I know it's shorter than 500 words, so there's room to add things. I'd like to know if this says enough about me, considering this is a very detailed experience. Any criticism would be really helpful !!
Thanks!
I felt the heat of the beaming light over my head. The white gloves began to tighten around my skin as I clenched the scissor-shaped pliers as steadily as I could. Steady...steady...
I stood by the monitor in light blue scrubs with a matching hair net and hat; my surgical mask covered my rufescent cheeks. As I continued to grasp the handles, I grew wide-eyed. I sensed drops of blood on my nose--the patient's blood had splattered ferociously. The gallbladder was being lacerated by Dr. Mason, snip by snip. The pliers I held in place were to keep intestinal parts away from the area being cut out. I couldn't see much below me; the incision was only an inch long and tubes with cameras were descending into the patient's stomach.
We were in Chincha, Peru, a town two hours south of Lima that had been virtually decimated by an earthquake in 2007. The Peruvian American Medical Society was on a week-long mission trip to provide medical attention to underdeveloped health care centers in Peru. On July 8th, 2012, 40 volunteer doctors, nurses, and assistants took the bus ride from Lima to La Clinica San Pedro in Chincha. Most of the volunteers came from St. Louis and hardly anyone spoke a word of Spanish. I accompanied the team on this mission after speaking with Dr. Zambrano, the cardiologist and trip coordinator, during my stay in Lima, and was assigned the role as a translator to minimize the language barrier between indigenous patients and American staff.
Throughout the week, I predominantly worked in gastroenterology and surgical units. In using Spanish to comfort and communicate with distressed patients, I immediately felt connected with my roots. I don't have blonde hair or blue eyes; my skin is the color of the patients'. The woman waiting outside of the gastroenterology clinic with her son on her back and her daughter in her arms; the taxi driver who desperately needs his gall bladder removed, and the four-year-old girl with the cleft lip, are all essential reflections of my identity and my motivation to study medicine on a global level. I embraced every interaction; every hand held and every display of appreciation.
The surgery was successful; instruments were put away and the patient was rolled out of the room. As I watched the familiar face exit, I inhaled profoundly; absorbing all of the opportunity awarded to me by the surrounding doctors and the Chinchean people--I smiled with dignity.
