Spit Bubbles and Drool are Beautiful

Yesterday was a day like any other here in Huancayo.  We started off with rounds in the men's internal medicine ward at Daniel Carrión and went to the insurance hospital to do arts and crafts and interact with psych ward patients.  Then we were off to the HIV shelter in the afternoon to spend time with the kids and teach them a lesson about professions.  I had a great time coloring with Kelly, a six year old little girl, and doing puzzles with Jean Pierre (yeah, I know, a French name in Peru, weird), a three year old little boy.  That night we went to a local joint, Antejitos, a place with live music and had a fantastic night of latin dancing.  Thank GOD, my latin dancing has improved significantly upon arriving here in Peru.  


Today was different, definitely different.  We arrived at the internal medicine unit at Daniel Carrión Hospital and had to wait in the hallway for a bit, this has become a custom since Peruvian time isn't exactly as punctual as American time.  Suddenly our chatter about the night before and funny pictures was shattered by the piercing scream of a woman down the hall.  At first her words were unidentifiable but the deep pain in which she bellowed was clear, no translation necessary.  After she calmed down a bit (granted, she was still sobbing and screaming) I could make out the reason for her distress.  Apparently her son was in the hospital, and when she came to visit him this morning his bed was empty, he had passed away and no one contacted her.  Here she was in the hospital, carrying a bag of her son's favorite treats to ease his pain and put a smile on his face, and she is greeted by an empty bed and the news of the death of her son.  As physicians, nurses and technicians tried to comfort and console her she would snap that they were the ones that killed her son, and why were they trying to ease her pain when they did nothing for her boy.  A crowd started to gather at the opposite end of the hallway where we were standing and the tension was palpable.  It was hard enough to hear her mourning cries, but I had to translate them for the others in the group, which caused me to sort of dwell in her situation and stew over it.  Nothing could shake her cries and her words from my ears, it was on a constant loop that just wouldn't end.  I was rather somber and quiet for the rest of my time at the hospital, not even shadowing rounds with Dr. Yumpo or talking with Piera, one of our favorite medical students, snapped me out of my haze.


Once we left the hospital it was time to go to the special needs school.  To put it simply, we had a bit of a rough time there.  Since it was really sunny the teachers wanted the kids to play in the "rec room" and boy was it crammed.  Hula hoops, balls, papers, you name it were flying everywhere and these kids just would not settle down.  Then there was a fighting epidemic where all the little and big boys wanted to push, shove, punch, kick, wrestle, tackle, and strangle each other.  It got to the point where we had to actually kick kids out of the rec room since they were such a danger to the others.  At one point, one kid punched a kid in a wheelchair, Jefery's,  head, and that's when I scolded the kid and pulled up a chair to personally guard Jefery.  Jefery is at maximum 10 years old and is pretty much confined to a wheelchair, however he has incredible upper body strength and can slither somewhere if he's desperate.  Also, Jefery can hear and understand, but can't really control his mouth, so he drools a lot and only makes grunting noises if he feels uncomfortable or scared.  I sat there, patting his arm and put a hula hoop around him so he could be like the other kids as he watched the old, fading tv screen intently.  Every time someone on the screen danced he would get a huge smile on his face and would kind of bop his head.  


At one point I had to get up to stop a kid who was throwing chairs at other kids, when all of the sudden Jefery grabbed my hand and put it back on his arm, so I would continue to pat him.  I sat back down (after I stopped the chair thrower, don't worry), stunned and humbled beyond belief.  Here is a child who will never be able to walk or run or play or dance, and who instead of being bitter about what he can't do, gets great joy out of watching others do what he could only dream of doing.  And, all he wants is to have a simple touch of acknowledgment, for others to know that he is special and worthy of attention.  My heart both swelled and broke for Jefery.  If only others, including myself, had that type of attitude.  How often do I sit there and complain about the things I cannot do and dwell on my own inadequacies instead of praising God for the gifts that others have that I do not.  Our society is so "me" driven that taking time to appreciate the talents that others are blessed with, just as an act of praise, is such a foreign notion to digest.  We all try to act like we have it all together: to be smart, athletic, attractive, funny, social... essentially, invincible.  And the funny thing is that the most beautiful thing I've seen in Peru thus far is not a cascading waterfall or the towering Andes, it's the spit bubble filled smile and drool soaked chin of a handicapped little boy. 


People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them.  When Jesus saw this, he was indignant.  He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kindom of God belongs to such as these."         Mark 10: 13-14


Let us love like we were children, make us feel like we're still living, in a world I know is burning to the ground.  Give us time to beat the system, make us find what we've been missing, in a world I know is burning to the ground. (...)  Take a chance on the long shot this time, aren't we all just at least worth another a try...  "Let us Love" -Needtobreathe