I’ve had a few days to get some much-needed rest and to begin the work of processing all of the things that I saw and did while serving on this 2011 Cebu City Rotaplast mission. It’s hard to capture it, really, but hopefully my journal over the weeks give some context and insight into these my final thoughts, my post-mission manifesto of sorts.
Above all else, with the ups and downs of the 10 days we worked, I believe in the mission. We accomplished a lot despite the obstacles, shared grief, laughed, and learned together. If my record keeping is correct, we saw 104 patients; our surgical teams delivered surgery to 65 patients with 80 procedures; our dentists and orthodontists provided 404 services to these patients. All of this in seven days. That’s something to be proud of. We were successful together as a team – a group of 26 virtual strangers who assembled within hours and dispersed almost as quickly when the work was finished.
Individually, I’ve taken a lot from this experience. Hopefully what I gave measured for more than what I received. My first thought is of how small I feel. I work hard at my job, try to contribute positively to the world – donating to charity, recycling, staying healthy so I’m not a drag on our weakening healthcare system. Genuinely trying to leave the planet, when it happens, better or at the very least not compromised by my presence on it for this short borrowed time. But after seeing what I’ve seen, I feel really insignificant. Each of us is but a speck on the earth. I think at this point in my life, I’m seeing this most clearly for the first time. And more than ever before, I want my speck to mean something more than being a responsible tax payer, a consumer, a person who is giving more than she’s taking…something more than just a nice girl.
Another thought is how far I’ve gotten in life being something of a coward. I’m strong – physically, emotionally, intellectually (I don't say this with an ounce of cockiness; I also know my weaknesses). And like many I have endured some extreme lows in life. But in my day-to-day living things come relatively easy. I have a good job, work in a clean comfortable, low risk environment. People don’t die if I don’t finish my work. The truth is that if life were at stake in my work, I couldn’t do it. I’m just not brave like the medical professionals I’ve served with. Their work has left an indelible impression on me that will last through the years ahead. They’ve got guts to face the risk and obstacles presented to them each day. You don’t choose their line of work for the money; it’s the satisfaction that with two hands in tandem with a sharp mind you change lives. They live outside of their comfort zones, throughout their careers fearing the worst and working for the best; I lived it for a mere two weeks.
Each year, 2,300 new cases of cleft palate and cleft lip are born in the Philippines alone. In another posting I explained the reasons why this happens and what it means for a person should they have to live their entire lives with such deformities. But, so many new cases each year? How do you begin to address that kind of a situation? Well, organizations like Rotaplast for starters. I know there are others doing similar good work. And while all are making a dent, there’s still more need than we can comprehend. Despite the week’s low point, the passing of a child patient, the mission—this mission in Cebu City—must continue. Period. We can’t be discouraged by the numbers.
I learned a lot about myself and while I still don’t have all of the answers of where my place in the world truly is, I know I can’t go back to life without a stronger element of service being a part of who I am. Service is now defined differently for me, though.
Service is about teamwork and support. I saw this first hand in my teammates who came together and went to work almost automatically. We descended on Cebu City from the four corners of the USA, Canada and Australia. Together we suffered through a loss yet pushed each other along to continue the important work we came to do. I saw the best in people pulling together, through sweat (yes, it was hot), tears, and laughter. One person couldn’t do what the collective “we” did. Medicine and service take a team to do the work and survive it.
Service is about embracing one’s humanity. It’s that part of us that recognizes that we’re all alike more than we are different. We all have the ability to experience and share the full range of human emotion: pain, pleasure, joy, outrage, success, failure. We all will eventually die—one of the more sobering connections humans share. Our differences and circumstances are the intersection where opportunities for each of us lay. For those of us who by accident of birth or fortune ended up with more, it’s really not because somehow we’re better, more deserving. And when we entertain those self-centered thoughts, it’s a shameful moment. It’s an accident, dumb luck really that many of us enjoy our stations in life. And it’s our obligation to step up with what we have to serve those who didn’t win the family lineage or geographic lottery. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t enjoy some of what we work for. But each time we feel short-changed by life ask the question: do I want this or do I need this? These are two very different concepts, and I believe we give in to want more than we should. It’s about calibration. And, everyone has something to offer. Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s money or other goods. Humanity isn’t experienced in designer clothes sitting in the Starbuck’s drive-through in our luxury cars; it’s where the average person exists. And the world’s average – its standard – is far lower than we realize. Try living on less than $10 a day as a middle class citizen.
I’ve seen things I couldn’t begin to describe well and have had the thought that any one of these scenes imprinted in my mind could have been me or anyone I know in my normal day-to-day life. Unforgettable street scenes that I can’t give adequate words to or photograph. I’ve witnessed the highest forms of human grief—a mother’s screams, a father’s mourning, a sobbing man shaking his beloved on the curb willing her to wake up as a fluffy white puppy rolled from her lifeless lap into the street. I saw tiny young (certainly not "legal" by U.S. standards) girls dancing, trading themselves for a few pesos to Westerners who cheapened their existence for their own pleasure. I’ve watched a team of medical experts give everything they had for hours trying to save a young life in a situation so rare it’s inconceivable, and then robbed by reality. I saw a soul leave the world despite the dedication, the work. The injustices of all of this make my head spin.
But that was the worst; that’s what shocked me. But it doesn’t overshadow the tremendous good and beauty I’ve seen. I’ve watched many lives change. Fresh new smiles appeared where split lips, gaping mouths, malformed nostrils, and random teeth once were – a chance at a longer healthier life. The new hope that discrimination and shame will not lead them to the worst of poverty where they have no options but crime, sex trade or begging. I’ve experienced the hospitality and generosity of the local people – willing to give anything to us, their guests, to ensure our safety and comfort. Outside of the immediate vicinity of the city where we worked, I saw breathtaking waterfalls, brilliantly colored sea life, mountain top vistas that made me forget it all, if only for a minute. The people, nature, the culture – a rich blend of sensory delights.
The good and the bad. And despite the worst of what I witnessed, the best of it tips the balances in our favor. We made a difference on this mission. The scenes play over and over in my mind even now. I looked humanity straight in the eye and it stared back with blunt realness. And in those moments I saw my own reflection – a small speck on the earth willing to try to make a difference.
It’s ironic that when I prepared this blog before heading to the airport in Pasco, I named it “Mission Possible.” It was more of a question in my mind at that point. Several events threatened to make it impossible: the shortage of surgery rooms (we should have had three but were reduced to two), which challenged the talents of our surgical teams, yet they forged ahead. The tragic loss of a patient that made some of the team question themselves, their work, their sense of belonging in such a high-risk medical environment. Yet through it all we overcame the impossible. This mission was possible because people were willing to give their best: their time (in some cases limited vacation time), their talents, their money, their hope for others. For several, including myself, this was a first. If I were a betting person, I’d guess that for many of us it will not be the last time we serve like this.
I think at this point, it’s important to say thank you. My family, friends, and colleagues back home who prayed and supported me with messages/notes along the way. Those who know me best, know that I was frightened as I left town -- fear not being a common emotion for me. My fellow Rotarians who gave to the mission and pushed me forward with confidence. The local Rotarians of Cebu Port Center Club and the Rotaract volunteers who tirelessly served us as we put our all into the mission work. My new-found “cousins” at Club Serena Resort who helped me relax, laugh, and pull it together my last week in the country. And, my fellow volunteers who consoled me when faced with too many emotional real-life firsts. But more importantly, they walked the talk – giving me the best example possible of what it means to team and prevail in service. Motivation and hope for a better tomorrow.
On the ride to dinner the last night of surgery, tucked in the back of an SUV, Carolyn (our head nurse and my mission mother as described in earlier posts) asked me directly “Would you do this again?” I didn’t think and responded immediately with “yes.” It wasn’t until seconds later that I realized in my answer I’d turned a corner in my life.
Our last night in Cebu City at the closing banquet as I said goodbye to this incredible woman of faith, she held my arms firmly as she did on our most difficult day when she told me I belonged in this place on this mission as my own confidence failed me. Once again she delivered a lasting blow to my soul. Looking deep into my eyes she told me how proud she was of me; she admitted that my “yes” response to her question about another mission was the best thing she’d heard all week.
“This is who you are. Be true to yourself,” she encouraged me. Indeed. In that moment I realized a servant was humbly born in Cebu City.
Video tribute to my fellow servants on this mission
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