The Beginning of my journey
September 26, 2005
I forgot how much I hated hospitals, how much they remind me of past emergency room visits to see my twin sister who has had no choice but to make the hospital her home away from home. I have always avoided hospitals because I cannot stand seeing roomfuls of sick and vulnerable people at the mercy of someone else’s helping hands. I asked myself on my walk from the hospital today why I had neglected to remember my utter detestation of hospitals before pursuing my project.
I had to hold back tears several times, as I observed worried teenage mothers. I was helpless. There was no way that I could go back into time and change things so that they would not be where they are today—children having babies destined to a life of poverty and disadvantage. One girl could not even answer the questions the nurses asked her about her medical history. Her mother had abandoned her—she was living with neighbors, and the father of her baby is in jail. She pretended that it did not hurt her to explain all of this, but just as she pretended, I did too—I fought to keep tears from running down my face.
Doctor Consuelo, my supervisor, took me on a tour of the hospital that I was not expecting, that I was not prepared for. We walked to the lab where technicians tested the patients’ blood for HIV. The conditions were dismal, the machinery archaic. Then, she took me to a room where the smell of bleach dominated the air. A framed picture of la Virgen Maria on the wall stared at the room’s inhabitants—teenage mothers who had just given birth. The television enclosed in a gated box whispered in the background while the new mothers sat idly on their beds, passing time by staring into space.
After getting closer to the girls’ beds, I realized that their babies were with them. When the mothers were not staring into space, they snuck quick glances at the babies they do not know how to care for yet. “Dena, ven acá, mira,” Doctor Consuelo shouted. I approached to find a girl who had given birth to twins. She was only sixteen. One baby would have been enough.
I returned to the waiting room, the same room that fills up each day with teenage mothers. There was a girl who was crying. Her mother wiped her tears, as she stood over her. Although I did not know why this girl was crying, I felt for her and for her mother anyway. I held back my tears again.
My day was almost over, only to begin another day full of learning and of emotions. As I walked out, ready to begin contemplating about my day, Doctor Consuelo, who had exited the room with me, was called back in. I waited for her outside, trying to take it all in. She returned to tell me that a seventeen year old mother, 37 weeks pregnant, tested positive for HIV. She is only one of many. I proceeded on my way out the hospital into the Dominican heat, thinking that this is going to be an experience.
I forgot how much I hated hospitals, how much they remind me of past emergency room visits to see my twin sister who has had no choice but to make the hospital her home away from home. I have always avoided hospitals because I cannot stand seeing roomfuls of sick and vulnerable people at the mercy of someone else’s helping hands. I asked myself on my walk from the hospital today why I had neglected to remember my utter detestation of hospitals before pursuing my project.
I had to hold back tears several times, as I observed worried teenage mothers. I was helpless. There was no way that I could go back into time and change things so that they would not be where they are today—children having babies destined to a life of poverty and disadvantage. One girl could not even answer the questions the nurses asked her about her medical history. Her mother had abandoned her—she was living with neighbors, and the father of her baby is in jail. She pretended that it did not hurt her to explain all of this, but just as she pretended, I did too—I fought to keep tears from running down my face.
Doctor Consuelo, my supervisor, took me on a tour of the hospital that I was not expecting, that I was not prepared for. We walked to the lab where technicians tested the patients’ blood for HIV. The conditions were dismal, the machinery archaic. Then, she took me to a room where the smell of bleach dominated the air. A framed picture of la Virgen Maria on the wall stared at the room’s inhabitants—teenage mothers who had just given birth. The television enclosed in a gated box whispered in the background while the new mothers sat idly on their beds, passing time by staring into space.
After getting closer to the girls’ beds, I realized that their babies were with them. When the mothers were not staring into space, they snuck quick glances at the babies they do not know how to care for yet. “Dena, ven acá, mira,” Doctor Consuelo shouted. I approached to find a girl who had given birth to twins. She was only sixteen. One baby would have been enough.
I returned to the waiting room, the same room that fills up each day with teenage mothers. There was a girl who was crying. Her mother wiped her tears, as she stood over her. Although I did not know why this girl was crying, I felt for her and for her mother anyway. I held back my tears again.
My day was almost over, only to begin another day full of learning and of emotions. As I walked out, ready to begin contemplating about my day, Doctor Consuelo, who had exited the room with me, was called back in. I waited for her outside, trying to take it all in. She returned to tell me that a seventeen year old mother, 37 weeks pregnant, tested positive for HIV. She is only one of many. I proceeded on my way out the hospital into the Dominican heat, thinking that this is going to be an experience.
posted by dns at 3:48 PM
11 Comments:
Damn you are so AMAZING!!! Keep up the hard work because you and I both know that it will pay off TEN FOLD in the future. Optimism is contagious and in the end I believe it will "infect" the world. I love you so much and I can't wait to see you.
That was an awesome entry my love. Like I've said time and time again...you inspire me. muah...Keep on documenting.
--Chrissy
Dena,
What a sad, sad description. I know how much you have been affected by your sister's illness, so of course hospitals are especially emotional for you--you have felt the frustration of illness for many years. And to be in a hospital with such young women--girls, really--facing such a lack of resources and such huge responsibility--yes, that is cause to cry. I was reading a novel today, a novel in progress, actually, that tracks two young children who end up in foster care. And reading it made me feel sad and upset, and then I saw on CNN, in the grille, that a 4 year old was found alone on the streets in nyc and put in foster care. This is not the same as what you're writing about, exactly, but it raises the similar theme of children, and teens, who are so incredibly at risk. The worsening political situation here in the U.S. does not bode well for anyone, really, internationally. And your posting reminds us of the utter affluence here compared to so many other places. Thanks for being so emotionally OPEN on your blog. This was very moving.
Catharine
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When I clicked to comment on your blogs I found so many people with the same impression. You’re a good writer. Don’t stop.
But, I also wanted share some thoughts and comments. My name is Amanda. My mother was Dominican. I am forty nine and have been living here for twenty three years. I am originally from Connecticut. From what I could tell, you’ve spent some time there too! I grew up in Wilton- and my father and brother live in Norwalk.
I am also an Aries.
I have also often questioned this whole piropo situation- only I have been questioning it for almost thirty years now!
Although I am forty nine, I have always been athletic and tried very hard not to let myself “fall apart” as it were. Yet, I am far from being a “vain” woman, or any sort of a “fashion dish” as so many women enjoy being. I just want to get outside and go for a run. And I want to be comfortable when I do! So, what do you wear to go for a run? In tropical, 85 degree weather? At this point in my life, I know I’m not going to be as comfortable as I would like to be because I’m not in the mood to be harassed. So I wear my lycra type shorts, but I put a man’s t-shirt on. You know, oversized. Do you think this makes a difference? Nope. Being forty nine doesn’t make too much of a difference either- except when you’re forty nine and some one- anyone- gives you a piropo, you’re grateful for what you get!!
I would like to share more with you at another time.
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