In Peru, medical school starts after high school and lasts seven years. You have to take an exam and pass with a certain percentage to get in, but there's no such thing as undergraduate education before medical school. With this in mind, I've been introducing myself as an American medical student, in my third of eight years. I also give the disclaimer that I'm in the "general sciences" part of my education, and I haven't started the practical part yet, so no one thinks I'm capable of actually taking care of patients on my own.
The doctors, nurses, and technicians at Huarmey Hospital accept me right away. Most of them are very patient and take time to explain interesting cases to me and show me what they're doing. They also invite me to do exams myself, especially with pregnant women (feeling where the baby is located inside the mother, detecting heartbeats, doing internal exams). Because I can't understand everything, I write down key words and look up the illnesses when I get home. It can be really frustrating to see a sick patient and then not know what's wrong with him or how he's being treated, but I do my best to ask questions and realize that I will not always know how they are being answered.
Besides the language difference, the hardest part about being in the hospital is that it moves very slowly. I work in the emergency/obstetrics/long term care wing, which means that we occasionally get lots of excitement when a car accident victim or a woman in labor comes in, but often there are few patients to observe. For example, yesterday I spent seven hours with one woman in labor and helped with the delivery, which was exciting and traumatic and fascinating (this experience deserves its own blog post). Today, Sunday, there were two patients in five hours. I'm finding that just about every patient that is admitted has something to teach me. I only wish there were more sick people in this city.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Language
Today marks the first full week that I've been in Huarmey by myself. The volunteer group is all safely back in the States, despite a transportation strike on the day they needed to take a public bus back to Lima for their flight.
I'm living with a wealthy family who have often worked with Professor Duffy. They have high speed internet, toilets with seats, and a washing machine. They even have a fridge, which is odd in a country where most people buy food fresh every day (preservatives don't exist here). I took a peek in the fridge and it's basically only beer and condiments. Reminds me of college.
The first thing that hit me once the Americans left was the immediate construction of the language barrier. I've never been in a position before where I am literally at a loss for words, all of the time. I took Spanish in high school but stopped after Junior year, so it's been 3.5 years since I've had any formal training. It's both intimidating and stressful to try to communicate with people. Especially in the first few days, everything I said had to be dredged up from some dusty corner of my brain, and everything that was said to me had to be repeated at least twice.
It's extraordinarily difficult to live entirely in Spanish. My head throbs at the end of each day from all the concentrating, and I think I sometimes freak people out when I stare at them intently, trying to figure out what they're saying. (I know enough to be able to answer direct questions and obtain basic necessities, like food and directions and clean clothes, but rapid conversations between Peruvians go straight over my head.) I try not to get too frustrated when I'm unable to understand someone, but this is sometimes impossible. However, even after one week by myself I notice some improvement. And each understood sentence is all the more exciting because of previous difficulties. It's definitely a painful way to learn a language, but poco a poco, I think I will get there.
I'm living with a wealthy family who have often worked with Professor Duffy. They have high speed internet, toilets with seats, and a washing machine. They even have a fridge, which is odd in a country where most people buy food fresh every day (preservatives don't exist here). I took a peek in the fridge and it's basically only beer and condiments. Reminds me of college.
The first thing that hit me once the Americans left was the immediate construction of the language barrier. I've never been in a position before where I am literally at a loss for words, all of the time. I took Spanish in high school but stopped after Junior year, so it's been 3.5 years since I've had any formal training. It's both intimidating and stressful to try to communicate with people. Especially in the first few days, everything I said had to be dredged up from some dusty corner of my brain, and everything that was said to me had to be repeated at least twice.
It's extraordinarily difficult to live entirely in Spanish. My head throbs at the end of each day from all the concentrating, and I think I sometimes freak people out when I stare at them intently, trying to figure out what they're saying. (I know enough to be able to answer direct questions and obtain basic necessities, like food and directions and clean clothes, but rapid conversations between Peruvians go straight over my head.) I try not to get too frustrated when I'm unable to understand someone, but this is sometimes impossible. However, even after one week by myself I notice some improvement. And each understood sentence is all the more exciting because of previous difficulties. It's definitely a painful way to learn a language, but poco a poco, I think I will get there.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Cloud City
There are many small villages in Peru that still do not have electricity. They are typically small and isolated, accessible only by footpaths and populated by a few families, all interrelated. The Lowell group that I am traveling with does not seek to provide electricity to the entire town, but instead installs solar panels on top of schools or medical postas so that the community as a whole benefits from a small amount of power.
To get to one such town we have to drive for about five hours along a narrow dirt road that winds itself through the mountains. I find myself screwing my eyes shut for most of the ride in order to avoid looking at the steep dropoff just inches away as we ascend to 10,000 feet above sea level. The town at the end of the vehicle-accessible road, Malvas, is built into the side of a mountain. Unlike most buildings in Peru, the houses are all unpainted adobe and are connected by steep staircases that slope downwards.
We spend the night with friends of Professor Duffy who make us a terrific dinner of soup and spaghetti. The senora of the household is an accomplished singer, complete with CD, who puts on a performance along with her son on a harp. I never expected to see a harp in a town that is only accessible by a one-way dirt road, but the music is wonderful and we all start dancing.
The next day we load up the burros (donkeys) and head off to the unelectrified town, Huataspin. We are told that the hike can be made in two hours. Peruvian time tends to work differently than gringo time, but I expect to make it to Huataspin in less than four hours. Six hours later, after scrambling among rocks and getting lost for a while (our guide had not been to this town in ten years), we finally arrive at the school. None of the solar panels have broken and the large 40lb battery has not overturned, preventing its burro from an acid bath. We are all tired but want to get the solar system installed before nightfall.
Huataspin is a city of clouds. They blow through the fields throughout the afternoon, and come into the open door of the classroom. It's impossible to see more than about 40 feet, but somehow there is light to work by. The entire town gathers to watch the installation. Gringos have not ventured this far in 40 years, when some Canadians came through to help out after an earthquake. After the lights go on, it takes some convincing to get the villagers to let us go to sleep on the classroom floor, and we hike out early the next day. By that evening, we are back in Huarmey (the main city), and it seems strange to all of a sudden be transported back into the "real world" of telephones, internet, and street signs.
To get to one such town we have to drive for about five hours along a narrow dirt road that winds itself through the mountains. I find myself screwing my eyes shut for most of the ride in order to avoid looking at the steep dropoff just inches away as we ascend to 10,000 feet above sea level. The town at the end of the vehicle-accessible road, Malvas, is built into the side of a mountain. Unlike most buildings in Peru, the houses are all unpainted adobe and are connected by steep staircases that slope downwards.
We spend the night with friends of Professor Duffy who make us a terrific dinner of soup and spaghetti. The senora of the household is an accomplished singer, complete with CD, who puts on a performance along with her son on a harp. I never expected to see a harp in a town that is only accessible by a one-way dirt road, but the music is wonderful and we all start dancing.
The next day we load up the burros (donkeys) and head off to the unelectrified town, Huataspin. We are told that the hike can be made in two hours. Peruvian time tends to work differently than gringo time, but I expect to make it to Huataspin in less than four hours. Six hours later, after scrambling among rocks and getting lost for a while (our guide had not been to this town in ten years), we finally arrive at the school. None of the solar panels have broken and the large 40lb battery has not overturned, preventing its burro from an acid bath. We are all tired but want to get the solar system installed before nightfall.
Huataspin is a city of clouds. They blow through the fields throughout the afternoon, and come into the open door of the classroom. It's impossible to see more than about 40 feet, but somehow there is light to work by. The entire town gathers to watch the installation. Gringos have not ventured this far in 40 years, when some Canadians came through to help out after an earthquake. After the lights go on, it takes some convincing to get the villagers to let us go to sleep on the classroom floor, and we hike out early the next day. By that evening, we are back in Huarmey (the main city), and it seems strange to all of a sudden be transported back into the "real world" of telephones, internet, and street signs.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Postas
It´s been a busy couple of days. I have been traveling with professor Duffy to some of the remote villages where he is checking on the radios. It seems as though every place he visits has something wrong with the antenna, although most of the problems can be solved in a few minutes. The people are all really friendly but often evasive as to how things have broken. They all greet professor Duffy with smiles.
We went to a ''village'' today that was composed of a few dozen houses made out of some woven material, not cement or logs or anything. The houses were on the beach, straight on the sand, and there was no greenery to be seen. Professor Duffy wanted to check on the radio in the posta medica (as he had heard that it was not working), but the technician had taken a leave of absence and the posta was closed. I didn´t understand why the technician had left, it may have been some medical emergency. The town, constructed 12 years ago, has no electricity or purified water. Apparently the people who live there are all fishermen.
Tomorrow we are going to try and find the director of the hospital in Huarmey and ask him if I can stay and observe. I want to emphasize that I can only observe at this point or perform very simple tasks, because my Spanish only allows me to understand about half of what is going on around me.
I miss everyone, but more than that I miss toilets with seats. My squatting muscles are not up to par.
We went to a ''village'' today that was composed of a few dozen houses made out of some woven material, not cement or logs or anything. The houses were on the beach, straight on the sand, and there was no greenery to be seen. Professor Duffy wanted to check on the radio in the posta medica (as he had heard that it was not working), but the technician had taken a leave of absence and the posta was closed. I didn´t understand why the technician had left, it may have been some medical emergency. The town, constructed 12 years ago, has no electricity or purified water. Apparently the people who live there are all fishermen.
Tomorrow we are going to try and find the director of the hospital in Huarmey and ask him if I can stay and observe. I want to emphasize that I can only observe at this point or perform very simple tasks, because my Spanish only allows me to understand about half of what is going on around me.
I miss everyone, but more than that I miss toilets with seats. My squatting muscles are not up to par.
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