Back in 2009 when I was very new to El Salvador I met a young girl named Nubia, who lived in Comasagua with her mother, brother and sister. The family was very poor, and we began giving them some regular assistance, with the help of my wonderful Comasagua friend, Rosa Aguiar, who turned my dollars into the groceries the family needed.
Years have passed, and tiny Nubia grew up, found a boyfriend, got pregnant, and just had a baby girl at the age of 15. This sounds like a terrible event, babies having babies, but in this case there's more to the story. Nubia's family situation was very difficult, not only because of poverty. She has been accepted joyfully by her novio's family, and has been living with them during her pregnancy. They have a good and stable home and are offering both Nubia and her baby family love and care. They'll also support Nubia returning to school in January.
I got to meet and hold Nubia's new baby girl, whose name seems to be Esmelia (not quite sure I have this right). Nubia was glowing, and full of maternal pride and care.
Yes, she's too young to have a baby, but this is one of those times when, with the help of God, something beautiful - the love of her new family - has transformed this difficult situation into blessing.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Sandra's going to school!
In an earlier post, I talked about the great gift that my friend and our PazSalud volunteer Rosy Melara gave to Sandra, volunteering to teach her basic reading and writing skills. Rosy has been working with Sandra two to three days a week since June, and we all agreed that she's ready to start into a regular classroom, with a bit of support.
Monday Rosy, Sandra, Sandra's grandmother (to the left in the photo) and I met with the Director and first grade classroom teacher at the La Serena school, the public school closest to Sandra's house. Thanks to the kindness of one of our great donors, we will be able to send Sandra to school with a special assistant who can help her adapt tasks and lessons. When we asked the Director if she knew anyone who'd be a good assistant, thinking of a high-school student perhaps, she said she knew three teachers who didn't have jobs currently, and any one of them would be thrilled to take on this half-time position. That's a sad reflection of economic realities in El Salvador, but a good blessing for Sandra. Both the Director and the teacher were happy to welcome Sandra; she will start school along with other new first-graders in January.
My heart is full of gratitude to our kind donor and to Rosy, who has worked so hard and so lovingly to give Sandra a good start.
Friday, September 14, 2012
El Rey de las Burbujas
A couple of days ago I picked up Richard Stanley and his mother, Mari, at their home in San Rafael Cedros and drove them in for Richard's appointment with a pediatric cardiologist in Hospital Bloom. Mari and I were both on edge because the cardiologist had said that Richard might need a pacemaker, and we didn't want this little guy to have surgery again, just a year after he got his new heart valve. Richard, on the other hand, seemed to be having a great time, observing every car, motorcycle, pickup, dumpster, truck with the passionate attention of a four-year-old male.
At the Bloom, Richard had an X-ray and an EKG, and he got a prize for being a prize patient: a little bottle and wand to blow bubbles with. And as only a four-year-old can be, he was completely absorbed by blowing bubbles and trying to catch bubbles and dunking his wand into the bottle for more bubble soap. Somewhere along the way, he forgot to be afraid of me (I think the fact that I can drive a car and drove a car that he rode in did much to make me an acceptable person) and passed me the bubble wand. So we blew bubbles at each other happily for about an hour and a half.
Richard even forgot that he's camera-shy and enjoyed seeing this photo of a bubble that he successfully caught on the wand. Clearly, he's the Rey de las Burbujas, the King of the Bubbles. And, as you can see, he's also Spiderman, El Hombre Araña.
I had to leave before Richard had his time with visiting pediatric cardiologists, but it was a joy to hear later from Mari that the visitors checked all the tests, looked at Richard, and concluded that he doesn't need any interventions, either surgical or medical. I can blow a bubble or two to celebrate that news!
At the Bloom, Richard had an X-ray and an EKG, and he got a prize for being a prize patient: a little bottle and wand to blow bubbles with. And as only a four-year-old can be, he was completely absorbed by blowing bubbles and trying to catch bubbles and dunking his wand into the bottle for more bubble soap. Somewhere along the way, he forgot to be afraid of me (I think the fact that I can drive a car and drove a car that he rode in did much to make me an acceptable person) and passed me the bubble wand. So we blew bubbles at each other happily for about an hour and a half.
Richard even forgot that he's camera-shy and enjoyed seeing this photo of a bubble that he successfully caught on the wand. Clearly, he's the Rey de las Burbujas, the King of the Bubbles. And, as you can see, he's also Spiderman, El Hombre Araña.
I had to leave before Richard had his time with visiting pediatric cardiologists, but it was a joy to hear later from Mari that the visitors checked all the tests, looked at Richard, and concluded that he doesn't need any interventions, either surgical or medical. I can blow a bubble or two to celebrate that news!
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Sandra
Sandra was born with arthrogryposis, a rare congenital disorder characterized, as Wikipedia says, by multiple joint contractures, muscle weakness and fibrosis. She's 11 years old, part of a large and loving family in San José Villanueva, and in spite of the family's poverty, her grandmother has been taking her to FUNTER, an El Salvador rehabilitation foundation, three times a week for physical and occupational therapy. She has a good and lively mind, but hasn't been to school - the family told me that the nearest government school wouldn't take her.
It's one of those God moments: a couple of weeks ago, I told my friend Rosy Melara about Sandra. I know Rosy as a nurse (she has volunteered as a surgery scrub nurse for our eye surgery missions), but in that same conversation, I learned that she also has a degree in Special Education. One thing led rather quickly to another, and Rosy volunteered to teach Sandra the basics of reading and writing - we're hoping that after a year of tutoring she'd be able to enter the parish school in Villanueva. There's a bonus to this: Sandra's grandmother, Ynes, can't read or write, and she would like to learn. So Rosy has two pupils.
Here's a photo from the first class. Sandra's two-hands approach to the pencil was quite effective, probably something she's practiced in occupational therapy - she traced shapes easily and smoothly.
I'm looking forward to seeing what she's learned when I come back from my June-July vacation. Meanwhile, PeaceHealth is providing the bus and taxi fares that will help to make this God moment a reality.
It's one of those God moments: a couple of weeks ago, I told my friend Rosy Melara about Sandra. I know Rosy as a nurse (she has volunteered as a surgery scrub nurse for our eye surgery missions), but in that same conversation, I learned that she also has a degree in Special Education. One thing led rather quickly to another, and Rosy volunteered to teach Sandra the basics of reading and writing - we're hoping that after a year of tutoring she'd be able to enter the parish school in Villanueva. There's a bonus to this: Sandra's grandmother, Ynes, can't read or write, and she would like to learn. So Rosy has two pupils.
Here's a photo from the first class. Sandra's two-hands approach to the pencil was quite effective, probably something she's practiced in occupational therapy - she traced shapes easily and smoothly.
I'm looking forward to seeing what she's learned when I come back from my June-July vacation. Meanwhile, PeaceHealth is providing the bus and taxi fares that will help to make this God moment a reality.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Feliz Dia de Amistad
Feliz Dia de Amistad, or Happy Valentine's Day... I'm more than happy as I look back on our week in San José Villanueva and on the good work of our team. We saw 1650 patients, most for two or three consults, gave out vitamins and toothbrushes to all, and gave medications and glasses to those who needed them. We helped five patients in serious conditions, including one pregnant woman in the 9th month who hadn't received any prenatal care, to get to the hospital, and we must have given references for specialized care or further testing to at least 100 others.
We had a wonderful time together, too - it's amazing that each time our group becomes a living team in about a day, and works together in complete harmony throughout the week. Of course, as Kathy and I say, it's only the best people who choose to give up a week of their time to work with strangers in a hot and unfamiliar country. Those strangers - well, long before the end of the week, they felt like friends and family.
Here are two photos that tell the story of what this week was all about: above a little boy happily wraps himself around a big box of nutritional supplement. Knowing that malnutrition among children was a major problem in Villanueva, we brought lots and lots of infant formula and supplements. Below, our volunteer Leann makes friends with a Villanueva family.
Those are great moments to remember on this day celebrating love and friendship.
We had a wonderful time together, too - it's amazing that each time our group becomes a living team in about a day, and works together in complete harmony throughout the week. Of course, as Kathy and I say, it's only the best people who choose to give up a week of their time to work with strangers in a hot and unfamiliar country. Those strangers - well, long before the end of the week, they felt like friends and family.
Here are two photos that tell the story of what this week was all about: above a little boy happily wraps himself around a big box of nutritional supplement. Knowing that malnutrition among children was a major problem in Villanueva, we brought lots and lots of infant formula and supplements. Below, our volunteer Leann makes friends with a Villanueva family.
Those are great moments to remember on this day celebrating love and friendship.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Alejandrito at 2
My godson Alejandro Emanuel Alvarenga - aka Alejandrito or Junior - turned two last week, and like two-year-olds the world over he has joyfully discovered the word NO, and when Alex, Ani, Alejandrito and I went for a walk he was very determined to walk ahead of us, on his own if you please, until we got close to the busy streets and the parents took over.
Other than issuing the necessary NO from time to time, he seems to be an entirely happy boy. Here he is with his birthday truck, which makes lots of noises - quite satisfactory. What fun to watch this little guy grow up.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Dia de Independencia

September 15, last Thursday, Suchitoto and towns all over Central America celebrated the Dia de la Independencia - Independence Day, celebrating the day in 1821 when Central America declared its freedom from Spain. It was, of course, cause for a good fiesta! The party began Wednesday evening with the traditional procession of the students at InSu, the Instituto de Suchitoto, equivalent to high school, complete with floats and wild costumes. My favorite float, created at the Centro Arte para la Paz, was a version of the famous San Salvador statue of Jesus standing atop the globe, and it had to progress very slowly and carefully so that the wires could be lifted with a long pronged stick as it passed every house. There was an angel (photo above) followed by a corps of dancing angels, a 19th century cart and horse, followed by students in Victorian dress, and the Carreta de la Chillona - Martha tells me that a kind of rattle lets you know when la Chillona is hunting down the living, and her carreta was appropriately decorated with skulls.
The next morning all the school kids in town and many from the colonias marched through the town. We hung out the door and a window as they passed, almost every school with some students in costumes and a marching band. And then there was La Ciguanaba, the old witch who dangles her sausage breasts in vain attempts to catch a lover. And there were these little girls dancing up the street.
I've lived in cities most of my life where parades are very organized rituals with professional floats, and I can't tell you how much fun it is to be part of the crowd hanging out on the edges of these two happy parades. ¡Viva la Independencia!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Gloribel hits the books
Last week I had a great visit with Gloribel and her mother. Gloribel and her mother Hortensia have been going to a school for deaf children in Santa Ana since March, and they were delighted to show off Gloribel's learning in a heap of carefully written and beautifully illustrated notebooks - one can be seen in this photo. She's been learning a lot of Salvadoran Sign Language as well, and it was great to watch her signing with her mother and sister (and she taught me a few signs, too). Gloribel's intelligence and ability were so clear, even before she got the opportunity to go to school, that it's no surprise that she's blossoming now.
The trip to school, four days a week, demands a lot from both Gloribel and Hortensia - they have to take three different buses to get there, and it takes about 2 hours each way. But Hortensia is glad to give this time, because she is so eager for her daughter to have the learning and skills she'll need to survive as a deaf woman in El Salvador. And Gloribel: she's just glad to be learning, to be communicating, to be in touch with the world.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Buying pins
Last week José knocked on my door and introduced himself. He's a farmer in one of the small communities that are part of the Suchitoto municipality, a former guerrillero and a man with eight children. One of those children, his son Geovany, had been hit by a car in June, and was in Zacamil hospital in San Salvador after being concussed and breaking both legs and an arm. José came to see me, on Sister Peggy's suggestion, because his son's legs needed to be pinned surgically and that could only happen if the family came up with $800 for the pins and rods.
This is a story I've become all too familiar with here: good hospital care and surgery is available without cost, but if healing requires any kind of medical equipment - a heart valve, interocular lenses, surgical pins, special tests, medication the hospital doesn't stock - the family will have to try to find the resources to buy what's needed. For poor families in El Salvador, like José's family, that's often completely impossible.
We were able to help José and Geovany, thanks to some generous donors, so yesterday José and I drove into the capital to make the purchase from Sistemas Biomedicas. We found the address without too much difficulty, but no one answered the doorbell in an office building that was far from the city center. Finally a man came along and explained that the company had moved down into the San Salvador medical center. He called for the address and gave us excellent and clear directions to 124 Boulevard Dr. Hector Silva. Following his directions, we found a likely street, but the street proclaimed that its name was Avenida Maria Elena. And we didn't see #124 anywhere. I drove to the Archdiocese of San Salvador office, not far away, to ask my friends there for some help. They looked up the street on the internet and gave me directions to, yes, the street apparently named Avenida Maria Elena. So we tried again, and this time we rang the bell at the building that seemed most likely to be #124, though it lacked a number, and yes, it was the new home of Sistemas Biomedicas, and yes, they could sell us the rods and pins.
Then we went to visit Geovany in the hospital, and I hoped to take a photo, but that turned out to be against hospital rules. I'll hope to include his photo when he's out of the hospital, working through his physical therapy to get back on his feet. Meanwhile, I'm glad we can help make his recovery possible, and I'm glad to know that Avenida Maria Elena really is Boulevard Dr. Hector Silva.
This is a story I've become all too familiar with here: good hospital care and surgery is available without cost, but if healing requires any kind of medical equipment - a heart valve, interocular lenses, surgical pins, special tests, medication the hospital doesn't stock - the family will have to try to find the resources to buy what's needed. For poor families in El Salvador, like José's family, that's often completely impossible.
We were able to help José and Geovany, thanks to some generous donors, so yesterday José and I drove into the capital to make the purchase from Sistemas Biomedicas. We found the address without too much difficulty, but no one answered the doorbell in an office building that was far from the city center. Finally a man came along and explained that the company had moved down into the San Salvador medical center. He called for the address and gave us excellent and clear directions to 124 Boulevard Dr. Hector Silva. Following his directions, we found a likely street, but the street proclaimed that its name was Avenida Maria Elena. And we didn't see #124 anywhere. I drove to the Archdiocese of San Salvador office, not far away, to ask my friends there for some help. They looked up the street on the internet and gave me directions to, yes, the street apparently named Avenida Maria Elena. So we tried again, and this time we rang the bell at the building that seemed most likely to be #124, though it lacked a number, and yes, it was the new home of Sistemas Biomedicas, and yes, they could sell us the rods and pins.
Then we went to visit Geovany in the hospital, and I hoped to take a photo, but that turned out to be against hospital rules. I'll hope to include his photo when he's out of the hospital, working through his physical therapy to get back on his feet. Meanwhile, I'm glad we can help make his recovery possible, and I'm glad to know that Avenida Maria Elena really is Boulevard Dr. Hector Silva.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Families
Getting back into connection here in El Salvador, I made a bunch of visits yesterday. I went to Soyapango to see my almost-two-year-old Godson, Alejandro, who has definitely made the move from baby to boy. He's also gotten less shy in the two months I've been away, so I got plenty of smiles, one of them captured here. In the capital I visited with Armando, our Bajo Lempa friend with the fruit orchard and pig farm (he's now added chickens to his mix).
Then I drove to San Juan Opico to visit Sonia and her children. I translated, as best I could, a letter from Dr. Dale Heisinger expressing his sorrow at the death of her daughter Gema, and she gave me a letter she had written for Dr. Dale. You can feel the loss and sadness in the family, especially in Sonia and Julia, now the oldest child, but they've also moved back into the daily rhythms of work and play. Sonia and Julia were working together on making jewelry when I came in; Jarrison was playing in a doctor outfit that Sonia had found in a 2nd hand store, and Kelly was a tiny charmer, as always. The milpa that surrounds their house is full of high-as-an-elephant's-eye corn, the pila is full of water from the rains, and the fruit trees are bearing. Life ongoing.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The path she chose
Things don't always work out the way you'd planned them, as we all know. On Thursday, I got up at 3 AM and drove to Ciudad Arce to pick up Sandra and her grandmother. Sandra was going to enter Hospital Bloom, the national pediatric hospital, for cataract surgery (she has congenital cataracts). Sandra and la abuela were on time at our meeting place, smiling happily at me. We got into San Salvador in time to be among the first entering Bloom, and after waiting an hour and a half for the doctors to arrive, were among the first in to see Dr. Dominguez, Sandra's surgeon, who said that yes, she would have her surgery the next day.
All seemed to be going well, and we had a little break to get breakfast in one of the busy comedors across from el Bloom. We came back in and waited for four hours for a pediatrician who would examine Sandra and other children waiting for admission. Then a nurse showed up with a hospital identification bracelet for Sandra, and we were suddenly in a very difficult situation. She refused the bracelet, ran to the hospital entrance and collapsed into a chair, very distressed. Two understanding nurses talked to her, and so did grandma and I, but she couldn't respond in words until finally she was able to say NO to the surgery. And, we all agreed, at 14 she had the right to say no.
And so I bought us some lunch and then took Sandra and grandma home. Sandra recovered on the way back and was chatting comfortably with her grandmother by the time we reached Ciudad Arce.
For me and for the donors who had generously purchased the interocular lens for her surgery (we'll ask Dr. Dominguez to find another child who needs it) it was a disappointment. But, as so often happens, someone had sent me the right thoughts for dealing with this situation. The someone is Cheryl Sesnon, the new Executive Director of Jubilee Women's Center in Seattle, where I once worked and once served on the Board of this great housing program for homeless women. I'd stopped by to get to know her while I was back in the States, and we'd talked a bit about our times of discouragement as well as our joy in the work. She recently e-mailed me, "Each time I feel despair I just have to remember that I am not in control of others. They each have their own path to follow. and I have my own path, as well."
So as I drove back to Suchitoto, more than 12 hours after leaving, I blessed Sandra on her path, and gave thanks that she was able to express her will so unmistakably. I don't know if I can say this clearly, but it's good for me, a gringa with access to much that's unavailable to most Salvadorans, to be reminded that the path I and my fellow norteamericanos might want to help someone choose isn't always their path.
All seemed to be going well, and we had a little break to get breakfast in one of the busy comedors across from el Bloom. We came back in and waited for four hours for a pediatrician who would examine Sandra and other children waiting for admission. Then a nurse showed up with a hospital identification bracelet for Sandra, and we were suddenly in a very difficult situation. She refused the bracelet, ran to the hospital entrance and collapsed into a chair, very distressed. Two understanding nurses talked to her, and so did grandma and I, but she couldn't respond in words until finally she was able to say NO to the surgery. And, we all agreed, at 14 she had the right to say no.
And so I bought us some lunch and then took Sandra and grandma home. Sandra recovered on the way back and was chatting comfortably with her grandmother by the time we reached Ciudad Arce.
For me and for the donors who had generously purchased the interocular lens for her surgery (we'll ask Dr. Dominguez to find another child who needs it) it was a disappointment. But, as so often happens, someone had sent me the right thoughts for dealing with this situation. The someone is Cheryl Sesnon, the new Executive Director of Jubilee Women's Center in Seattle, where I once worked and once served on the Board of this great housing program for homeless women. I'd stopped by to get to know her while I was back in the States, and we'd talked a bit about our times of discouragement as well as our joy in the work. She recently e-mailed me, "Each time I feel despair I just have to remember that I am not in control of others. They each have their own path to follow. and I have my own path, as well."
So as I drove back to Suchitoto, more than 12 hours after leaving, I blessed Sandra on her path, and gave thanks that she was able to express her will so unmistakably. I don't know if I can say this clearly, but it's good for me, a gringa with access to much that's unavailable to most Salvadorans, to be reminded that the path I and my fellow norteamericanos might want to help someone choose isn't always their path.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Little Richard
Little Richard Martinez came through a six-hour heart surgery very well yesterday at Hospital Bloom, San Salvador. I talked to Maria, his mother, yesterday; she said that the surgeon was pleased with how things had gone. This next 24-hour period is very crucial, so please continue to keep Richard in your prayers.
Maria was very relieved, and sent thanks to all who fulfilled her dream by making this surgery possible.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Patience
I haven't posted to this blog for a couple of weeks, mostly because I am in medical never-never land, waiting for a diagnosis of the inflammation in my bronchi. I long to get to the treatment phase, but, of course, only with the right diagnosis - so I'm practicing patience, which has been a major learning from my time in El Salvador. God making use, as usual, of everything in a life.
Meanwhile, I called El Salvador this morning to learn how little Richard Stanley was doing after his heart valve replacement surgery, only to learn that the surgery was postponed because they didn't have a bed available for him in Intensive Care. He is now rescheduled for next Monday, and I'm praying that all will be well then. Maria, Richard's mother, was nearly frantic with worry, as you can imagine. Please pray for them both. Here's a photo of this very loving mother and son.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
It's been a long blog silence, for a couple of reasons. I've been really, really busy this past week, getting ready (I hope) for our cataract surgery brigade, and that process has been more complicated than usual. But the real reason is that I've been shocked and deeply saddened by Gema Rodriguez' death. My usual reaction in such times is to go inside - which may be helpful to me, but doesn't do much for anyone else.
So I'm breaking silence to tell you a little bit about how Gema was lovingly waked and buried. It's hugely different from death in the U.S. where an undertaker shows up in a black suit and whisks the body away. Here the undertaker - not sure if there's a comparable term in español - showed up at Hospital Bloom in a pickup truck, wearing jeans and a tight shirt. She and the pickup and Sonia, Gema's mother, went in together to reclaim the body and put it in the coffin - which must have been, like everything that day, a nightmare for Sonia.
Meanwhile, other family members had come to Bloom to be with Sonia. They and the pretty white coffin rode together in the back of the pickup, while I drove Sonia and a couple more folk back toward San Juan Opico. Thanks to the great generosity of one of the donors who has been helping Gema and the family, we were able to pay for the funeral and burial expenses. It's not much from a U.S. standpoint, but it would have been a crushing and impossible burden for this poor family.
Gema was waked together with an aunt of Sonia's who had died on the same day in Hospital Rosales, the San Salvador national hospital. The two coffins sat in state for a day and two nights in a room in the community where most of Sonia's family lives, and people came to pray and visit and drink coffee and sit in the plastic chairs supplied by the funeral home, while the turkeys and geese and ducks wandered around outside. The larger family, like many here, is a mixture of Catholic and Evangelical, and the prayers and music were various.
When I arrived on Tuesday, the yard and house were packed. All the schoolchildren from Gema's school had come to say goodbye to their friend, all the family and neighbors were there, including Gema's sisters Julia and Kelly and her brother Jarrison. Two pickup trucks had been transformed into hearses by the addition of glass-sided catafalques and holders for flowers. Family members carried out the two coffins, and we processed slowly to the graveyard. Normally, it's a true procession, with the mourners walking behind the coffin, but the distance was a little too great for that, so we - the two pickup hearses, a large number of pickups and trucks full of people, and a couple of cars, including mine - drove, but at a funereal walking pace of about 2 miles an hour.
At the graveyard the coffins were arranged for a final viewing, prayers (Evangelical) were said, the coffins were lowered, and young men took on the work of shoveling as we all stood in silence.
This week Sonia's mother, who represents the Catholic side of the family, has been holding the nightly rosary that will culminate in the ultimado, a night of mourning and celebration, on the 8th day.
These final rites are very direct, very beautiful, and very matter-of-fact in El Salvador, where death is so much more frequently a part of a family's life. The richer folk in this country may be buried in one of the grand new cemetaries with astroturf carpets available to hide the earthiness of the grave, but most Salvadorans will come to country graveyards followed by a procession of those who loved them. To my eyes, these ceremonies are fitting and loving, but nothing takes away the sorrow left by the death of a beloved child.
Monday, May 2, 2011
A sad goodbye to Gema
Gema Rodriguez, a lovely, bright eleven-year-old girl, died on Sunday from toxic shock syndrome that was most probably a complication of lupus.
Dr. Dale Heisinger met Gema during our 2010 general medical mission in San Juan Opico and loved her bravery under great physical pain, her flashing smile, and her sweet nature. Dale sent Gema some school supplies, which she treasured, and, through Dale, I connected with Gema and her family - her mother, Sonia, sisters Julia and Kelly, and brother Jarrison.
Dale became Gema's honorary godfather, and he, his wife Jane, and Kris Keough Forte joined forces to assist single-mother Sonia and the family with much needed living resources. The friendship with Dr. Dale and Jane and with Sister Kris was a great joy to Gema during a time when she confronted health crisis after health crisis.
In the last two weeks of her life, Gema faced two crises of vomiting and diarrhea; she was treated for the first at Hospital Benjamin Bloom, the children's hospital in San Salvador, and released feeling pretty good. She went back home, took her exams for entry to the 6th grade, and had received grades of 8 (a very good grade here) on the ones she'd done so far. She fell ill again after taking her last exam, and Sonia again took her to Hospital Bloom, but the doctors were unable to stabilize her. In her last hours, she told her mother "ya me voy," - I'm leaving - and told her not to cry.
But we are crying, all of us who knew and loved this beautiful girl. She is free from pain now, she lives with God now - but she's no longer with us, and so we cry.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Two days at Bloom
Hospital Benjamin Bloom is the national pediatric hospital of El Salvador, and I've spent a lot of time there over the last two days. Yesterday I brought Sandra and her grandma in, all of us expecting that she would have surgery for one of her congenital cataracts - but, as it turned out, she has an eye infection, and the surgery was rescheduled for two weeks while she uses antibiotic drops.
Today I gave Richard and his mother Maria a ride to their appointment with the Bloom cardiologist who will perform his valve replacement surgery (that's Maria and Richard in the photo). We met Richard during our General Medical Mission in San Rafael Cedros, and people from our mission team are contributing to a fund to purchase his heart valve. We are what Richard's loving mother has been praying and hoping for: a way for her 3 year old son to be able to run and play and have a normal life.
While I was sitting with Richard and Maria, I got a call from Sonia telling me that she was at the Bloom with her daughter Gema, who was going through a lupus crisis. We connected in the emergency room and spent some time together. And I decided that I would have a hard time working in a pediatric hospital - it's hard to see children in pain, children curled up with no energy, children looking old and worn.
Bloom is an amazing hospital - they do a lot of great work with little money, and the care for kids is visible everywhere. Still, it's hard for someone from the U.S.A. to understand that Richard and Sandra will get their surgeries only because we are able to provide the heart valve and the interocular lens. I thought today about all the children, probably some of them in front of me, who didn't have that kind of help.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Hospital Bloom
Last week I drove Sandra, her grandmother and her uncle to a 6 AM appointment at Hospital Bloom, El Salvador's public pediatric hospital. In order to do that, I had to get up at 3:30 AM, meet Sandra and family at 5:00 in Ciudad Arce (they live in the municipality of San Juan Opico, but Ciudad Arce is closer to their very remote home in the hills). They were probably up even earlier to walk down long rough roads in the dark, but they were there on time, and we set off for the capital.
I'd already discovered that invariably appointments at Bloom are set for 6 AM, but I couldn't figure it out - surely the doctors didn't start their clinics that early? By 6 AM I'd found a parking place and we lined up outside the hospital, a commanding multi-story building, with a lot of other parents and children, a woman selling atole (a hot corn drink) and a clown selling balloons. The guard checked Sandra's appointment and let us in. We went down the hall, found the ophthalmology clinic, and sat down. And after quite a while we noticed that a long line was forming in front of the desk outside the clinic - ah yes, no one told us about that part of the ritual. I have to confess that we jumped the line - we really had been among the very first to enter the hospital, and it didn't seem fair to have to go to the very end. It may have helped that I was a gringa, because the secretary let us turn over Sandra's hospital card and appointment. And then we waited some more and after another time that seemed longer than it really was, the clinic secretary got us all lined up in chairs according to arrival time. An orderly procession had been created. This not-very-good photo gives some sense of the feeling of the corridor, full of mothers and some fathers, each tenderly carrying or watching over their child.
It was about 7:30 when we finally got in to see Dr. Dominguez, who checked Sandra's eyes (she has congenital cataracts), scheduled her for pre-tests and surgery, and told me the size of the interocular lens she will need. But those lenses won't be provided by Hospital Bloom, nor will the heart valve needed by Richard, a little boy we met in San Rafael Cedros. Unless the families can raise the money to buy the lenses, or heart valves, or tests that the hospital doesn't perform, or medications that the hospital pharmacy doesn't have in stock, health care gets stopped in its tracks.
This isn't the fault of the staff at Hospital Bloom or at any of the other hospitals. It happens because El Salvador is a poor country and in a poor country's health care system the extras - interocular lenses, heart valve replacements, expensive medications - just don't happen unless someone steps in to help. The children who can profit from ordinary care do well in this system - El Salvador has a good record of pre-natal care, vaccinations, and treatment of normal childhood diseases. And if the lenses or heart valves or medications can be purchased, all the surgery and hospital care and follow-up appointments are completely free. In El Salvador, the cost of health care is relatively inexpensive - doctors and nurses are not paid much at all by U.S. standards - but the cost of 1st world technology is prohibitive.
Children with costly or complicated illnesses are often, in effect, triaged out. Sandra and Richard who needs a heart valve replacement and Gema who needs medication Bloom doesn't carry are lucky to have encountered one of our PeaceHealth mission teams and found sponsors. But for too many children here and in every poor country in the world, the miracles of health care that we take for granted and see as any child's right in the United States are simply too costly and not available.
Labels:
children,
health care,
PazSalud,
PeaceHealth,
technology
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Gloribel
Today I visited a girl who just might be the cutest 9-year-old on the planet (I know, I know, there are many contestants!). Her name is Gloribel, and our November mission team met her during our eye clinic in San Juan Opico. She is deaf - though apparently she has some level of hearing as I'm told fireworks startle her - and our November team wanted to see how we can help her. We will soon be making an appointment to bring her to San Salvador for hearing tests and fitting with a hearing aid, if that will be helpful. I had missed meeting her in November, so invited myself to a visit today, with help from her neighbor, Carmen Aviles de Mariona who had been one of our grand San Juan Opico volunteers.
On the way to Carmen's I got lost (of course), and with help from local folk, who all know the Marionas, got more or less on the right track again. Stopped to ask for more help, and who was there but Toño, who'd driven all our San Juan Opico surgery patients to Hospital San Rafael - an old friend and neighbor of Carmen's. He hopped in the car and showed me just where to go, and soon I was chatting with Carmen and Chita - they are, by the way, an incredible singing duo, as our March and November, 2010 mission groups can testify. They took me to meet Gloribel, who's a neighbor, and we had a fine time. She's a very bright girl who communicates very well non-verbally - she'll take to sign language like a pro if she gets the opportunity.
Gloribel's mother told me that she had taken Gloribel to FUNTER, a Salvadoran non-profit, for hearing tests and a possible hearing aid. They would have provided a hearing aid, but asked for a payment of $40, which was too much for the very limited resources of this family. I am trusting that we will be able to help Gloribel have a better outcome this time.
I traveled home with Carmen's gift, a sack of beautiful red beans, waved at Toño along the way, and promised to come back soon to visit my new and old Opico friends.
Labels:
children,
El Salvador people,
health care,
poverty
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Satisfactions

Today was full of satisfactions. First thing in the morning, last thing in the afternoon, I helped some of my favorite scholars get ready: Walther needed some extra cash for lab and materials fees, as he continues his 5-year program toward an engineering degree. Then, in the afternoon, I helped Rosita and her girls, Lupita and Edith, get backpacks and notebooks and colored pencils - they're in 4th and 5th grade.
In between those happy moments, I had the satisfaction of completely understanding a couple of relatively complicated phone calls from strangers - I must really be picking up my level of Spanish, though sometimes it seems as if I'll never master it - finding two challenging locations in the city, and picking up medications and eyeglasses for our clinics. Then I came home and made a stir-fry with roasted red pepper sauce, cooking to my pleasure without a recipe - and it turned out well.
None of this solves the deeper problems of the world or the terrible crises of El Salvador, crises of poverty and crime that I wrote about earlier this week. But it's good to have a day of minor satisfactions. Those, too, are real.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
First day of school
Tomorrow is the first day of school for kids in El Salvador. They're at the end of the their summer vacations, which stretch from mid-November to mid-January; school packets are being handed out to parents for the second year, with uniforms, shoes and notebooks. Today after church we ran into a single mother who Margaret Jane has been helping. Her 12 and 15 year old daughters are entering 2nd grade - because, I imagine, last year was the first time she was able to send them to school properly clothed and with notebooks. This is one government program that's worth more than every penny.
Here's one more student on his way - Moises, a young man who our doctors helped to get successful surgery about 8 years ago is now ready to start university. He's going to be studying computer technology for a couple of years, on his way, we hope, to a good career and a happy life, with the aid of a scholarship from some of his friends in PeaceHealth.
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