.
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"......."
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"Que significa la vida para ti, Juan?"
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"....."
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"Que significa?"
...
Still, a deep silence hung in the room, except of the scratching sound of the wooden walls grating against each other in the wind, and the flapping sound of the plastic tarp roof. Frank, the psychologist on our staff, and I sat in the stillness with Juan, waiting for his answer. Juan is one of our patients in the Ventanilla program, part of an enormous study on tuberculosis encompassing everything from microloans to novel diagnostic tests to psychological interventions, all in one of Lima's largest shantytowns. He's one of the younger ones, only 16 years old. Juan's bout of tuberculosis occurred not too long ago-- in fact, recently enough that he still gets sideways looks from people when he stops at the market. The thought of relapse crosses his mind whenever he coughs. Recently though, his mother was hospitalized with a stroke, leaving Juan at home to look after his 5 year old brother. Once we got the news of this, Frank decided to pay Juan a visit.
"Que significa la vida?"
The question still remained unanswered, lingering in the room. I was lost in my thoughts, sitting on the wooden bench of their dining table, across from Juan. The question filtered into my mind further with each repetition. Frank was searching for something within Juan-- some reason for Juan to keep a hold on, to give his life meaning even when everything was being pulled away.
And yet I couldn't help but hear this question -- and ask myself the same thing. What does life mean to me now? Why am I down here in Peru, at this point in my life?
On the surface, it's all about the research project. As Fogarty Scholars, we have been sponsored by the National Institute of Health (i.e., American taxpayers) to take part in research within the international setting, especially for developing nations. My project focuses on tuberculosis and depression: there's a mountain of quantitative data just waiting to be analyzed, and I'm hoping to get a qualitative study going as well. Spending time in the field (Ventanilla, that is) is a complete immersion-- not only in Spanish, but also in terms of urban poverty and international health.
The project itself will be interesting to follow all the way through-- yet at the same time, it's passive. So much will come from this data analysis and from the study, yet at the same time it lacks that active interaction with people that I've come to love. Even in the roughest parts of last year's clinical rotations, there was something still refreshing and satisfying about getting to know your patients, hearing their stories, cracking a few jokes, and making a connection as you care for them. So even though I'm working with the health of an entire community right now, a large part of me still craves that individual interaction that's so full of meaning.
Luckily, that's been coming. There's been chances to volunteer at Centro Ann Sullivan, a school for children with disabilities, and somehow I even assisted at a delivery out in the shantytowns. Even in the jungles of Iquitos, I was called upon to follow a small child down a path to a village to see a bedridden patient (more on this story in a later post). And those experiences have so fulfilling, so reminiscent of the same joy I would get from my patients back at home. There's a sense of satisfaction that comes from pouring out your kindness for just one person at a time. There's just so much meaning in it.
That, in truth, is why I am here. It's to work on multiple levels at once-- the qualitative and the quantitative, the shantytown and the city, the community and the individual-- and to strive to do good on all of these levels, to find meaning in all of these experiences. Even between work and play, there is so much meaning to derive-- from great conversations to great weekend trips to new foods to new connections. I'm surrounded by such fantastic people, all here because they want to do good. And I think we're all going to grow in the process. We'll all learn how to do good well.
"Que significa la vida?" I know my answer. And Juan's answer isn't far off. After talking through everything, he finally opened up. Here it is:
"For so long there were so many bad things in my life. There is still bad. But I also have good things now too that I hold on to."
Good night and good luck, all of you.
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