Well, I've been home for 2.5 weeks now. And I still feel like I don't know what to make of it all.
I've been meaning to write this final post literally every day since I returned, but some good reason to postpone it always comes up. I've found the task daunting because I have somehow convinced myself that I need to include profound, all-encompassing thoughts and details, summarize my experience in its totality, and otherwise neatly wrap up the year in a few paragraphs. But that's impossible. So I'll just start with the trip home and see what comes out.
Leaving the DR was a hard thing to do - emotionally and physically. I spent days trying to fit everything into the three suitcases I started the year with, leaving boxes of clothes and lotions and books and toys and shoes in the clinic, with my family, and in the church conference center. Who knew you could collect so much stuff in a year? My friends - who happen to also be my colleagues - had a lovely goodbye party for me, which I described briefly in my last post. My family took me out for a special goodbye supper (at McDonalds! Haha!) on my last night. And my surrogate American family, the Dohns, shared many meals and helped me get ready throughout the week. Every moment in the clinic and at my dance class was in slow-motion and felt special and precious. The night before I left, I was up til 4 a.m. saying goodbye to friends and packing.
Then, I got up at 6:30, and headed to the airport with four of my closest friends who had insisted on riding with me to say goodbye. They helped me haul luggage, charmed the flight check-in lady to not charge me for an extra-heavy bag, and waved to me until I was out of sight in the departure area. We all cried.
Three flights and four cities later, after many customs and immigration desks, canceled flights and close connections, I made it to Chicago, where my family was waiting for me! More crying ensued. My luggage did not make it, which felt like a nice book-end to my trip last July when my luggage didn't make it to the DR at first. But the car was stocked with blueberries, raspberries, and drinkable tap water - all the things I'd been desperately missing. And, when I went to straighten out the baggage issue, I got to do it in English!
So now I am home, my destroyed suitcases are in the trash, and I'm busy moving into my apartment for medical school, which starts August 1. The transition is strange, and overall pretty difficult. The "cultural stutters" range from comical (I have the hardest time flushing toilet paper and insane impulses to speak to small children exclusively in Spanish) to stressful (I was extremely nervous taking a late-night train into Chicago the other night, even though I intellectually knew that this solo nighttime public transportation was safe, or on the plane from Miami to Atlanta, when I felt incredibly guilty for not sharing my sandwich with my seat-mate, which in the DR would be very rude, even though I knew the American next to me would feel strange if I offered him half. And then on the next plane to Chicago when I felt slightly offended that my seat-mate didn't offer me part of her sandwich!) It is strange to walk around and see light-skinned people... it is strange that no one gawks at me when I walk around the grocery store. I feel flustered when I am standing with a group of people in the sun, instead of promptly searching for shade as we do in the DR. I am overwhelmed by the sheer size of everything. It feels like I stepped into a science fiction futuristic movie: The size and efficiency of construction scaffolding, the running water I use to brush my teeth, the mail that punctually arrives every day - I am suddenly noticing and marveling over these things.
And at least 240 times a day, I think
What would my Dominican friends think of this?? Wanda the seven-year-old would just be beside herself with fireflies and the hail we had the other day. Santa would probably faint over the selection of apples, her favorite fruit, in the store. Nelson would be speechless to taste Lake Michigan, since he kept trying to tell me Chicago was on an ocean coast, even though I kept telling him it's a lake that
looks like an ocean. Everyone would be astounded by my house. Everyday I look around and things that were regular are amazing and remind me of my Dominican friends.
And then, beside the wonder, is a deep uneasiness when I notice with what wild abandon we use paper towels and gasoline. I am overwhelmed by all the brands of pickles in the grocery store. And I'm simply out-of-sync with every reference to a movie, hit song, political campaign, or fashion trend. It's exhausting.
This year in the DR was so different from my regular life that it felt like time stopped. But it has gone on without me. People have graduated; they have gotten engaged. New babies have been born. And other loved ones are no longer with us. To come back and experience a changed and different home is challenging. I try to catch up as best I can; I talk and cry and laugh with my family and friends, but it's hard work.
Scanning back over this post, I realize I describe doing a lot of crying. It's true! I currently do cry often! But I also want to stress how wonderfully happy I am - grateful for the indescribable opportunity to live in the DR, to work and eat and do laundry and make friends and dance. I wouldn't miss it this much if it hadn't been so incredible! And it's equally wonderful to see my family and friends, and even do silly things like take hot showers and eat turkey with whole grain mustard.
The year has changed me! People have been wondering how the year has affected my career goals. I don't really know how to answer that except to say that I am all the more sure that I want to pursue medicine. A year working hard in the medical field and seeing health improvements has given me an extra oomph of motivation to go through the next two years of hard-core science lectures and labs. I already
know that that hard work will pay off in a wonderfully rewarding way, and I think I'm luckier than most first-year med students in that knowledge. And I am grateful for the rigorous medical education we receive in the US, especially after seeing the limited medical educational opportunities available to Dominican doctors. Also, I am excited by diverse healthcare fields and opportunities! I am facing a career path in which I can choose to speak Spanish, work outside in communities, participate in education and prevention, get to know patients and families and communities... yes! And I am deeply committed to culturally competent care, to a better understanding of social determinants of health, to the end of ethnic/racial health disparities, and particularly to the world-wide HIV epidemic. Phew. Do I have some causes cut out for me or what.
So, in short, it appears I am forever changed. There is just so much to say - in writing this, I feel as if I have only touched the very tip of the iceberg. And my mind is already racing with more thoughts about the friendships I made, the experience of working in another culture, the thrill of being even a small help to a community that became like another family to me. Clearly, though the year may be over, the experience is not. Writing a "final post" for this blog feels silly, though I know I can't continue to update it forever. Please feel free to contact me with questions or thoughts you have, or if you want more information about YASC to share with another young person. As I'm sure you can see, I'm more than happy to talk about this year.
And thank you all so very very much for your continued support before, during, and after this year. The experience was made possible - and enjoyable - by you all, and I really appreciate every message, donation, blog comment, and letter that came my way. I don't think this is the end of my DR experience, so I hope we will be in contact in the future, especially as I better gather my thoughts and photos. Thank you Thank you Thank you! And please do keep in touch!
This little girl, "Luisa," is one of our youngest HIV patients at the clinic. On the day this picture was taken, she was in for her five-month check-up, and I was chosen to be the model for her monthly photograph. At only six pounds, Luisa feels like a newborn in your arms. She was born several months premature to a mother who did not realize she was pregnant - and also did not realize her own HIV-positive status. Abandoned at birth, Luisa found her way into the care of a neighbor woman with three grown children. She has been our patient since then, and with the help of HIV medication, donated formula, and lots and lots of loving attention she has been growing and doing well. It's wonderful to see the staff interact with her - each visit lasts a few hours because at least 9 different people have to hold and cuddle Luisa. She is passed from lap to lap and smiles for everyone! Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers as she continues to grow and develop.
We have recently returned to the poultry farm outside Los Conucos (where we were working a year and a half ago) to re-assess the area's health status and water usage. At this home, young women came out of the woodwork during the survey, curious about what we were doing. Everybody was excited to have her picture taken!
I was sitting in the jeep with the car door open to catch more breeze when I turned around and there was suddenly a small boy essentially in the car next to me (the one with the toothy grin.) I shook his hand and asked him how he was doing, but he didn't respond. I thought he was shy until my co-worker said he couldn't speak at all. His friend on the right came over and the three of us chatted in a mixture of Spanish and sign language. I never found out the little boy's name because everyone calls him "Mudo," the Spanish word for "Mute." As we went about our neighborhood business, Mudo tagged along and made himself clear with a variety of specialized gestures. Once, he disappeared for a few minutes and later returned to show me a mouth full of chewed-up food, shaking a chicken wing in his hand and beckoning me to follow him and get one myself. I decided not to, and he scampered off for a bit. When I asked my co-worker, she said it was unlikely he could attend school, since specialized schools for mute and/or deaf children are expensive and not located in San Pedro. A terrible thing for any child, including one so bright and full of questions. I really enjoyed my time with this kid, answering questions and trying to decode Dominican gestures (which are different than US ones). I'm hoping access to a quality education becomes available to him soon, and to all the kids in his area and the DR.
