Living In A Bubble

Gratitude Rears Its Head Again

I have spent a lot of time on Christian medical missions over the past 25 years.

Each of the counties we served would be described as “Third World Countries.”

Cuba was our first country to serve. We had licenses from the U.S. Department of the Treasury, State Department, and the Cuban government.

On our first visit to Cuba, 2001, a coterie of missionaries from our church, supplied with 70 large boxes of medicines and medical supplies, launched ourselves to Cuba, by way of the Bahamas. We used Cuba Airlines on the Bahamas-Cuba leg. Some seatbelts had to be tied in a knot, instead of buckled.

Partway through the flight, there was condensation seen from vents on the roofs of the airplane. Horrors!

We were held up for hours upon our arrival as heavily armed soldiers inspected our boxes of medicines and supplies. We had to “gift” medicines to the soldiers in order to get to our transportation and lodging.

Just imagine the human fear extant among us, despite our faith (only our faith held us together).

We thought it was foolish to take 8 blood pressure cuffs to the country that had a reputation for “the best health care system available.” Yet we took 8 sphygmomanometers. Sadly, when we left 12 days later, the largest Children’s Hospital in Havana had 8 blood pressure cuffs.

I performed ear surgery on a 6-year-old boy. When I entered the operating room. I expected a brightly lit operating room suite. I expected to hear beeping and various noises from the monitors that I had become accustomed to over my career. No such noises. Just an anesthesiologist with his fingers over the wrist of the child, as he monitored the heartrate. No oximeter to measure oxygen levels. Just old school pulse rate. Needless to say, I had some anxiety; actually, a lot of anxiety.

At the conclusion of the surgery, we wheeled the patient out to the waiting area and delivered him to his mother. There was no recovery room; no nurses.

One of our family Practice friends pointed to a lightbulb on an electrical stalk and reported that “This is the light I use for every orifice in the body.”

All Cuban families receive a monthly stipend of a pound or two of rice, beans and sugar.

In our Cuban ENT office, we had three families in the examination room at a time. Tonsillectomies were performed under local anesthesia in hallways with patients spitting blood into buckets.

Medications were donated and lasted for 3-4 months. Prescriptions written by American doctors for American medicines, perforce, went unfilled.

The patients and doctors were grateful, nevertheless.

I do not write this as a criticism of the Cuban medical system. I write to highlight how good we have it in the U.S., and how I live in a bubble.

We also served on missions in the Philippines. Hot and muggy; dripping perspiration. Again, we brought all our examination equipment, as well as donated medicines. Sadly, the medicines would only last patients 3-4 months.

Our church built two hospitals in Zambia. However, until they were supplied with hygiene education followed by newly drilled water wells from sources that the animals previously used for drinking and elimination of their own waste was the water used for hydration of people. Dysentery was a common cause of death for children and adults until the hygiene education was preceded by the digging of the wells.

That was not a worry for me. I have always had clean water. I thought nothing of it; took it for granted.

Hence, my travels have been used to instill in me a gratitude for my bubble.

I remain grateful.