adventure. J As we were getting closer, I was starting to doubt that my memory was going to serve correctly. What I remembered was that it was the first road after passing Archidona, then follow the road passed the soccer field after it curves left.  I know what you’re thinking. “Yea right, you’re never gonna find it”.  But as I have always been pretty good with directions and visual memory, I did in fact lead us the right way. And seriously, folks, that’s as good as directions get around here. No one knows street names, and why should you when they are rarely posted anyways.  All directions are given by landmarks and geographical references.  Just another example of how I am more and more “Ecuadorean” as the days go by. ;)

Okay, back to the story. The good news is that we arrived and Marlon’s parents were both home. We told his mom to hop in the car with Maite since we could take them down to the hospital now to be seen. The idea would be to have Maite admitted that afternoon so that she would already be there to have surgery first thing in the morning.  Mom was eager and willing, so with Maite in tow, we were back on the road heading back to the hospital. Great, success… for now.  On the way to the hospital Maite’s mom informs us that they have a type of social security insurance and, in order to get the costs of the surgery covered,  we needed to go to their hospital in Tena to get them to “transfer” Maite as a patient to the Archidona hospital. Well, this then lead us on another chase around town to figure out which place was the correct place to get the correct paperwork for all this to happen.  Somehow, still unclear to me, it all got worked out and Maite was ready for surgery the next morning when we arrived at the hospital for the big day.

Okay, so here’s where it got fun! J Since this was not our brigade, one of the questions I had for Nicole before all this was, “what is our role in this brigade, particularly, today?” she just informed me that we got the kids there (about 10 of our kids got checked out, and 4 kids had surgery), and after that we could just hang out and observe the surgeries, if possible.  Great! I’m in! Since I went to a junior college for my prerequisite classes, I never did get to do any cadaver work in my anatomy classes, so I’ll admit, I didn’t know what my physiological response was going to be to seeing someone actively cut open, but my curiosity was far too peaked to skip out on this chance! As usual, we were on Ecuadorean time so by the time our first kiddo was prepped and being put under anesthesia, Nicole had to leave to pick up her daughter, leaving me to stay and watch the surgery.  Let’s be really clear here, my understanding was that I would just watch, but I didn’t know what any of the procedures or protocols are for this kind of thing. My closest relatable experience would be watching Grey’s Anatomy on tv…. And in that OR, everyone scrubs in.  So here’s how it goes: we’re all standing around chatting, and then the surgeon says “ok, let’s scrub in”. Well, I didn’t want to be the ass who didn’t know what to do, so I just followed everyone over to the sink, imitated their techniques the best I could and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed.  Walked back into the OR and was dressed and gloved by the surgical tech. Man, this is cool. It’s just like on TV, I’m official! Now what?! Well, once I was all gowned up, I just stood where I thought I would be able to see but also stay out of the way. At this point I realize that there are still people coming in and out of the room, standing around, there to observe… who aren’t scrubbed in. Uh oh.  Then I realize they are a gown-set short. Double uh oh.  Well, it’s too late at this point (and the tech sent someone off to get another gown-set), and then the surgeon is asking me “are you going to help?” to which I respond “whatever you would like”.  Triple uh oh.  “Come stand here”, he says, and motions me to his right side between him and his assistant (an actual med student, who actually does know what he’s doing, of course).  Now I’m nervous. My plan to gracefully exit if I start to feel queasy is no longer an option.  The gum I am chewing in hopes that it will supply me with small amounts of sugar to keep me on my feet is starting to lose its flavor.  I just watched one my kiddos be put under anesthesia, flipped over, legs put in tourniquets, body covered in sterile drapes, all with such detachment from the fact that this is one of my little kiddos.   I do my best to look comfortable and confident, and inside I am telling myself, keep breathing, slow and steady, this is a chance of a lifetime, don’t mess this up!   Ok, everyone’s ready and it’s go time… I hear the surgeon so that infamous word, “scalpel”. 

It. Was. Amazing.

Here’s where I am going to get a little bit graphic, so the queasy folk may want to skip on down to the next paragraph.  This particular kiddo had clubbed feet, which basically means that the ankle joint is malformed and the muscles and tendons surrounding the joint have adapted accordingly. So my job during his surgery was to hold his feet in whichever position the surgeon needed.  Thanks to the tourniquets, there wasn’t much blood, but I got an up close and personal view as they sliced, cut, clamped, repositioned, screwed and re-sewed nearly all parts of the joint.  3 hours later both feet had big screws sticking out of them to hold them in their new found correct position and the muscles could accommodate. 

And the best part of it all… I didn’t faint!! I didn’t even get queasy. I was far too distracted by how incredibly strong and intricate the human body is, how accurate and precise the surgeons were, how smooth the whole choreography of the surgery was between these 5, now 6 thanks to me inviting myself in, people.  When it was all done, the surgeon turned to me and said “so are you a med student?” To which I responded, “no, I’m just his occupational therapist”, pointing to the kiddo whose feet I had just man-handled with all the strength I had, “and I’m proud of myself that I didn’t pass out”.  “Wait, have you ever been in a surgery?” Gulp.  Turns out the surgeons knew I was a volunteer, and that I worked with Nicole in some capacity, but that was the extent of their knowledge of me.  “Well, you were a natural. You did well” he concluded.  Perhaps it was only flattery, but I’ll take it. Only in Ecuador.