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A chilly night, a beautiful day of service
A crisp, cold morning in the mountains — our first clinic day ahead.
I didn’t sleep that well last night. It was freezing, and I woke up more than once needing to pee. Eventually, I gave in and put on a sweater and pants, but my feet were still cold. By 5:30 I was awake for good, waiting for the day to start.
Breakfast was at 7:00, after Vincente fixed a flat tire on the van. The coffee was heavenly — strong, hot, and exactly what I needed. Vincente led our morning devotions, grounding us before the day’s work began.
It was decided that we would drive to another village Shihua — to hold our first clinic there, and wait until tomorrow to do one at Qquencha. Once the tire was fixed, we set out on what turned into a breathtaking (and slightly terrifying) mountain road. The views were incredible, but the edges were steep.
The clinic was set up in a small church. Most of my patients were older adults — hardworking people who had spent their lives labouring in the fields. Many came simply because they wanted to stay useful and healthy enough to keep working. Despite their tough lives, they had wonderful blood pressure readings and were generally in good health apart from the usual aches of arthritis.
Most of the villagers spoke Quechua, so communication became a team effort — one translator from Quechua to Spanish, and another from Spanish to English for me. It sometimes felt like a game of Chinese whispers, but somehow we made it work. The laughter and smiles along the way said more than words ever could.
It was also very cold, and the women wore four or five layered skirts tied with string, plus at least three sweaters or cardigans. Examining them was quite the challenge! Our team was small, so I did my own triage as well — it was a full day in every sense.
It was a great first day at the clinic. My translator, George, was starting to understand my quirks and how I liked to work, which made the day flow easily. Ric handled the pharmacy and somehow still found time to make friends with the local kids, handing out toys and playing games.
After supper — tuna casserole following a warm bowl of soup — I checked on Wilma, who wasn’t feeling well. Later, two boys showed up, so we sat together and made rainbow loom bracelets. Their smiles were priceless — such a small thing bringing so much joy.
Eventually, it was time for bed. I crawled into my sleeping bag, tired but full of gratitude. It had been a good, full day — the kind that reminds me why I’m here.
Reflection
The people we met today live with such quiet strength. They have little in material things, yet their gratitude and endurance are humbling. Even with language barriers, cold rooms, and multiple translators, we found connection through smiles, touch, and care. Healing isn’t only about medicine — it’s about presence, patience, and love that transcends words.