Day 5 of 71
I should have studied French. Scratch that. I should have studied Pidgin.


Hello from Cameroon! It is very odd here. 
Not in a I'm-in-a-third-world way (but sort of), but in a it feels like I've been here longer than three days way. It feels like I have been here a month. Nothing surprises me: the dried fish at the market, bucket laundry, rainy mile and a half walks up the mountain to work...I suppose it's because I've had so long to prepare myself for it. Either way, it's pretty cool being in Cameroon.


The people are very friendly and everywhere we go we hear “Yoh ah wehcome” meaning we are welcome in their country. However, part of me is getting restless and I can't help but wonder if the people here realize I'm here to WORK and to DO and not to tour and visit and see... I'm here as a physical resource not a financial one. But “white man rich man” haha. I've already learned to tell the people at the market not to give me “white man's price”. They think everyone from the US is loaded, which in comparison we are but... I can't help but to wonder if it's America's fault with all of our boasting of money and riches and the land of plenty, but in reality we are the land in debt with many greedy people. But greed is everywhere. I ramble.


The other volunteers are great. Unfortunately two are preparing to head home in two weeks' time which is kind of hard for me. We all both in transition states: I'm transitioning out of homesickness and getting into the swing of things here while they are transitioning back into the home mindset. Their talk about home isn't making me miss home any less. But it has only been five days since I left. I'll live.


I've already taken several bucket baths, washed my hair once and my clothes once. I rearranged the furniture in the common room of my house to make it more home-like than storage hut-like. I bartered for water and didn't pay whiteman's price! I'm doing alright.


Today was my first day in the hospital and I helped mainly in the men's ward. I have to say it was a little frustrating because the other volunteer had seniority so I just watched. I know I have to gain their trust in my abilities first though, and that's kind of reassuring that they don't just let anybody do whatever. They are very slow changing dressings, though. They try to use minimal supplies because the  patient has to pay for everything we use on them (including gauze and gloves...so they only let the people touching the wound use gloves. Heh, glad I brought my own!). It's also about a mile or mile and a half walk up the mountain to the hospital and because it rained I wore my bogs today and raincoat. There is no air circulation in the men's ward and after standing and sweating for an hour I felt like I was going to pass out for the first time in my life.  Some air and water from my bottle fixed me right up.


We have some crazy patients. One man had his hand caught in a meat grinder and it ripped off most of his palm. I could see the bones in his hand! He also has a fractured radius and ulna, complete fracture, in the middle of his elbow and wrist that they won't do surgery on until his flesh heals on his arm and hand so they can put it in a cast. This one they pack with sugar. I asked the rationale behind it and they said that when packed thick and mixed with the body fluid, the sugar creates a thick gel that inhibits the growth of aerobic bacteria and does the same as salt as far as the concentration gradient goes for drawing out fluids. Pretty cool!  Another man was thrown over the handlebars of his scooter and his pelvis was ripped open at the synthesis of the pelvis which ruptured his bladder. He sat for two weeks in the public hospital with nothing done to his pelvis save for his scrotum cut open to allow for urine to drain out of it. Dr. Jacob wired his pelvis shut and sewed up his bladder but he is still in bad shape. 


Tomorrow we work in the Theatre (OR) and it is actually common to take photographs during surgery. I will definitely be photographing our procedures from time to time. I won't post them (maybe just a wound) out of respect for the patient though. If internet ever gets better I will upload the photos. If not, I will pay to connect and put them on my Facebook in the airport in Brussels. I should go to sleep now. It's a long walk up the mountain and we have to start fairly early.


Thank you all for your continued prayers and support. I cannot tell you how much I love and appreciate you all so very much. Emails truly brighten my afternoons, so keep them coming! Also, we can receive mail here. Once I get the address from other volunteers  will post it and would love any letters, cards or photos from home. Thank you again and please keep praying. God sent me here for a reason, I just have to figure out what it is!


-Em


Day 6 of 71


Today we worked in the Theatre and as I am typing I am importing photos to my computer. I hope that the Cyber will not be busy when I go to it so that maybe a few photos will load. My mother and boyfriend will be happy to know I have taken 112 photos since I've arrived in Cameroon. If you know I never take photos of anything so over 100 in the first week is pretty great. Granted, most of them are graphic and “gross” photos of the surgery we did today. Speaking of...


I am working in St. Luke's Medical Centre (SLM) where the Doctor specializes in orthopedics. Many of our patients have suffered car wrecks, bike wrecks or have been hit by either. Some patients have experienced work-related injuries (such as the meat grinder hand). Today we operated on a man who suffered from separated tendons in the top of his wrist. Dr. Regan would kick me right now for not knowing the correct names of the tendons, but terms such as that are not used over here. Parts of the man's Achilles were removed and reattached in his wrist. I found that very interesting because I have heard of the Achilles being a donor for ankle or knee tendon injures, but never a wrist.


Surgery here is quite different. The patient is given a small dose of Ketamine to put them to sleep (or at least make them drowsy) before the surgery begins. Most of the time and energy is spent wrestling the patient writhing on the table while the surgeon attempts to do his job. “Sterile” things are so funny too. You have to leave your scrubs at the hospital in a special room so you won't bring outside germs in, but they aren't washed in between cases or days – only over the weekend when you are allowed to bring them home. And you have to change into “sterile” shoes when you go into the Theatre, but the windows are open in the Theatre during surgery and afterwards staff goes into the next room (the room used for boiling instruments) and eats lunch prepared on the stove next to the pot where the instruments are boiling. I'm trying to keep an open mind and not push the impression of “oh I'm from a first world hospital and I know it all” because I don't, but some things they do aren't necessary and take up too much time and some things they skip are VERY necessary. It's just eye-opening to see how things are done differently in different areas. I'm grateful for the opportunity to witness these differences so that one day (if I get into med school and become a doctor) I will be able to work and serve people of all races, types, creeds and cultures. I will have a better understanding of how they live and think and that way I will be able to serve them best.


While this morning went well and was quite enjoyable, I did not have the best of afternoons...
Today we finished surgery early and one volunteer wanted to make Agoosi (y'all I'm going to butcher the spelling of all these words until I get to read them or google them, sorry. I'm spelling them how they sound) Soup, a traditional African dish, with the help of one of the patients in the Female Ward. I knew that cooking in Africa took longer than in the US, but I wanted to witness this happen. I did not realize it was going to take five and a half hours; which would have been fine if I hadn't wanted to use the Cyber before dark. We first started preparing the soup at the end of the corridor where the patient told us cooking was always done. As I was sitting there chopping a vegetable the doctor came out yelling at us for cooking in the corridor. Apparently the patient gets in trouble for cooking there all the time and of course, all the other volunteers had gone somewhere to grind peppe so it was just me, the new kid, and this “unruly”patient. Not exactly the first impression I wanted to make. He did say that it was not my fault the patient led me astray, but still I felt horrible. 
 Anyway, African food that I have had so far has been pretty good. But everything is cooked with a lot A LOOOT of oil. And a lot of what is cooked is made with groundnut oil (which I can't eat) or palmnut oil (which I'm not sure about either) but tons of it used (more grease than used in MS to fry stuff. I'm not kidding). By tons I mean half a litre was called for in the soup just for “flavor” (which is kind of fishy and very...oily.)! I'm not a big fan of the taste the oil gives the food (Like those Omega 3 Fish Oil pills). The soup also had dried fish which, when I helped prepare the soup, I had to tear off the heads and use my fingers to gut them and de-bone them. The smell of the fish and seeing flies crawl on them made me lose my taste for fish and the fishy taste over powered the soup. All of that combined with the idea that it was prepared in a hospital and consumed in a sick ward on plates acquired from beneath the patient's bed and in front of other hungry patients made it nearly impossible for me to eat the food. I understand I am in a poor country and the food will be different and so will the preparations for it. I can handle that. But I can't eat it in a hospital in front of others who are struggling to pay their bills and hardly eating themselves (unless they cook it or buy it and how will they buy it if they can't pay the doctor??) The location was unappetizing (I never once ate at Forrest General in the two years I shadowed there) and the guilt was even worse. I had to get up and leave before I cried. I couldn't help but think about how everyone around me (the staff and my friends) were making such a fuss about what I'm assuming is a special dish here in Cameroon, while there are several patients not allowed to leave and see their families because their bills have not been settled yet and they are brought one small, simple meal a day. It just broke my heart. I also felt bad because the food tastes so foreign to me I cannot eat large portions (I've hardly had an appetite since I graduated college three weeks ago, anyway) and all the natives ask why I am not enjoying it like my friends are. My friends have been here at least three months, one has been here eight, they are well adjusted and I am not. It is embarrassing! But I know I'd rather ease myself and my stomach into it (especially when I don't know what my allergies are here and one volunteer has had TYPHOID.) than gorge myself on the food and suffer the consequences. Bleh I sound like such an incredibly, ungrateful and spoiled American brat.


I know I just have to stick it out the next two weeks and I'll be okay. After then I'll have fallen into a rhythm and things won't be so new to me. And those preparing to go home will be gone and I believe new faces will be arriving. I do have my new pair of crazy pants to look forward to tomorrow. I may go to the house over and look at their dress and skirt designs for ideas to use on the rest of my fabric. The beach should be a lot of fun too. So I have a pleasant weekend ahead with plenty of distractions from homesickness and when I return my other roommate will be back and my house won't be so empty. Yay TGIF!


Day 7 of 71


Today was a much better day. After forty games of Solitaire and heavy prayer last night, I woke up determined to have a great day today. I did my own dressing today, made friends with some patients, gave meds IVD and picked up my genie pants from the tailor. Now I'm skyping with loved ones.


Today is good.


God is great.