Every night at dinner, our job assignments for the next clinic day are read. About 25 of us:  Mimi, Mckenna, the USF pre-med students, and I, rotate through each station throughout the week. Some jobs, such a medical history, and translator are limited to those of us who are bilingual, but everyone takes a turn filling prescriptions at pharmacy and taking vitals at lab and triage. Some skills, although new to me, were easy to learn. Blood pressure, counting vitamins, sorting through antibiotics, and cutting pills in half: all pretty straight forward. Learning to connect with the patients is a little bit trickier.

            Even though many of the patients that came through our clinic have access to their local health center, most families lack transportation (private cars or boats), and can’t take off work to spend a day waiting for a bus to take them to get seen by a doctor. Further, many of the patients suffer from chronic pain, caused by the general lifestyle in the Amazon basin. Fortunately, I learned pretty quickly as a translator, that work meant grueling hours in the fields cutting down plantains and sugar cane with a machete. Generally, patients only complained of pain when it had gotten so debilitating that they couldn’t work anymore. Of course we could only hand out so much ibuprofen, but we were able to refer patients to a local physical therapist, who traveled to clinic with us throughout the week.
               I learned how to ask follow up questions that gave the volunteer doctors an insight into the daily lives of our patients. For example, when a young man complains of right shoulder pain, it’s often more helpful to know which arm he uses to hold the machete, rather than trying to determine if the pain is sharp or dull. Even without a language barrier, however, the patients weren’t accustomed to coming to the doctor with a history of their illness. At home it seems natural to take into account the factors that worsen or lessen a cough, or the time a rash has been itching. But, the history of the illness in these villages was often measured in time the patient hasn’t been able to work in the fields.
           I also learned that the patients aren’t looking for our sympathy. It’s hard to look at a sixteen year old girl, a patient who is my age and pregnant, and not feel sorry for her.  But, it’s necessary to take into account that she walked hours to come to a clinic to see a doctor and seek prenatal care, not to have people feel empathy for her. That, in and of itself, is pretty stoic. It’s also important to remember that the lifestyle and cultural norms for the people of the Amazon basin are different than those at home.
            The differences between our lifestyle and theirs are easily noticeable. That said, the common threads of humanity are very similar. Mothers care for their babies, parents work to provide for their families, and children play and smile (just with each other, not with their x-box). It’s easy to get caught up in the frustration of being behind at pharmacy, miswriting labels, or having to explain over and over again that the antibiotic must be taken with a meal. But, at the end of day, clinic week wouldn’t have been possible without the effort of each of our team members as well as the patients’ trust in our medical knowledge.
-Lena

2 thoughts on “Treating Patients, Ecuadorian Style -Lena”

  1. Lena; this experience is making you grow up and mature very quickly. Your ability to express youself is awsome. We are so proud of you. There is no doubt in our minds that there will be another Dr. Goldstein in the family. Much love, Lovey and Coach

  2. Can all of that translating count as coursework for ap spanish like please
    I’ll launch the letter writing campaign you’re welcome xo

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