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.

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.

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 2^nd 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