Sunday, June 27, 2010

fri, sat, sun...ish

Friday morning I had the pleasure to attend the end of year Club Rotario Quito Valle Interoceánico breakfast, during which, my good old amigo Miguel was going to be passing the reigns to the new President for the coming year. As I followed the directions Mr. Falck gave the day before at the school closing, I ended up approaching an impressive hotel known as the “Swissotel,” but immediately grew hesitant; thinking the hundreds of police outside, the riot guards, and secret service looking personnel must not be there to welcome me as their guest. Oddly, as I walked up the front side-walk and towards the marble steps I managed to avoid any questioning (as I’ve learned so far in my travels, if you act like you know what you’re doing, you can usually steer clear of most suspicion), and easily find my way to the concierge who pointed on towards the breakfast/ ball-room. There, I learned from discussing with a number of white-haired Rotarians that, even though we deserved the attention that was forming outside, the unusual security and attention was being provided for the leaders of ALBA that were staying at the hotel, and soon would be leaving the country to continue on official business; just in case you haven’t heard of this organization, that would include Rafael Correa (the president of Ecuador), Hugo Chávez, and Evo Morales, to name a few.

The breakfast included some of the freshest fruit I’d tasted in my life, fried plantains, and other wonderfully decadent comida that my stomach could hardly bear as I started to get sick the night before (I know I shouldn’t have taken up the school cook on the second plate of potatoes with the questionable salsa…) and still didn’t have much of an appetite. After eating, the podium was graced by directors, treasurers, secretaries, and finally Miguel, who gave the best speech of the day- summing up the year, his time as President, and the desire he has to continue to see this organization make a difference in whatever means possible. In the end, I spent the rest of the day reflecting on his inspirational words (which was sort of easy since my stomach only got worse after eating, and I spent the afternoon and night in bed…) and pondered the possibility of maybe coming back Ecuador after graduating to fulfill my newfound desire of continuing the genuine tradition these people have begun.



The two week-iversary of being in Tumbaco that I celebrated this weekend, again took me to the capital of Quito. After peeling myself out of bed, I called a friend of mine from DU who has been doing community development work on the Southern side of the city to meet up before rugby practice. About two hours, four buses (which should have only been three had the guard at the bus station told me he wasn’t sure what bus to take instead of guessing) and a bit of a walk later, I met up with my team-mate from back in the states, Eric, and a 12 year-old kid he has mentored over the past 12 months. With quick greetings and introductions, we hopped in a cab and headed to the most beautiful field I’ve ever played on. The grass was rough, pot-holes littered every five meters or so, and we had to share the campo with two middle school soccer teams, but situated atop the second tallest hill in Quito, the view from this field- including the vast stretches of urbanized houses and apartments from the Airport at the most northern point to el Panecillo in the south- was breathtaking (not only because of the combination of running and the extra altitude). As I have almost always found with the people I meet through rugby, the players on this team were welcoming from the start. With a few 7s games and a tournament on the horizon, I look forward to building the friendships that started as we scrimmaged in the rain, sun, and then later rain again, over the next couple of months.

Looking at my clock now, I should probably get back to my work that’s due tomorrow, but to sum up the rest of the weekend: I was able to experience my first black-out while in the sketchiest part of Quito, eat the first red meat I’ve come across since being here (in the form of a double bacon cheese burger- I know, typical, but if I was gonna have a burger, I figured I’d make it worth it!), go shopping for some sunscreen that my shoulders sorely need, test out the swimming pool that we have in our housing complex, and relax a little while getting over the U.S.’ loss yesterday with some distracting one-sided soccer games today.

I miss you all, and hasta pronto

drew

Week 2

So the past week has really flown by. After a Monday spent in meetings that basically set forth the foundations for the rest of my time here at the medical clinic, I spent the rest of the week getting into a rhythm of observing, being astonished, and trying to rest whenever I could find a spare second or two.

On Monday, with the guidance of Paola and Dr. Andrade, I finalized the preparatory stages of setting up both: my investigation over utilizing the new WHO child growth standards; and the support group for hypertensions. Regarding the growth standards (although I still need to make up the final proposal for this research to the clinic- “this week’s assignment”…), my project would begin with attending the final, closing ceremonies of the pre-schools that are run in conjecture with the clinic. Five in total, these schools provide basically free schooling to about 250 children aged 3-5 in the Cumbayá- Tumbaco, “northern valley,” area outside of Quito; with the only cost of attendance being a $5 monthly charge used to pay for food and the chef that cooks it.

From Tuesday to Thursday, I woke up early to meet Evelyn outside of our conjunto (pic below), so that we could make it to the pre-schools in time for the beginning of the ceremonies. At each school, we arrived with a number of other Club Rotario representatives, usually consisting of the wives of Rotarians that serve as the madrina for the children from year to year, the Falck’s, and Jennyfer, who customarily presented a thank-you speech to the parents, the students, and the professors.


Although at each school the agenda varied in its own unique way, for the most part, everything began with the masses of children dressed in their navy blue and gold, donated Club Rotario uniforms, suddenly stopping their squirmishness so that they could stand before their country’s flag and sing the national anthem of Ecuador. From this, the audience was graced with a presentation of the years learning; which, often included picking the correct vowels out of a collection of letters, demonstrating their ability to determine which set of apples contained three and not two or four, and even reciting a few English words they had learned from previous volunteers. In all, as I sat amongst the parents in awe, I immediately understood how important it was for these children to have the opportunity that these pre-school provided- not only because of the lessons they had learned over the past 9 or so months, but because how drastically different they appeared in contrast to the children who would occasionally wander past the rickety fences surrounding the compound, peer in to see what the commotion was about, only to then scurry off to continue to kick whatever rusty can, or stray dog that accompanied them on the lonely streets they called home.

From school to school we went, and at each establishment I found a new set of smiling faces accompanied by a couple of professors and a handful of parents that tried to catalyze the change necessary in these children’s lives. Tuesday it was muñequitos de chocolate, Wednesday, mis primeras letras, and Thursday, los amigos de Noruega; in total, the 3 schools and some 150 students I was able to meet dramatically altered my perspective concerning my project, putting an entire collection of dirt smudged, but innocent faces with the set of medical records that I would begin to analyze over the next two months. At the end of the day Thursday, I left the final school with an overwhelming sadness- a feeling of regret if I had to classify it- that my brief exposure to these children had only consisted of watching versions of “head, shoulders, knees and toes” or “Snow White” in Spanish, sitting down in wooden chairs that came up to the middle of my shin to eat plates of chicken and papas, and playing soccer with the recent “graduates.” But at the same time, after I left each school and drove the winding, often extremely bumpy, roads back to the medical clinic, I had a new found optimism to help these children in whatever way I could- and for now, that meant determining what sort of help is needed most.

Following the mornings that were spent at the pre-schools, each afternoon I came back to the clinic to a rag-tag set of chores and tasks that often included translating e-mails from donors and other Rotarians around the world into Spanish for the director, running errands for the infirmary, and preparing for the implementation of what I figure may allow the most successful continuation of the hypertension support group: a “blood-pressure awareness month.”
After meeting with Dr. Andrade, I was better able to understand exactly what has gone into the group, where the problem of hypertension stands within the community, and what sort of options we as a medical clinic have at our disposal. In hopes of ameliorating some of the issues that were brought to my attention (low attendance, very minimal understanding of the problem, and a static utilization of resources/ information), I realized that, above all, I need to reach out to the community in an approachable, compassionate manner in hopes that they in return will do the same. Thus, after a couple of nights spent researching a health topic I still feel I know minimal about, jotting down ideas for what our next group topic may be, and trying to conceptualize the thoughts careening through my head, I knew exactly what I needed to do: start from square one; the general population. Prior to this point, in the hypertension treatment agenda pursued by the medical clinic the majority of forces have been concentrated at targeting those who have shown signs of high to extremely high B.P. While this plan is by no means flawed, somewhere between reviewing my scribbled notes, and waking up from brief siestas with a plethora of books on my lap, I realized that if we truly wanted to attack the problem at its source, we needed to focus our efforts in a more broad spectrum of patients, teaching, increasing the understanding of, and supplying the resources to avoid the health problem that is high blood-pressure. And, in a nut-shell, this is where my idea for “blood-pressure awareness month” came from. In addition to hoping to gain the trust of the community I will be working in for the next ten weeks, this month will hopefully provide all of those possible with the resources, knowledge, and motivation to change their lives in whatever way possible- most importantly, so that in the coming years, instead of solely having a group devoted to reducing the risk in those most susceptible to deadly complications, we are able to curb to incidence and morbidity of this chronic disease within the population, improving the health of the entire community in the process. Right now, as I write this, I’m sort of procrastinating on deciding on what the entire month will consist of, but for pre-view purposes (since July is just around the corner…), I will most likely be spending the mornings at the clinic from 8-1 providing free blood pressure screening to those who come to the clinic day in and day out. Additionally, I am in the process of creating a small pamphlet to hand out to those brave souls who decide to let me take their blood pressure, and will once again be contacting, by phone, each and every person on the register of “high blood pressure patients.” The entire effort, and the month for that matter, will culminate into a support group meeting which will be held on July 22nd.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

fin de semana

After the excitement of the support group, nothing extremely note-worthy occurred over the next few days except for some well needed relaxation and a couple of nights spent talking to mi padre Jorge about life, Ecuador, and the numerous topics that can arise when you throw Latin American politics into the equation. Over a few cups of coffee, we stayed up until almost midnight chatting in Spanish, as I made up for my lack of formal classes, while Jorge puffed away at his favorite tobacco pipe, advised me on the correct way to conjugate verbs tenses I don’t even think we have in the English language. Even more than what I learned that night in terms of specific lessons or teachings, I realized that I have been extremely lucky to find the house I’ll be calling my home for the next few months.

The first Saturday in Ecuador I spent with my dear, first, and probably best friends in the area: the Falck’s. That previous Tuesday, I attended the “mandatory health and safety” meeting with Evelyn and Miguel, where I learned any and everything that a gringo should know in a foreign country (don’t flash your wallet around, make sure the taxi drivers are actual taxi drivers, and that it probably isn’t the best idea to drink the water here…); however, among these lessons, Miguel and Evelyn began to divulge the secrets of the country they’d been born in, and even offered to take me on a tour of what they called “historic” Quito; as well as a quick trip to the equator. Without hesitation, I took them up on this offer and have thrown in some of the many pictures I took on this slightly rainy, but extremely fun exploration.



*Hanging out in both hemispheres


*A vista of the traffic, rain, and "el Panecillo" in Quito


*Los Falck's and the Southern part of la ciudad


*El Panecillo close up

Sunday, after going to church for the first time in a little over a while, I celebrated día de los padres with the Duran’s and an extensive group of people that can only be described justly by the word “family.” All three hijos, two of their wives, four of their children, Elsa’s sister and her son, and even the in-laws of Cristina, Marco’s wife, ended up coming over for an almuerzo that started promptly after mass and lasted through cena, into the late hours of the night until the children and conversation topics had exhausted themselves.

Somewhere between seeing the way the family got along, and heading to bed as Jorge stayed up and played spider solitaire, I guess I began to miss my own Dad a bit, my own family, and everything that I cherish about home. As I fell asleep that night, I realized two and a half months might be a little longer than I projected at first, but in spite of any new-found woes, I also slept well, knowing that in a way I had found a temporary, new home, a new family, and a new part of the world to show all of those I meet the lessons and dreams everyone I miss has taught me I can accomplish.

reunión y fotos

Words can’t even begin to explain the fulfillment of being able to, for the first time since stepping foot in Ecuador, help those at the medical clinic hands on. Therefore, I’ve decided to include some pictures to give you a better idea of how everything went.



Although I hadn’t learned officially how to take blood pressure until the morning of the support group meeting, by the time 5 pm came around, I was pro- having spent the entire day practicing on almost any arm I could find. Fifteen minutes before the meeting, it started to rain for the first time I’d been to Ecuador (ok, not honestly the first time, but prior to, and in comparison to this, it was hard to consider any of the light sprinkles “rain”), but regardless, nothing could deter my enthusiasm and motivation to help the people that already began to join in the Sala Odd Hanssen (our meeting room named after the esteemed entity behind the entire Fundación Valle Interoceánico). In all, 13 people journeyed through the pouring rain to make it to this, the 3rd meeting of the support group for hypertension.




After getting in front of everyone and trying to express my gratitude for coming in the few Spanish phrases that I know at this point, the way that the group welcomed me with warm smiles and an incomparable round of applause made me certain that I had made the right choice to continue working on this project.

For about an hour Dr. Andrade (the head doc at the clinic) and Paola shared the main stage as I observed their well designed presentation to describe the basics of arterial pressure, and the psychological stresses of living with the disease. Following this, I began to personally meet the members of the group in a more intimate manner, taking their blood pressure, advising them on how to fill out a personal record of pressures that should be brought to every meeting, and ensuring them that their excessively high pressures are something that we can work at lowering together. I spent the rest of the night cleaning up the meeting room, and saying good bye to the handful of people that I hope to see in a month or so; my grammar errors and lame-jokes must not have made them think any less of me, as every person that came went out of their way to introduce themselves, shake my hand, and tell me things ranging from “hasta la próxima reunión” to “muchísimas gracias.”



From that point on, I immediately began to think of how I could strengthen the group, build the camaraderie I later found it was lacking (only 2 persons who attended the meeting had been to any of the previous two…), and continue the momentum and desire to change that I felt while looking into the eyes of each and every person I had the pleasure to meet.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

the first couple of dias

As dramatic as the last entry was- meeting the Duran’s was painless, relieving, and exciting at the same time. Although the volunteer coordinator had described them to me as “a middle aged couple,” Elsa and Jorge, well, to put it nicely, were a middle aged couple. In spite of the age mix up (Jorge has since told me about how he’s excited to celebrate his 70th birthday this year) the couple immediately won me over with warm greetings, kind smiles, and some of the strongest coffee I’d ever had.

We spent the first night in Tumbaco talking with the Falck’s, resting, drinking, and discussing the logistical functioning of my volunteer work at the clinic- in addition to all the details about where I'm from, what I'm studying, etc, etc. The Duran’s were very welcoming from the start, and immediately began to divulge the dynamic of their lives from the moment I sat down in the plush couch that called their well decorated living room home: Elsa was currently dabbling in cheese making, specifically “queso de hoja,”- a type of cheese that involves flattening queso fresco into thin sheets; Jorge, on the other hand, runs a jardinero business, where he spends the days ensuring all of his contracts are fulfilled, and his workers content. The couple has three hijos; Marco, Juan Fernando, and Maria Elsa- all of which live within a drivable a radius, and all of which I would soon meet this father’s day. As it got later and later we continued to exchange details of our lives until the effects of our café began to wear off and yawns became more frequent than discourse. At this point, the Falck’s headed for the door and the Duran’s showed me too my room. Although looking looking back, everything seems to meld together into one procession that led to me passing out in my new bed, between the tour and my head hitting the pillow I quickly unpacked, oriented myself with my new closet and dresser, and somehow let my family know I was safe. Even with yells coming from the street, incessant barking of stray dogs, and the occasional flashing or car headlights, I slept extremely sound this first night.

Waking up; however, was a much more difficult experience. As I threw off the floral sheets and tried to remember where I was I immediately received a call on the cell phone the president of the Club Rotario supplied me with the night before.

Paola, the director of the 5 pre-schools that are run in tandem with the medical clinic, was on her way to pick me up. In this new found urgency I ran to the bathroom, turned on the hot water and quickly jumped into the shower as it transitioned from freezing, to cold, to luke warm. With a quick dry-off, choice of clothes, and pair of tennis shoes I trotted down the stairs to find my new madre making coffee and setting the table with a basket of small rolls of pan, traditional silverware, and a couple of napkins. Elsa continued to tailor to my needs, making up some quick huevos revueltos, squeezing me fresh orange juice, ensuring that I slept well and that if there were anything I needed to let her know. From this point on I began to feel like I was part of the family.

My first work day at the clinic began when I met Paula outside the front door of the Duran’s and we hopped into her Volkswagen, sped off towards Quito, and began to discuss my responsibilities and motivations for coming to work at the clinic. Before we reached the city we turned off the main road to head towards Cumbayá, passing everything from broken down shops and littered sidewalks , to a centro comercial with a KFC. We continued to climb the inclined streets until on my right I saw a sign with the characteristic Rotary wheel, and below, an arrow pointing to the West- the clinic was on the horizon. At first glance, it appeared to be the nicest establishment in the neighborhood. Surrounded by a silver painted chain link fence and with a mini play ground out front, the clinic stood adorned with signs advertising medical services for under $5.00 and once again, the golden wheel of the Rotarians. It was obvious that hundreds of hours had gone into the building, sustaining its upkeep, and establishing its presence in the community; as I followed Paula through the glass doors, it became even more obvious that the population of Cumbayá put just as much time into utilizing the services offered here.

Directly within the front door of the clinic I encountered a waiting room full of plastic lawn chairs that were reminiscent of my childhood- currently occupied by some 10-15 persons that were waiting to see the doctor. Paula wasted no time in dragging me past the group of future patients and began a tour of the clinic and all that it offered. From the infirmary, to the offices of the accountants and the doctor, I quickly met the staff I’d work with for the next couple of months, also learning the location of the laboratory, as well as the pediatrician and emergency rooms (both of which were currently empty due to a lack of physicians in the area).

Overwhelmed but extremely excited, we continued the tour to the upstairs of the clinic, meeting numerous people whose names I’d quickly forget and have to ask for once again in the coming days.

To make a long story shorter, the remainder of the day was spent meeting with Jennyfer Soto, the directora of the clinic, observing how the infirmary serviced the patients that were waiting in the front, and undergoing a brief introduction into the work that I would be responsible for until September. For the most part I would have a pretty set schedule: beginning at 8am, I was to spend the mornings working in the infirmary or the laboratory, either recording patient vitals or running lab tests depending on where I was. From there, at around 1pm we break for lunch; I had a couple of options, (either eat at the few establishments around the clinic that ranged from interesting to probably dangerous; run to the KFC down the street; or bring my lunch) and although this first day I enjoyed eating with Paula and Jennyfer at a restaurant up the hill, I promptly knew that bringing my almuerzo would be the best choice for my conversation skills and in all practicality, my ability to relax for an hour. Following lunch, the work day continued from 2-5pm, during which I would begin to work on whatever special project was deemed most pertinent for the week.

This first day, I began, or should I say was sort of thrown into, the position of organizing an information session over hypertension. Little did I know, but for seven months before I arrived, a previous volunteer dedicated his time in Ecuador to investigate the morbidity of hypertension within the suburb of Quito, culminating his studies into the formation of a support group, of which now I would have the honor of continuing. And from the very start it truly was an honor.

By “continuing” I soon learned that I was to make phone calls to those patients who had shown un-naturally high blood pressure levels previously at the clinic- which, in total, summed to be some 300 persons- all of which would have to hear my rusty, broken Spanish explain to them the details of the information session

For the first three days, I spent the mornings learning and observing the years of experience Maria, the head nurse, carried on her shoulders. From organizing medical records, to learning how to take basic vitals, to imputing appointment information into the computer, I was swept into the workings of the enfermería from the moment my feet entered the room. Lunch, consisting of learning Ecuadorian dishes that i must try while I'm here, was the only moment I had a real chance to relax, as I got to better know my colleagues while I gladly devoured my customary: locra (potato soup), rice, vegetable salad, and miscellaneous meat for the day. The afternoons I spent with my ear glued to a phone that worked sporadically, chipping away at the mountain of names and numbers of those patients with high blood pressure in the past year. At first, this task was a bit daunting, but somewhere in between my 30th and final phone call I found a rhythm that was ameliorated by the genuine responses of those I called, and their obvious excitement to attend a free information session dedicated to improving a health problem they knew very little about.

As I continued down the list, I still vividly remember calling and speaking with the daughter of a woman who passed away from a heart attack within the past month. Sensing her pain gave me an overwhelming motivation and desire to, in the very least, provide the other 299 persons with the ability to find out more about their life threatening condition.

By Thursday, my anticipation was inexplicable, and by lunch time, we were just hours away from the reunion.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

llegada

Nothing can really explain the feeling i got when the plane stopped shaking and our wheels touched the ground. In addition to relief, quickly, a bit of hesitation, uncertainty, and reality swept over me.
This was it.
For months I had planned this, dreamt about this, imagined this- but from this moment forward all of the things that had been the product of extensive contemplation would soon be washed away by an undeniable actuality: encompassed by blaring noises, vivid sights, never-before experienced tastes, and wafting smells.

As I collected my over-stuffed hand bag from the over-head compartment and threw on my back pack, I prepared myself for my first breath of South American air. Through the front door, after sharing the customary gracias’ with the flight crew, I disembarked from the plane down a rickety set of metal stairs that led me to the entrance of a country side that was too dark for my eyes to make out discernibly.

All around me- amidst the humidity, Spanish greetings, and flashing plane lights- I could see the faintest of outlines of darker shades of black; forming steep borders reminiscent of the Rocky’s that framed my first impressions of this foreign land. Glimmering with the presence of street lamps and porch lights in the distance, this was an introduction to the Andes to which I will never forget: full of mystery, uncertainty, and with much to be unveiled in time.

I was greeted after customs by the smiling faces of two elderly Roatrians holding a flimsy paper sign with my name scribbled across the front in black permanent marker in all caps. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but regardless, I was by no means used to this kind of treatment. Miguel & Evelyn, as I soon found out they were named, immediately welcomed me upon noticing that I was the gringo most likely to be Andrew, as I smiled and walked towards the sign. After a firm handshake and a kiss on the cheek, we were all business. The three of us headed through the crowd of other sign-holders and petitioning taxi drivers whom looked sad that this couple had stolen their potential commission. Through a pair of automatic doors, across a crowded parking lot, and over sidewalks sprinkled with puddles from a recent rain, we arrived at an olive green Mercedes that had to have been from around the year I was born. One quick toss of my bags into the trunk later, and we were on the road.

We drove for about thirty minutes or so, (or however long it took for Miguel to describe the Club Rotario fundamentals and functioning in Quito, of which he were the president), through a winding, steep collection of streets, that I would learn were uncharacteristically barren due to my almost media noche arrival. Abruptly, between the exchange of directions from Miguel sitting in the back seat and the retort of "I know, honey," but in Spanish, from his wife, we pulled up to an impressive wood set of doors larger than a two car garage that sealed the entrance to a pinkish-cement walled property. On cue, a vigilante appeared from the darkness of his gatehouse, waddled over to our car in his black uniform, and without hesitation, threw open the creaky doors after hearing our request to see the Duran’s. With a brush of his hand to the right, he pointed us onward to my new household, disappearing into the night- or at least out of my recognition.

For now, all that I could think of as I pulled my bags out of the trunk of the Falck’s car was the bothersome uncertainty that swept over me again like a breeze of damp air; what would the Duran’s, and for that matter, my home, dietary intake, and mathematically speaking, the majority of my time in Ecuador be like for the next 2 and a half months?...As I rang the doorbell and heard shuffling footsteps dance toward me to the beat of the echoing chimes, there was nothing I could do but take a deep breath, shake off any anxiety, and get ready to meet mis padres nuevos.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Bienvenidos

hola


welcome to my blog!


Although I’m pretty new to this sort of thing, I hope that I can keep all of those who are reading this informed on my travels, insights, and revelations, as I spend the next couple of months living outside of Quito, Ecuador.



I know this is a bit late for my first entry, but I decided it would be better to set a foundation and get something posted.


For those of you that don’t know, and for those of you that may need a little reminding; I, Andrew White, am currently living in Tumbaco, Ecuador- a small rural parish of the country’s capital, Quito.


About a year ago, I knew as much about Ecuador as the typical American- that it was somewhere to my south, and plotted between the Amazon rainforest and the Andes mountains. But, over the past few months, my connection and intrigue for the 2nd smallest country in South America has flourished more than my poorly chosen words can describe.


Since this past January I set out to find a way to fill the void I can’t seem to shake when I think about what I want to do for the rest of my life.


Sure, I declare the pre-med route as the path to my most desired future, but, as straight forward or determined as this may appear at face-value, it’s actually probably one of the most vague things I could tell people about myself. In addition to encompassing another 4+ years of rigorous schooling that will test me unlike anything I have encountered thus far in my life, the plethora of options available in this field covers anything from podiatry to neurosurgery…


Thus, as I have meandered through my educational career, I’ve tried to keep all of my options open, testing and discovering what I truly enjoy, while trying to avoid that which may be better left to someone else.


Of the things that fall under the category of “medicine” that I have found to enjoy, one of the most fulfilling has been volunteering my time to those who need it most. After pursuing this desire from places ranging from: down the street at Porter hospital, across the pond at a Parkinson’s association in españa, or at a clinic in Guatemala, I refined my passions to focus my attention and abilities on those from underprivileged, and underserved communities. Six months ago, I decided if there were a time in my life that I could apply myself to this desire, it was, if not had to be, now.


So, after a process that took much deliberation, scores of e-mails to clinics, establishing ties with volunteer coordinators, advising, finalizing, and almost every other formal-sounding gerund that I know- I find myself here, in the Tumbaco valley of that little country I hardly knew nothing about one June ago.


Future entries, above all, will hopefully present a more candid look at the time I spend on the Southern half of the globe; keeping those I care about most up to date on my adventures, and in every way possible, with me along the way.


Hasta luego,

drew