Manny Esguerra and Deb Dickey write from the Phillipines...
We're writing this from a coffee shop in a mall in Manila. We have some reflections on the medical mission and what we've seen here.
Manny writes: We spent Ash Wednesday this year working on a medical mission in the Philippines. My parents started this mission in 1995, and have been bringing their physician colleagues from New York every other year since, to bring medical care to needy Filipinos. This year we worked in two sites: a tiny hospital in the urban Manila neighborhood of San Juan, and a provincial hospital in rural Bohol Island. At both sites, hundreds of people lined up for adult and pediatric examinations, for major and minor surgeries, and for some of the medicines and vitamins the mission had brought. I'm not a physician, so I worked as a combination triage receptionist, messenger, and traffic director.
On Ash Wednesday I was in the internal medicine clinic keeping track of patients, managing their files, and running messages for the doctors. Our room had Dr. Dungca from New York, and two local residents who were volunteering their time. Patients lined up outside the door hoping to see a doctor and were constantly poking their heads in to see if they were next. I know minimal Tagalog, I could only say to them "Susunod (you'll be next)," or "teka po (wait)." That little word, "po," sticks with me. I noticed that the doctors, no matter how harried or tired, were using it to address all the patients. "Po" is a Filipino nominative that's used to express deep respect for the person you're addressing. It's usually reserved for talking to elders and other persons of authority. But here these doctors, with all their education and privileges, were using "po" to address the neediest and most desperate of people. Because the Philippines is 98% Roman Catholic, it so happened that everyone had been marked with ashes on their foreheads. The whole situation spoke volumes to me of the message of Ash Wednesday: that in the end, we are all the same in God's eyes.
Deb writes: In the first week of our trip, I was often asked how I enjoyed the Philippines. I would think to myself "I haven't really seen the Philippines" because all of our time had been spent in a nice hotel, in the hospital in San Jose or in vans being transported from place to place. Only after some time did I realize my mistaken prejudice; I had assumed that all of the Philippines was poor so what I was seeing couldn't be "real". However, the streets of Manilla I was seeing were in fact a true reflection of the country. Because just as the streets of New York are different than the streets of Roseville which are different from the streets of the village of Sherwood, Ohio where I went to school, no one street is more reflective of the United States than the other. For though all the streets are different, all are truly American. And so it is with all people. Though they may have different professions and different levels of income, in the end, we are all the same as the children of God.
Manny writes: We spent Ash Wednesday this year working on a medical mission in the Philippines. My parents started this mission in 1995, and have been bringing their physician colleagues from New York every other year since, to bring medical care to needy Filipinos. This year we worked in two sites: a tiny hospital in the urban Manila neighborhood of San Juan, and a provincial hospital in rural Bohol Island. At both sites, hundreds of people lined up for adult and pediatric examinations, for major and minor surgeries, and for some of the medicines and vitamins the mission had brought. I'm not a physician, so I worked as a combination triage receptionist, messenger, and traffic director.
On Ash Wednesday I was in the internal medicine clinic keeping track of patients, managing their files, and running messages for the doctors. Our room had Dr. Dungca from New York, and two local residents who were volunteering their time. Patients lined up outside the door hoping to see a doctor and were constantly poking their heads in to see if they were next. I know minimal Tagalog, I could only say to them "Susunod (you'll be next)," or "teka po (wait)." That little word, "po," sticks with me. I noticed that the doctors, no matter how harried or tired, were using it to address all the patients. "Po" is a Filipino nominative that's used to express deep respect for the person you're addressing. It's usually reserved for talking to elders and other persons of authority. But here these doctors, with all their education and privileges, were using "po" to address the neediest and most desperate of people. Because the Philippines is 98% Roman Catholic, it so happened that everyone had been marked with ashes on their foreheads. The whole situation spoke volumes to me of the message of Ash Wednesday: that in the end, we are all the same in God's eyes.
Deb writes: In the first week of our trip, I was often asked how I enjoyed the Philippines. I would think to myself "I haven't really seen the Philippines" because all of our time had been spent in a nice hotel, in the hospital in San Jose or in vans being transported from place to place. Only after some time did I realize my mistaken prejudice; I had assumed that all of the Philippines was poor so what I was seeing couldn't be "real". However, the streets of Manilla I was seeing were in fact a true reflection of the country. Because just as the streets of New York are different than the streets of Roseville which are different from the streets of the village of Sherwood, Ohio where I went to school, no one street is more reflective of the United States than the other. For though all the streets are different, all are truly American. And so it is with all people. Though they may have different professions and different levels of income, in the end, we are all the same as the children of God.
posted by Melanie at 11:47 AM
1 Comments:
Amen!
Post a Comment
<< Home