La Jornada de Ojos

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything; I was unprecedentedly busy last week. It was very nice to finally remember what it feels like to be running from place to place, barely finishing with one task before moving on to the next. In the three months I’ve been here, that lifestyle has been totally nonexistent for me. As much as I’ve try to get used to living a laid-back, slow-paced life, too much free time is still consistently driving me nuts.

The last week provided a much appreciated departure from that routine. Three American ophthalmologists and their three nurses arrived on August 31st for the bi-annual “Jornada de Ojos.” Every September and February their medical brigade takes over the clinic for a week. A surgical suite established mainly for cataract surgeries was built here over a decade ago, and Guatemalans come from far and wide for exams and operations. The doctors and nurses bring Christmas to the clinic, in the form of glaucoma drops for the patients, surgical tools for Guatemalan ophthalmology residents and copious amounts of trail mix, books and wonderful company for Sheila, Mary, Anna and I.

I spent most of the week down at the clinic, translating for patients during their exams and watching cataract surgeries. I spent all of my mornings in the clinic with the doctors, ran up to the school to teach in the afternoons, and then returned to Santo Tomas in the evenings for dinner.

Working with the doctors was a much needed refresher, reminding me why I’m working so hard applying to medical school right now. I spent most of June and July writing, re-writing, revising, erasing and writing over again the essays and job descriptions for my first round of applications. Then, as soon as that was turned in, I began receiving secondary applications. Most of them require an entirely new set of essays unique to the school, often requiring research into the university’s specific programs.

It’s hard – really hard – to spend so much time trying to articulate why I want to be a doctor, how I know I’ll be a good one, why you, Medical School No. 43, want me as badly as I want you….blah blah blah. It all begins to feel very empty and one-dimensional. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember having career goals; how am I supposed to convey my passion and desire in a medium as bland as black ink on white paper? I find medicine fascinating; the idea of dedicating my life to studying every minute detail of what makes us work is exhilarating. Honestly, I just get a kick out of it. However, through the process of writing “when I grow up I want to be a doctor” a million different creative ways, I’d somewhat lost track of the truth in the statement. It was beginning to feel like an idea which I’d been told to sell, regardless of whether or not I believed in it. “You’ve set a goal, now achieve it” is a different mindset than “pursue your goal because you love what it stands for,” and I’d begun to undergo the unfortunate transition from the latter to the former.

Then, right on time, cue the ophthalmologists. Before they arrived, I was excited about the change of pace which a half-dozen visitors would bring. I was looking forward to spending some focused time in the clinic, and I was eager for a chance to be useful and busy. However, the truth is, I wasn’t exactly expecting to care much about the actual work they’d be doing. “Eyes? Eh. Take’em or leave’em” would probably be an accurate representation of my medical interest in the subject. I’ve seen some enucleation (removal) surgeries on dogs before, and they were interesting enough I suppose. I’ve always taken advantage of the opportunity to dissect the surgery’s end product, but I can claim to have ever found myself particularly captivated by it. Truthfully, I couldn’t have explained the difference between a cataract and glaucoma before this last week, although I had at least heard of them.

Fantastically, the doctors and nurses were more than accommodating, allowing me all sorts of front-row and back-stage access to the goings on of the operation. For the first time in ages, I was reminded of my total fascination with biology, anatomy, physiology, pharmacology…all of the sciences which come into play with medicine. The week felt like a flashback to my entire childhood and adolescence, which can be blended quite conveniently into a single image of Jenna asking her father “Why?” That question, and the subsequent search for an answer or explanation, seems to have occupied the majority of my lifetime brain activity:

“Why do cows get milk fever? Why do dogs get salmon poisoning? Why do we have to test animals for TB before shipping them across state lines? Why do cats get diabetes? Why do you put neon dye in an animal’s eye when you want to examine it? Why do you treat kidney failure with subcutaneous fluids? Why are you using Baytril this time, and not Keflex? Why did you pull this tooth and not that one? Why does the spleen look like that? Why are taking out the meniscus on this ACL dog, but you didn’t on the other one? Why do you get more prolapsed uteruses during a full moon? Why do you have special diets for cats with chronic urinary tract infections? Why can’t we (pretty please!) do a cesarean on this dog? Why don’t you do major surgeries on horses? Why are people worried that their horse will be a crypt orchid? Why can you live without your pancreas? I mean, it seems pretty important....”

Asking a million question, varying from the trivial (why are most calico cats females?) to the downright unanswerable (why would anyone ever own a dog that’s not a golden retriever?), and getting solid thoughtful answers is easily my favorite pastime. School’s alright in that respect; the only problem is that as a student you don’t usually get to craft your own questions. Instead, it starts to feel like you’re simply presented with answers, and told to do something with them. Write a paper. Do an experiment which proves these facts true. Not much time, or energy, is left over for the much more enjoyable process of learning by simply watching and asking.

The return to a truly intellectually stimulating environment, where I was once again encouraged to ask, ask, ask and ask some more, was like a throwback to working with my dad. Most importantly, it reminded me of how much I really do care about the answers to all of my questions – I want to know how everything biological works for the simply purpose of enjoying the knowledge. I have no idea why that’s true for me with anything scientific, yet I could care less how the internets intertwine. Nonetheless, that’s just me, and it’s what’s driven me to pursue the study of science (however informally; think coyote dissections in the driveway while in grade school) since day one.

What’s more, once I become a doctor, I’ll be able to take it one step farther. More than just understanding the background of “why,” I’ll be in a position to apply that information. Ahh! I can’t imagine what would possibly be more fun!

What’s more, I find the process of explaining medical conditions incredibly fulfilling. More than just pestering the docs with questions and glancing over shoulders, I got to help. One of the doctors employed me as his full-time translator while he examined patients. I loved the whole process of watching, helping, and translating throughout the entire exam. Providing a good, honest explanation of someone’s medical condition and how it’s going to be address has a feeling reminiscent of public service. Summarizing the important aspects of a complicated medical scenario, in a way which gives the patient a clear picture of what they’re dealing with and how they need to react essentially de-mystifies the magical machine of the human body. After all, could you draw an anatomically correct picture of an eye? If you were told tomorrow that you had glaucoma, would you know what that really means? Probably not, but you would notice if you went blind. We take the normal functioning of our bodies so much for granted, and it can be terrifying to hear that something’s gone awry. But I’ve always found that really understanding a problem makes it so much less scary. That’s why I it’s so rewarding to put the body’s functions into plain words. It takes away a fear of the unknown and replaces it with a sense of prerogative.

Despite my occasional disillusionment with the process of applying to medical school, I know that all of this essay-crafting-application-fee-paying-letter-of-recommendation-requesting-circus-show’s-worth-of-hoop-jumping will be worth it in the end. I’ll be a good doctor, because it’s what I really want to do. Spending a week working alongside wonderful, kind and encouraging doctors and nurses only served to reinforce what I’ve known all along, even if it had been buried under a mountain of transcripts and application forms.

So, dear readers (“readers” is plural because I know that I’ve at least got Mom and Dad still checking this every once in a while), this particular blog entry may not be as interesting or entertaining as you’re used to. No silly situations which required a tricky escape, no cultural mishaps, days of bedridden near-death or elaborate descriptions of My Guatemalan Life. However, it’s what’s been going through my mind, so it’s what you’re stuck with. Lo siento. If you find this rather introspective diatribe to be boring, I’ll leave you with something to laugh about: Jenna, in her infinite wisdom, thought that teaching sex ed to classrooms packed full of 55 unruly, boisterous, impudent, disobedient, irreverent, energetic, disrespectful, bilingual (and I’m not referring to English) teenagers was a good idea. That’s what’s been keeping my on my toes since the doctors left. Imagine the mayhem. Ay…mi vida chapin…