Faceplant

The next few days at the project site went a little like this.
Wake up to the sound of either a rooster or someone chopping firewood around 6am. Tea, breakfast, tea, 10 minute hike uphill to the hostel, tea, lots of painting and, tea, more painting.
In order to paint the forty or so beds, we first had to attempt to remove the rust...wait for it...with sandpaper. My clothes, face and arms were lucky to receive a nice copper hue ten minutes into that task. Also to my dismay, I learned that kerosene could double as a hand washing agent to get the paint off one's skin. Anyways, you learn something everyday.

If anyone remembers me when I was a kid and can recall the way I eat ice cream, you're in luck because let's just say I paint in quite a similar fashion. For those of you that did not have the privilege, try googling kids eating ice cream under images, but even those really don't do me justice. Regardless, let's just say I was highly flammable after a full day of painting.

Another one of my favorite tasks was mud plastering the wall. It was a provocatively therapeutic mess. For those of us adults who have not had the chance to get extremely dirty in the past year, I highly recommend it and especially for us training to be in pristine white coats for the rest of our adult lives. Seriously, get that med school aggression out on making mudpies and then throwing them at a rock wall. Didn't like CMBM or SPOM? Throw a mudpie at it. Yep, that should do the trick. As a kid, I remember sitting under a swingset on a rainy day and making mudpies with my neighbor Jessica. Engaging in play is considered of vital importance to a healthy child's development. I'm under the impression that it's vital for healthy medical students as well. Kids have creativity in their very core. No one has ever told them how to solve a problem before, so they have to be creative and figure it out on their own. I'm convinced doctors must be able to keep that same level of creativity if we are to solve the problems currently facing medicine. I'm pretty sure making mud pies and throwing them at walls would really help alleviate some stress and free up some mind space for creativity. No? You don't think so? That sounds nuts? Long tangent? I'm okay with that.

Okay- enough of my rant on mudpies and the like- I just highly enjoyed the activity- and it was a workout too!

After a couple of days of work, I was lucky enough to be able to check out the health post!
This was one of those tests of patience, mindfulness, and compassion: a common exam for volunteers abroad. To be clear, passion is completely different than compassion. Passion is something most American medical students are full to the brim with. However, it is also something that can get one into trouble, something that can lead us astray if we do not check ourselves and our peers. It is a fire that can have the capacity to harm if we are not careful. Passion is regenerated in us by selfishness whether we like it or not. We may be passionate with good intentions to rectify a social injustice, but it burns in order to fight and win and prove a point. The fire continuously cultivates itself in us until, well, I'm not sure, we win? Compassion, on the other hand is authentic empathy. It is the exchange of our energy from one to another without needing gratification for our egos. I think the differences are probably deeper than that and more complex, but I do think that cultivating compassion within ourselves is more difficult than passion as passion might come from ego gratification and stays with us, while compassion comes from empathy and is only given to others. You can not really give your passion to others, but you can give compassion to others. And then, once you give and spread your supply of compassion for a full day, or when your circumstances place you in a whirlwind where compassion is needed, what happens if you become drained, or run out? How does it become regenerated? Just food for thought.

These are the questions that came post-health-clinic. This was my thought process after I listened to my first lungs in a 3 year old with pneumonia, after I was being asked to do things I knew I did not have the skills for, after feeling helpless. I was told that once you have 18 months of medical training, especially in a rich country like the United States, that I was considered a doctor in this isolated region of Nepal. While the opportunity to interview patients left a great impression on me, I know the deeper problem involves systems. It is unjust that the access to ADEQUATE care is far from possible in rural Nepal. How could I be a best option? This was absurd.

Let's back up a second. All of this occurred while I was injured, and my level of compassion was shamefully only half full. It was a 30 minute hike to the clinic. If you have ever seen me figure skate, you're lucky. You have seen me at my most graceful, because that's where my grace lies- on the ice and only on the ice. Other than that, I walk like a reindeer with a chromosome abnormality, and I'm pretty much okay with that at 24 years old. Point being, I'm not graceful and I trip a lot.

Here's how it went down. Walking, walking, trip over a branch, right hand occupied by my bag, left hand occupied by my rain jacket, no hands free, and I went straight down like a cartoon character on a pile of rocks. Faceplant. Pretty glorious to say the least. Therefore, I got the privilege of being treated at the clinic I was going to "help" at. Welp, everything happens for reason. I at least got to use my own first aid kit as not to take away their supplies. As embarrassing as it was, it was still an eye-opener.

Back to the story- I was being pressured to do things I knew in my heart am not qualified to do, all with two swollen knees and a left arm that was actively still bleeding. Compassion was running dry simultaneously as frustration with my own capabilities and with the inequality that existed in the world came creeping in.

Luckily, I met the most interesting patient just at the brink of feeling like a total failure. 62 y/o male comes in complaining of joint pain. He simultaneously had a huge gash on his left forearm. He had been attacked by a bear on his walk home that he was convinced robbed him. (I know, what?) He had an enormous smile on his face that consisted of about 13 teeth. Severe osteoporosis and malnutrition were visible by his cheekbones alone. However, his enthusiasm for his life story just allowed compassion to override any frustration I had felt that day.

After a few hours at the clinic, I limped home, where I was self-dubbed Hajuraama...but that's a different story. Stay tuned.