Better After

My friend Lindsey started a supersweet website where she profiles renovations, refurbishing projects, and home makeovers. (Shameless pimp: Better After.) Each posting centers around a "before" picture that only gives a glimpse of the potential, then the amazing "after" picture that shows the finished product looking even better than you could ever imagine. In the spirit of Better After, here's my favorite renovation ever:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Glove inflated as a balloon = indisputably awesome toy.

Sweet little girl + indisputably awesome toy = happy.

Journal Notes from Heaven and Hell

11:45pm February 13, La Descubierta, Dominican Republic

We drove through fire to get here tonight. As a protest against the government, some people in one of the villages along the way had stacked a pile of tree branches across the road and set fire to them. Our driver got out of the bus and pulled burning logs from the fire until it was only about knee-high, then he got back in the bus and we drove straight through the wall of flames. Our tires smoked for miles. Welcome to the Dominican Republic.

February 14 - 15, Jimani

Our group is working at a tent hospital near the Haitian border. At four weeks out from the earthquake, the medical relief focus has shifted from treating acute injuries to dealing with infections, bone stabilization surgeries, and rehabilitation for the amputees. This place is like a United Nations meeting -- there are teams from all over the world, flags flying, doctors and nurses and Peace Corps workers, and everyone speaking multiple languages while the translators help link everyone together. There are too many stories to tell.

I first met this little girl in the intensive care section of the hospital. She was orphaned, then abused by the people who took her in after the earthquake, then dropped off at our hospital to treat her burns. When I first met her, she didn't even cry when we poked her to start the IV. By the last time I saw her, she would actually smile.

This woman was crushed under a collapsed building for several days, causing a huge wound on the back of her upper thigh. She was brought to the hospital by the guy who's next to her in this picture. He stayed by her side every minute, feeding her, cleaning her, and comforting her. I thought he was her husband or maybe her brother. Later, I found out that he is actually a total stranger, but he's the one who pulled her from the rubble and he has never left her since then. Of all the chaos and tragedy here, that's the only thing that has made me cry. The world needs more beautiful acts of selfless love like this:

February 16, Los Piños

Way up on top of a mountain via a primitive road (primitive = scary), there's a village of farmers and goat herders. The International Medical Alliance group I'm working with visits the village every year to take care of chronic illnesses and acute infections. Six of us went up today. We saw patients for seven straight hours, then as we were loading the gear back onto a truck to go back down the mountain one of the pasantes asked us to go see an old debilitated woman at one of the houses in the village. Her name is Ramona, and she's been so disabled by arthritis and vascular disease that she can't even leave her house anymore. She was my first-ever house call, and one of the sweetest souls I've met in a long time.

February 17, Villa Jaragua

Today our group commandeered an open-air discoteca to turn it into a clinic. The lady in the video who is up-close to my right is Choín, a local volunteer who helped register patients all day. She was three scoops of weird, but in a delightful middle-aged old lady way. As a highlight of the evening after clinic had finished up, she told me I was excessively old ("Cuantos años tienes? Veintiuno? Veintidós?" My reply: "Veintiocho." Her response: a horrified gasp.) but that I needn't worry because despite the fact that I'm a shriveled old spinster she'll help me out. ("Conozco muchos hombres Dominicanos que son muy potente, muy fuerte, quien podrían embarazarte.") She proceeded to give me her phone number so that the matchmaking and impregnating could commence as soon as possible.

February 18, Batey Seven

We held an outreach clinic at Batey Seven today. A Batey is a small community of impoverished farm laborers. Years ago, the Dominican government established sugar cane plantations, built a minimal amount of infrastructure (a schoolhouse, a dirt road to connect the fields to the railway that hauls the harvested cane stalks away, and a few dwellings) at each plantation site, then overfilled the site with workers (mostly Haitians) who have subsisted there ever since.

Some of the Batey sites are more prosperous than others, and Seven is pretty well off. Their kids have real teachers up to 5th grade, and they get clean water and a nourishing meal every day that they go to school. That's an incentive for the parents to let them go to class instead of bringing them out to work in the fields -- it's one less mouth to feed if they're in school. They were amazed that I would let them use a whole page of my notebook just to draw on.

An organization donated hundreds of beanie babies for our group to give out to the kids. By the time these two girlies came through, all I had left was a little gray wolf puppy (adorable) and a big black spider (yick). I expected them to both want the wolf, but much to my surprise the spider was the coveted item.

February 19, Batay Nine

Batey Nine was heartbreaking. There's nothing more to say.

February 20-22, Santo Domingo

We made it back to the capital city around mid-day on Saturday, which meant we got to spend a few hours at the beach. After the way we've been living for the past week, it was strange to suddenly find ourselves lazing around in paradise surrounded by privileged vacationers. I really struggled with the self-indulgence of it, but truly did appreciate having a chance to rest a little.

As a beach-related word of advice: Buying a popsicle from a grown man in a neon jumpsuit pushing a roadside stand is probably not a good idea (unless you're hoping to acquire a diarrheal illness). However, buying a fresh-cut coconut from this guy is an experience you won't regret:

That night, we explored the cultural center of the city, which includes the Catholic chapel where they say Christopher Columbus was originally entombed.

Then, starting at 4am the next morning, there came 42 hours of flight delays and cancellations as we tried to make it back to the United States. In the meantime, here's how to entertain yourself in an airport for that long:And if you happen to wonder about your BMI during your airport stranding, just pay 5 pesos and refer to the helpful diagrams.

Freeze, Thaw, Work

Last weekend was spent in this:

This weekend, I'll be flying out to spend 9 days in this:

Okay, it's not exactly for a vacation at the beach.

A group of med students and doctors are going down to the Dominican Republic near the Haitian border to volunteer with the medical and surgical teams helping the earthquake refugees. By the reports our team has gotten, the site we'll be at has about 1800 sick or injured people who've been streaming in from Haiti since mid-January. The refugees have been living there homeless for weeks while they await their turn to be seen. The workers that are already down there are doing as much as they can, as fast as they can.

We'll be bringing 25 people and about a thousand pounds of medications and supplies in duffel bags, sleeping on the roof of a warehouse, and using a set of local school classrooms as a makeshift hospital. It's probably going to be one of the rougher international missions I've done, but I just feel really fortunate to have a chance to be able to help.

Please keep the earthquake victims in your prayers.

Bar codes and Baggers

An Open Letter to

Supermarket Employees

Everywhere:

Dear checkout clerks and grocery baggers,

Today I used the self-checkout at the store and realized that the automated checkout computer is the devil incarnate, and you are all mere pawns in its plot. The ill-fated encounter went like this:

Me: La, la, la...toodling through the store...some apples...a few boxes of cereal...discretely slip some lady-time supplies into the deepest, hiddenest, bottom-most recesses of the cart...gallon of milk.

Checkout dude: BWAAAHAAHAAAA! I can't wait until she comes through my line so I can make those lady-time supplies obvious to all bystanders. Oooh, yes, I'll call a price check. It will be my finest hour.

Me: Foiled again, checkout dude! I'll pay for them in the privacy of self-checkout!

Self-checkout computer: Exxxxx-cellent. Even better.

Me: La, la, la...this is going well. Cereal box -- scan, beep, bag. Another cereal box -- scan, beep, bag. Okay, here's the big test. Lady box -- scan...no beep...scan again...no beep... Scan, scan, scan; beep, beep, beep; error, error, error. Panic sets in.

Self-checkout computer: Exxxxx-cellent. Now cue the creepy dude at checkout to come "help."

Me: Frick. The creepy dude from checkout is coming to help.

Checkout dude: Having trouble *smirk* with your *snark* purchase? We'll just have to go scan this at customer service. (Lifting the box high above his head like a torch to lead the way.) Follow me.

Me: Defeat.

As I followed helplessly, watching my ladybox parade approximately a half mile through several lines of curiously attentive shoppers, I could have sworn I heard the demonic sound of computerized laughter from the vicinity of self-checkout.

In conclusion, my dear checkout clerks and grocery baggers, beware the automated self-checkout. Today, it takes over my dignity. Tomorrow, it takes over the world.

Sincerely,

sarah