That morning I put on some khakis and a nice linen shirt, ate breakfast, and hopped in the car. Our driver took me to the hospital where I unsuccessfully attempted to enter. Two burly Indian officers beckoned for me to wait by the side door among the frenzy of people entering the hospital until someone verified that I was legit lol (rough translation). I called Mr. Pilai, one of the hospital's social-workers, who appeared at the entrance within minutes, waving away the guards and smiling to reassure them that I was no threat. Until then I was mentally complaining about how busy it was.....but man... the rush inside was at least twice that of outside.
As the doors to the hospital opened, cool air brushed my face and infiltrated my nostrils--leaving scents of disinfectant spray and unfortunate sick aromas (your mind can wander). There was also loud commotion due to the frequent announcements over intercom and sheer amount of people. In fact, there are so many people it is impossible to move quickly through the halls with bumping shoulders, mostly people just jostle along until reaching there destination. It would be disorienting for someone used to Vidant to say the least but I was kind of frightened and excited by the chaos at the same time. Mr. Pilai pulled me aside from the crowd and introduced himself to me with a very genuine smile you'd imagine for a social worker. I turned to wave goodbye to my grandparents through the windows. Then, Mr, Pilai took off and said to simply follow him. I swear this man had moves like jagger-- just skating along the crowd barely brushing the shoulders of patients and families. In contrast, I waddled through the crowd as fast as I could. We skirted a couple hallways and descended a flight of stairs and arrived at the pediatric oncology. I was introduced to the social team I would be a part of: Lidiya, Deepa, and Radhika, all females at least 10 years older than me.
This introduction was one of those moments where you wish your family had been more honest with you. My parents told me that my Malayalam, the Indian language I speak (btw there is no language called "Indian"), was perfectly understandable. However, they did not mention the huge accent I apparently had. After speaking my first couple sentences in Malayalam to my fellow workers they all turned to each other, repeated the phrases I used then laughed. I would have blushed if I could. I quickly re-phrased two or three more times only to be repeated again--oh so embarrassing lol. A comparison would be like the green alien toys from Toy Story that repeated everything in amazement or the little yellow minions from Despicable Me that would repeat words and giggle uncontrollably. I resorted to the universal language of smiling for the next couple of minutes. Then Lidiya grabbed my hand and said it was time to get to work.
Before entering the pediatric ward for the first time, questions raced through my head: How bad will it be in there? Will I be able to adjust? Is there A/C? What could I say to comfort them? Will they even understand me considering the recent language fiasco? The large room we entered had beds lined in rows with a child and one parent together. The room had paintings of Disney characters on the wall and many fans attached to the ceiling. But the beds--more importantly the very sick children in the beds--consumed my attention. In some beds kids lay there, mothers watching them with tired, forlorn expressions while in others the mothers lay beside their child tightly holding on to them. The ages of children ranged from infants to 14 years but all looked much younger than their age due to severe hair and weight loss. My stomach tumbled for a minute, but my first thought was that this was an unfortunate environment and I wanted to make these patients forget where they were. Forget why they were attached to many wires and medicinal pouched. Forget the unfortunate prognosis of their disease. But how? I knew that nothing could completely free them of worry, but anything would help.
Then, detaching me from my train of thought, a heavy stack of paper, unsharpened pencils, crayon boxes, erasers, and pencil sharpeners were thrust into my arms. I snapped out of my thoughts in time to see Lidiya make a circle in the air gesturing that I was to entertain them. There were 38 bed patients and I was equipped with unsharpened pencils, paper, and my heavily accented language. I looked at the paper crayons and pencils and was just like But im not an artist doee.....what do I do with this I thought to myself. I walked to the nearest bed and introduced myself. Both the mom and little boy were very sad with no change in expression. I nervously looked to my paper and realized I couldn't draw at all. So I drew the boy' s name in cool bubble letters and let him decorate it. Still, no smile, whew this was getting so awkward that my face hurt. I leaped to the next bed wishing to be freed from that fail of an encounter. I beamed a smile at the new mother and daughter and asked for the daughter's name. She said "Pavithra" and I heard "Pavika"--which is a bitter vegetable. I said " Oh! Pavika?! I like that name!" She put a hand to her mouth looked to her mom then laughed. This would be like someone introducing herself to you as "Patricia" and you saying "Oh! Potato?! I like that name!" Luckily, Lidiya had come back for something and justified my mistake by smiling and telling them that I was a white guy, which is not true obviously lol. One could say I stumbled through the remaining 36 beds trying to help however I could assisting nurses, drawing mediocre art, and learning names. At one bed there was a kid who was actually very excited to meet me. I pronounced her name properly! She said she wanted me to make something pretty and I was like oh man. I scoured my brain for any crafts I could remember and realized I knew how to make a snowflake! Happy that I could make something, I snipped away while the little girl, Najila, carefully watched my every move. She and I colored the snowflake and she clutched the finished product to her chest with a huge smile. Ah, at least something went right. Snowflakes in South India, I guess anything is possible :) Leaving the hospital after my first day I thought that if a snowflake exists in South India then I can find a way to aid those kids and mothers somehow...
As the doors to the hospital opened, cool air brushed my face and infiltrated my nostrils--leaving scents of disinfectant spray and unfortunate sick aromas (your mind can wander). There was also loud commotion due to the frequent announcements over intercom and sheer amount of people. In fact, there are so many people it is impossible to move quickly through the halls with bumping shoulders, mostly people just jostle along until reaching there destination. It would be disorienting for someone used to Vidant to say the least but I was kind of frightened and excited by the chaos at the same time. Mr. Pilai pulled me aside from the crowd and introduced himself to me with a very genuine smile you'd imagine for a social worker. I turned to wave goodbye to my grandparents through the windows. Then, Mr, Pilai took off and said to simply follow him. I swear this man had moves like jagger-- just skating along the crowd barely brushing the shoulders of patients and families. In contrast, I waddled through the crowd as fast as I could. We skirted a couple hallways and descended a flight of stairs and arrived at the pediatric oncology. I was introduced to the social team I would be a part of: Lidiya, Deepa, and Radhika, all females at least 10 years older than me.
This introduction was one of those moments where you wish your family had been more honest with you. My parents told me that my Malayalam, the Indian language I speak (btw there is no language called "Indian"), was perfectly understandable. However, they did not mention the huge accent I apparently had. After speaking my first couple sentences in Malayalam to my fellow workers they all turned to each other, repeated the phrases I used then laughed. I would have blushed if I could. I quickly re-phrased two or three more times only to be repeated again--oh so embarrassing lol. A comparison would be like the green alien toys from Toy Story that repeated everything in amazement or the little yellow minions from Despicable Me that would repeat words and giggle uncontrollably. I resorted to the universal language of smiling for the next couple of minutes. Then Lidiya grabbed my hand and said it was time to get to work.
Before entering the pediatric ward for the first time, questions raced through my head: How bad will it be in there? Will I be able to adjust? Is there A/C? What could I say to comfort them? Will they even understand me considering the recent language fiasco? The large room we entered had beds lined in rows with a child and one parent together. The room had paintings of Disney characters on the wall and many fans attached to the ceiling. But the beds--more importantly the very sick children in the beds--consumed my attention. In some beds kids lay there, mothers watching them with tired, forlorn expressions while in others the mothers lay beside their child tightly holding on to them. The ages of children ranged from infants to 14 years but all looked much younger than their age due to severe hair and weight loss. My stomach tumbled for a minute, but my first thought was that this was an unfortunate environment and I wanted to make these patients forget where they were. Forget why they were attached to many wires and medicinal pouched. Forget the unfortunate prognosis of their disease. But how? I knew that nothing could completely free them of worry, but anything would help.
Then, detaching me from my train of thought, a heavy stack of paper, unsharpened pencils, crayon boxes, erasers, and pencil sharpeners were thrust into my arms. I snapped out of my thoughts in time to see Lidiya make a circle in the air gesturing that I was to entertain them. There were 38 bed patients and I was equipped with unsharpened pencils, paper, and my heavily accented language. I looked at the paper crayons and pencils and was just like But im not an artist doee.....what do I do with this I thought to myself. I walked to the nearest bed and introduced myself. Both the mom and little boy were very sad with no change in expression. I nervously looked to my paper and realized I couldn't draw at all. So I drew the boy' s name in cool bubble letters and let him decorate it. Still, no smile, whew this was getting so awkward that my face hurt. I leaped to the next bed wishing to be freed from that fail of an encounter. I beamed a smile at the new mother and daughter and asked for the daughter's name. She said "Pavithra" and I heard "Pavika"--which is a bitter vegetable. I said " Oh! Pavika?! I like that name!" She put a hand to her mouth looked to her mom then laughed. This would be like someone introducing herself to you as "Patricia" and you saying "Oh! Potato?! I like that name!" Luckily, Lidiya had come back for something and justified my mistake by smiling and telling them that I was a white guy, which is not true obviously lol. One could say I stumbled through the remaining 36 beds trying to help however I could assisting nurses, drawing mediocre art, and learning names. At one bed there was a kid who was actually very excited to meet me. I pronounced her name properly! She said she wanted me to make something pretty and I was like oh man. I scoured my brain for any crafts I could remember and realized I knew how to make a snowflake! Happy that I could make something, I snipped away while the little girl, Najila, carefully watched my every move. She and I colored the snowflake and she clutched the finished product to her chest with a huge smile. Ah, at least something went right. Snowflakes in South India, I guess anything is possible :) Leaving the hospital after my first day I thought that if a snowflake exists in South India then I can find a way to aid those kids and mothers somehow...
