gennaja
Jun 12, 2014
Graduate / Brazil- my narrative for PA school [2]
I opened my eyes and gazed out the window, we floated seamlessly over a sea of fluffy white puffs of air. I smiled at the thought of the journey ahead of me. I was traveling to Brazil to study abroad, and unbeknownst to me this would be an experience that would leave me changed forever. The house I lived in was beach side in Niteroi, a small city that was considered to have the highest quality of life in all of Brazil. My room faced the water and every morning I would wake by a gust of wind coming through the window that encompassed the space of an entire wall. It felt as if the air was whisking around my head and whispering in my ears to rise and explore. It would beckon me to wake and begin my day and so like clockwork I would indeed rise. Every day began the same, it was beautifully rhythmic. I would awake at 7:00 and anxiously race down the steps to watch the symphony of movement. There was the baker who hand delivered his bread; he kept in a cylindrical basket that was harnessed around his chest. He crossed the street at 7:30 exactly. Around the same time the street venders would open their cart doors with a clang, signaling to everyone that they were prepared serve. I would dash across the street and buy my usual. A shot of espresso to keep me company during my walk to class, an Amazonian energy drink and a whole coconut cut from tree. The latter two I would stuff in my book bag and save. Around 7:45 I would commence my saunter to class. Every morning I would take note of the buildings' architecture, most structures were very boxy and built low to the ground, but always painted colorfully. Nearly all were tagged with graffiti, they served as platforms for social rebellion, one of the only means of expression by a society that was oppressed. The buildings reminded me how far I really was from home. Around 8:15 I would round the final corner before the school house. Purposefully, I would arrive 15 minutes early because I needed time to do one more thing before my day of academia ensued. A half a block beyond school on the corner of the street sat a family of four; a young mother that was around my age at the time and her three children. A box was cut open and laid flat on the ground; it made the foundation of their home. One brown pillow was their only luxury and very large blanket sat in a ball, I am sure it was used for cold nights. I would walk over to the family and try very much to carry conversation; most of which was undoubtedly lost in translation. I would then reach in my book bag and take out the energy drink; which was the children's favorite and the large coconut and hand it to the mother. After our brief exchange I would slowly walk back to class, sifting through my thoughts that swam busily through my head. This was destitute like nothing I had encountered. I concluded from several broken conversations, that she was from the favalas in the mountain side. There she had a husband and more family, but due to increasing violence and many family deaths she decided to gather her children and leave. She decided upon Niteroi because it was known hold a higher socio-economic status. She mentioned she was not aware of any government assistance programs and accepted her position in life, but deeply yearned for something better for her children. As our visits continued, I began to notice that she and her family were appearing increasingly gaunt and unhealthy. I could not bear the thought of anything happening to them. So, I enlightened my professor to their situation and their declining health. Much to my surprise, he was eager to assist and even knew exactly where to take the family. Once at the clinic, we found her youngest was suffering from mal-nutrition and all were severely dehydrated. Also, we found many resources for assistance and a specific program dedicated to aiding impoverished women and their children. The family was to stay through the night so my professor and I decided it was time to leave. As I said my good-byes, the mother handed me a small yellow post-it and it read, "Obrigado pela a ajuda. năo vou esquece, Sera". "Thank you for your help, I will not forget, Sera". I told her the same, "I will not forget".
This experience illustrates not only the many facets of healthcare, but also how one person can affect the healthcare of others. Through education and hard work one can harness the knowledge to help at a greater capacity and possibly change people's lives forever. Much like the baker, whose path through the city of Niteroi was filled with the sweet smell of his fresh baked bread, I wish to fill my path with the kindness, love and helpfulness through becoming a physician assistant.
I opened my eyes and gazed out the window, we floated seamlessly over a sea of fluffy white puffs of air. I smiled at the thought of the journey ahead of me. I was traveling to Brazil to study abroad, and unbeknownst to me this would be an experience that would leave me changed forever. The house I lived in was beach side in Niteroi, a small city that was considered to have the highest quality of life in all of Brazil. My room faced the water and every morning I would wake by a gust of wind coming through the window that encompassed the space of an entire wall. It felt as if the air was whisking around my head and whispering in my ears to rise and explore. It would beckon me to wake and begin my day and so like clockwork I would indeed rise. Every day began the same, it was beautifully rhythmic. I would awake at 7:00 and anxiously race down the steps to watch the symphony of movement. There was the baker who hand delivered his bread; he kept in a cylindrical basket that was harnessed around his chest. He crossed the street at 7:30 exactly. Around the same time the street venders would open their cart doors with a clang, signaling to everyone that they were prepared serve. I would dash across the street and buy my usual. A shot of espresso to keep me company during my walk to class, an Amazonian energy drink and a whole coconut cut from tree. The latter two I would stuff in my book bag and save. Around 7:45 I would commence my saunter to class. Every morning I would take note of the buildings' architecture, most structures were very boxy and built low to the ground, but always painted colorfully. Nearly all were tagged with graffiti, they served as platforms for social rebellion, one of the only means of expression by a society that was oppressed. The buildings reminded me how far I really was from home. Around 8:15 I would round the final corner before the school house. Purposefully, I would arrive 15 minutes early because I needed time to do one more thing before my day of academia ensued. A half a block beyond school on the corner of the street sat a family of four; a young mother that was around my age at the time and her three children. A box was cut open and laid flat on the ground; it made the foundation of their home. One brown pillow was their only luxury and very large blanket sat in a ball, I am sure it was used for cold nights. I would walk over to the family and try very much to carry conversation; most of which was undoubtedly lost in translation. I would then reach in my book bag and take out the energy drink; which was the children's favorite and the large coconut and hand it to the mother. After our brief exchange I would slowly walk back to class, sifting through my thoughts that swam busily through my head. This was destitute like nothing I had encountered. I concluded from several broken conversations, that she was from the favalas in the mountain side. There she had a husband and more family, but due to increasing violence and many family deaths she decided to gather her children and leave. She decided upon Niteroi because it was known hold a higher socio-economic status. She mentioned she was not aware of any government assistance programs and accepted her position in life, but deeply yearned for something better for her children. As our visits continued, I began to notice that she and her family were appearing increasingly gaunt and unhealthy. I could not bear the thought of anything happening to them. So, I enlightened my professor to their situation and their declining health. Much to my surprise, he was eager to assist and even knew exactly where to take the family. Once at the clinic, we found her youngest was suffering from mal-nutrition and all were severely dehydrated. Also, we found many resources for assistance and a specific program dedicated to aiding impoverished women and their children. The family was to stay through the night so my professor and I decided it was time to leave. As I said my good-byes, the mother handed me a small yellow post-it and it read, "Obrigado pela a ajuda. năo vou esquece, Sera". "Thank you for your help, I will not forget, Sera". I told her the same, "I will not forget".
This experience illustrates not only the many facets of healthcare, but also how one person can affect the healthcare of others. Through education and hard work one can harness the knowledge to help at a greater capacity and possibly change people's lives forever. Much like the baker, whose path through the city of Niteroi was filled with the sweet smell of his fresh baked bread, I wish to fill my path with the kindness, love and helpfulness through becoming a physician assistant.