New Perspectives and Grace

    I've been trying to figure out for a couple weeks now how to write about the day that we took Lydia to the hospital in Leon and the way that it challenged and changed my perspectives. It's given me new grace for our local moms. 

    The entire time I've lived here in Chichigalpa, I have judged parents who allowed their kids to sit at home becoming more and more sick rather than taking them to the hospital. I've thought, "Nica has socialized healthcare. They can go. It's free." But after spending a day sort of walking in their shoes as we tried to get Lydia admitted to the hospital to receive care, I now have more grace for these moms. I still cannot condone the decision not to fight with all that you have to ensure that your child gets the care that they need, but I can understand more now the helplessness that they often feel…. 

   We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 that morning. We were only expecting to be there for a couple hours for an appointment. No one had eaten. No bags were packed. We had no food or water. We didn't realize that we would be staying to have Lydia admitted. However, we knew that staying at the hospital was the most hope-filled option so we started the process of trying to get her admitted. Honestly, the day was so much harder than I had expected. I consider myself to be well-educated, confident, and independent and I felt so overwhelmed and helpless trying to navigate the public health care system. Many of our parents never had the opportunity to study and are illiterate. Also, many of them have never had the chance to come to these bigger cities. There is so much new and unknown there. Our day at the hospital was the first time that Xiomara, Lydia's mom, had seen an elevator. She had no idea what it was or how it worked. I know that I felt helpless that day and I can't imagine how much more difficult it would be if I did not know how to work an elevator or couldn't read the signs to navigate my way through the hospital wings. I do not say that to belittle our moms, but just to explain their situation and give insight into how overwhelming this all can be.  

    We sat in that dimly lit hall surrounded by sick children and anxious parents all clamoring for attention and care. It's overwhelming. And after a couple of hours you wonder if you will ever be seen. If you add in our own fear and your hungry child crying that she wants to go home and no assurance of answers, I can understand why they leave without care. If that isn't enough, then you have the trauma cases being wheeled by. I see a young guy on a stretcher moaning in pain, bleeding everywhere, his face smashed in from the wreck. I think he might die in front of us waiting as they beat on the elevator door for it to come. I can't get his dad's pained eyes out of my head. The panic on his face when he couldn't fit in the elevator with his son. They way he sprinted to the stairs to beat the elevator to the next floor. I don't think his son made it. Just sitting in that hallway is intense and traumatizing.

    After waiting for over two hours, we ask why we haven't been called. We were told that we were called and if we didn't hear and didn't come that we had to wait until the end. Lydia cries. She feels sick. She's hungry. We still can't give her food. She won't be allowed to eat until after her blood test. If it weren't for Cheryl, I feel like we might still be waiting in that hallway.

    Finally after 3 1/2 hours we are seen by a doctor for the initial check-up. You are given so little support. The doctors have too many other patients to see. We go back and forth between the admission window and this doctor and back again. Then we're told to go to the lab. That's it. No direction. When I go back to ask, I'm just told first floor, left, left, until you get to the lab. I'm lost and I can read signs. I can't imagine how helpless you would feel trying to find your way when you cannot read signs and have never even seen an elevator and your child is still crying and you don't know where to go and everyone is too busy to help. Again, I'm a capable, well-educated adult and I wanted to sit in the middle of that hallway and just weep.

    It was another 3 hours before we finally made it to a room. Lydia finally ate a pack of crackers and then started to vomit all over her bed and the floor. I don't know how to help her. I hold her so she's not sitting on vomit-stained sheets. I told the nurse we needed sheets. She nodded and shuffled off saying nothing. I don't know if she's coming back with sheets or not. I've never felt so helpless in my life. I have more compassion for these mom who just give up, wait for things to get worse and only get help in emergencies. I'm not saying it's the right choice, but I can understand it. 

    Today gave me a clearer look at the challenges facing families living in poverty in the third world. Today challenged my perspectives and gave me more grace.