My thoughts today

It's official! All my extension paperwork has been turned in. Unless I randomly develop an incurable condition between now and Easter, everything should be approved. I've put off the last step of getting approved as long as I can because it means I have to go to the dentist. I HATE THE DENTIST!! All the other types of checks don't really bother me although I've started to get a little nervous about the eye exam. I can't remember the last time I had an eye exam but I'm pretty sure it was in the sixth grade. Three of my friends who are getting ready to finish their service just had the eye exam and all three needed glasses. What worries me is that not one of the three realized that they couldn't see well.


Changing topics entirely...
One of the most special parts of Peace Corps is being aware that every moment you're living is a gift. I can't speak for everybody, but I know that while I lived in the States, I spent a lot of time waiting for something to happen. Always looking forward to the next big change or event... not really enjoying each day as it came. When I return to the States I'm going make every effort to change that about myself, continue to live in the moment there as I have here.

Nicaraguan's have a saying: “There is more time than life.” The lesson to be learned is that instead of trying to make the most of our time, we should make the most of our lives because our lives will run out before time does. I've mostly learned to appreciate this saying but sometimes it frustrates me. I cannot rid myself of the need to be as productive as possible everyday. For this reason, I still show up on-time to meetings, knowing that I will be the first to arrive as Nicaraguan custom dictates meetings start an hour after the time agreed upon.

When I have been able to practice and accept the saying, the outcome has always been positive. Recently, the daughter of a friend of mine became very sick and was hospitalized. The hospitals in the rural areas of Nicaragua do not resemble hospitals in the states in any way. There is no ACwhich means the windows remain open and allow entrance to flies and mosquitoes. There are not sheets on the cots that closely resemble chiropractor tables. There is no cafeteria. The family and friends of patients are the ones who supply food, water, sheets, pillows and fans. What I miss most about US hospitals is what I used to hate most about them, the smell. Hospitals here do not have the medicinal, sterile smell. I never realized before how comforting that smell could be.


My friend Karen's husband travels for work and couldn't be with her and their baby in the hospital. Another friend and I went to keep her company but since that friend is also a mother, she had to go home to take care of her own son. I spent the whole night awake in the hospital. There aren't cribs for the babies so someone must remain standing next to the cot to ensure they don't fall off. The antibiotics didn't seem to be working as the diarrhea hadn't stopped. Watching my friend hold her baby as she gently rocked her to sleep I have never felt more inept. I watched my friend as she tirelessly studied the part in her daughters hair and the edges of her fingernails all the while praying, that she wouldn't lose her to dehydration like so many other mothers in developing countries.


Just about the time baby Gioconda fell asleep, we heard moans coming from down the hall. Earlier in the night, a young mother had come in to the hospital in the early stages of labor. By this time, it was 2am.

The hospital in Somotillo is small, any given night there are two nurses, two doctors, an ambulance driver and one security guard on duty. On this particular night, ALL of these people who were supposedly working were asleep in the ambulance bay. My friend and I went to check on the young woman. Her mother was very worried and tried to wake the doctors. Without examining the woman, the doctors told her mother that it was definitely not time for her to begin pushing. About half an hour later, one of the doctors got up to use the bathroom. The mother of the young woman in labor was finally so desperate that she grabbed the doctor by the hand and pulled her into the room. When the girl opened her legs, the top of the baby's head was already visible. The doctor closed the door. I was waiting in our room with baby Gioconda two doors down from where the girl was in labor. In the time it took for my friend to reach our room and tell me what she had seen, we could already hear the newborn crying.


This is the type of health care available to most Nicaraguans. Peace Corps volunteers have their own doctors and access to the best private hospital in the country but the people in my community don't. It feels wrong.