Part of our lives

Jackson and Ansley washing dishes

The ditch we ran the pipes in for gray water from the doctors house to the septic tank.

A pineapple in the field. We feast on them every day.

These thorns torment us daily when working in the jungle. Once they grab on, you have to tear yourself loose to get free.

Washing Lola

Our team of SM's (student missionaries) has acquired a puppy. We dubbed her "Lola", and she is quite a healthy and exuberant youngster. Our puppy, however, has a singular capability for getting dirty. We accordingly give her a bath about once a week, although she seldom stays clean for very long afterwards. She seldom seems to appreciate our altruistic efforts, but puts up some sprightly resistance. Despite this, the deed is done, and Lola, whether she likes it or not, is clean.

run

I am tired, and breathing fast. A thought crosses my mind: How do you think you are going to survive at 17,000 feet with a 40 pound backpack? I run faster, pushing myself to the limit.

I am with Jackson and Alex, training for our upcoming backpacking trip. We will be hiking the Ausangate Circuit, crossing several high passes (think 17,000 feet). The hike is 6 days long, has spectacular views, and the occasional hot-spring!

Nevertheless, when I roll out of my bed at 5:30 A.M. every morning to start my run, Ausangate seems far away. We have been running to a town and back almost every day, a run of about 4 miles. As we start out, I always feel sluggish. I see Alex and Jackson pushing on ahead of me, and force myself to catch up.

Thankfully, my build lends itself to running. I have long legs, long arms, and not a great deal more. The three of us push each other, one of us takes the lead, and the others catch up. 10 minutes into the run, we are all sweating. My body grumbles to my brain, which returns the favor by mocking and taunting my body, daring it to go faster. We reach the town, and turn around. Now the pace goes up a notch. Breath comes fast and hard, and as sweat trickles down into my eyes, I secretly wish I could still be snoozing in bed. Go, go, GO, just keep going.

We reach the last stretch, Jackson and I are now in the lead, pushing ourselves to the limit. I always like this stretch, my body gets into the groove, and I let it go. I always feel an intense pleasure in this stretch. Every muscle and nerve is straining together with one intent and purpose. I push myself really, really hard. Almost to the end, I take a final lead, almost sprinting now. I finally reach the driveway where we finish by walking in, to let our bodies cool down. Gasping, I wait for jackson to reach me, and we walk the remainder together.

I still don't know how my body will perform at high altitudes. But I am looking forward to the challenge, wondering where I will meet my limit.

Those moments

I directed my patient to a seat, attempted to create small talk in spanish, and pulled on my surgical gloves. It was sunday, a week from the day I had first wandered into the realm of dentistry; now, we were holding another clinic, and I was again designated to the dental section. My patient was a middleaged woman, slightly overweight, and fidgety. She took a seat, and I proceeded to examine the interior of her mouth, noting a variety of teeth in various stages of dilapidation. Upon asking her which teeth were hurting her, she indicated 3 separate teeth, 2 on the top, and 1 on the bottom. I took the cap off my syringe, put a slight pressure on the plunger, and watched as the lidocaine spurted out in a thin stream. Since I don't have the expertise to do a "block" anesthesia yet, I simply injected the lidocaine into the gum around the tooth, once on the inside, once on the outside. As the lidocaine slowly flowed through the tiny flexible needle, I noted with pleasure that the gum-line was turning white around the perimeter of the tooth. This means the patient is anesthetized, and is unlikely to feel pain at the point of operation. So far, I told myself, things were going well. I hoped this procedure would continue to run so smoothly.

I picked out an extractor, and began attempting to loosen the tooth. After 5 minutes of fruitless labor, I decided to try the forceps. I pushed back the wall of the cheek with a tongue depressor, and got a hold on the tooth. My grip was too strong. The rotten tooth crumbled completely, leaving the roots secure in the strong embrace of the gumline. This complicated my job considerably, and my early optimism sank as slowly and surely as the ebbing tide, until I finally hit bottom, on the mud flats. I thankfully was not on my own, and had at my right hand an experienced dentist, who took over and completed my job with expedition. As I watched him pick out root after root, I felt a little foolish. I had a lot to learn. I guess it was just one of those moments.

Later on that morning, I had a boy enter the thin partition which we called the dental quarter. He had one rotten tooth, no doubt it had given him sufficient recompense and reprimand for the excess of sweets which undoubtedly caused the problem. I followed our procedure for children, first swabbing the area with a topical antibiotic, then numbing the site with a cartridge of lidocaine. As I reached for the extractor, I was entirely unsure of the outcome of my efforts. Secure in the knowledge of my ignorance, I proceeded as best I could, loosening the tooth with painstaking care, doing my utmost not to slip and gouge the tongue or cheek wall with the sharp tip of the extractor. Thankfully, my patient was well anesthetized, and I could work without the usual encumbrance of a wincing patient.

Once satisfied that I had loosened the tooth, I again grasped the forceps, took a grip, and began to rock, slowly. Back and forth, slowly increasing the tempo as I felt the roots slowly loosening their grasp on the gum. Finally, triumphantly, I held the bloodstained tooth aloft, for a moment oblivious to my patient, staring up at me with mouth agape. I eventually returned my attention to my patient, but the tide was coming back in, a tide of euphoria. I still have a lot to learn. I guess it was just one of those moments.

Monday

Monday--

Crunch. My backbone compressed as the shocks on the doctors motorbike bottomed out. My ears were filled with the powerful roar of the engine; my eyes, with the omnipresent dust that covers our landscape, and fills every available crevice.

I was riding around Pucallpa with Richard, our Peruvian doctor and friend. Our mission was to buy the missing parts for our tractor, which was disemboweled by a capable and determined group of thieves.

We went to various automotive shops in search of an alternator, radiator, and various other paraphenalia. Richard was determined to find the best prices, so we probably went to five or six different shops. We didn't end up buying anything, but priced extensively.

Next, we went to a church sister's house, where her sick husband was in need of medical attention. Whatever his ailments, they were of a private nature, so I was invited to the table to partake of a late breakfast. The sustenance offered by hermana (sister) Blanca looked far from appetizing. The main dish was hot boiled bananas, mixed into a gruel with another nameless substance. Unfortunately, what the dish lacked in quality, it more than made up for in quantity. I helped the gruel down with liberal portions of white bread, deciding simultaneously that I should eat the dish as fast as possible to avoid prolonging my agony. I am sure I left my hostess with the impression that I had enjoyed her cooking tremendously, although I didn't take much time to savor it's finer qualities.

Richard and I remounted his motorbike, bound for the base of "Peru Projects", a similar organization to our own. There was an old tractor on their land which they had consented to let us scavenge for parts. The road out to the base was extremely rough; this, coupled with the fact that the doctor has no respect for the condition of a road, but continues to drive at breakneck speeds nonetheless, made the ride hair-raising. We found some valuable parts there in the rusting frame of the old tractor, not least among them, a servicable alternator.

All told, the weight of all the tractor parts in my backpack must have been in the range of 40 pounds. The ride back was therefore a challenge physically and mentally. Physically, because I was forced to grip the sides of the motorbike in an iron grip to avoid falling off. Mentally, because I could only imagine the consequences of letting go. We took the parts to a mechanic, who spent about 2 hours taking the various tools apart to examine them for soundness. Most of them, after a good clean and grease, seemed quite serviceable.

The doctor and I now headed back to his house where we were served a delicious lunch by his wife, Shirley. I was again faced with the dillema of how to politely turn down the piece of chicken that formed a part of our meal. I ate around the chicken, waiting for an idea of how to deal with this problem. Finally, a solution occured to me. Why not give it to the ever-ravenous doctor? He was quite partial to the idea, and I was able to avoid offence.

A late lunch at long last finished, we decided to go back to the mission to pick a few more things up before heading out to the land. Unfortunately, when we got there, Anthony's motorbike had broken down, and the doctor, Anthony, and I spent the remaining daylight attempting to fix it. We didn't, but arrived at the conclusion that it needed to be taken to the mechanic. Finally, as dusk was setting, we set out for Kilometer 38.

As twilight slowly morphed into darkness, the doctor pushed the switch to the headlight. Nothing. We pulled off to the side of the road to fiddle with the wiring, assuming a loose connection. After about fifteen minutes of fiddling, the doctor extracted the light bulb, and ascertained that it was faulty. We held a quick conference, and decided to stay the night at the misson, to leave at six the next morning.

As soon as I got back to the appartment, I took a shower, and went to bed.

Pulling Teeth

Pain, both physical and mental was amply expressed on the face of our patient. Manuel, (the peruvian dentist here) slowly injected lidocaine into the nerve, forming a "block", a part of the patients mouth that is completely anesthetized. After tapping the rotten tooth to ascertain whether the patient still felt pain, Manuel handed me the extractor. This tool is reminiscent of a tiny wood-working gouge, and though the medium of work is vastly different, the technique for using the tool is very similar. I felt clumsy as I inserted the tool into the mouth. I directed the tip of the gouge to the gum line and tentatively pressed down. After gaining confidence that the patient felt none of my probing, I worked around the tooth, carving back gumline to loosen the tooth. Every so often, I would ask the patient to spit, ridding themselves of a mouthful of blood. I would swab around the tooth with some gauze, and then continue. Eventually, I felt I had loosened the tooth enough, so I picked up the forceps, took a good hold near the gum line, and pulled.

Nothing happened. I took a fresh grip, and started to slowly rock the tooth back and forth. At first, the head of my patient rocked along with my push and pull, but after some work, the tooth loosened. More blood, sweat, and work down the road, and I triumphantly held aloft the blood-stained tooth. I dropped the tooth in the trash, gave the patient some gauze to bite down on for twenty minutes, and then some Ibuprofen for pain, and some Amoxicillin to prevent infection. Next Patient?

Later, I realized I actually enjoy pulling teeth. Challenging, sickening, frustrating, and yes, fascinating are all words I would use to describe my experience. And most importantly, in a world full of pain, I am doing something to alleviate that pain.

Clinic & other random pictures

One of the many giant mango trees at the mission headquarters.
A flower I thought beautiful. More Flowers.
The Jeep on the way to clinic: out of gas!
. The building where we held our clinic.
Me pulling teeth.
Using the extractor to loosen a tooth.
Hauling on a tough one!

More pictures

Me building the first part of my bed.
The finished product, viewed from the entrance of the room.
My completed bed, from another angle.
One of the "windows" we built.
The shelf I built for Ansley.
Some of my most treasured possesions: Dr. Bronners & Tools, both of which my parents sent down with ansley.

Injuries

Manual labor (in general), and Carpentry (in specific), lend themselves to injury. This week, I maintained two accidents, neither life-threatening, both painful.
We had bought 2 cement sinks in Pucallpa, for transport to the project site, where we intended to use them for washing dishes, clothes, and other paraphenalia. They are very heavy, probably weighing upwards of 150 pounds. Once safely transported to the project site, Alex and I began unloading them from the back of the jeep to the front porch of our house. Somehow, the combination of the weight of the sink, and my general clumsiness, contrived to make me stumble over the lip of the porch. As I fell, I held on to the sink, hoping somehow to avoid cracking the structure. In the end, it came to rest on my foot and my fingers. In the process, it scraped my knee rather badly. Parting with a little skin did not worry me much at the moment, but the next morning, carrying water from the well, I slipped on the treacherous mud path, and fell again, slamming my knee into the mud and dirt. This broke the fresh scab, and caked mud and dirt on the wound. I approached ansley about the matter after breakfast, and she, being an excellent nurse, cleaned and bandaged it most handily. Nevertheless, I sustained an infection, and have had to keep a bandage and antiseptic ointment on the wound for most of the week.
My second injury occured as Jackson and I attempted to fit a window into its frame. This process is complicated by the fact that the window frame is seldom (if ever) square. We therefore have a great deal of fiddling to do once the window is built in order to fit it into the frame. Jackson and I would usually plane down in one spot, lift the window up into the frame, and find another spot that needed help. This means that we end up lifting the window up and down into the frame multiple times for each hanging. Keep in mind, the windows are not traditional windows, but rather more like small doors, which open and close on hinges. These windows probably weigh 60-70 pounds each when completed, so it is a lot of work to heft them up and down. As we were fiddling with a particularly ornery specimen, we failed to notice that the bottom of the window had been pushed off its 2x4 by our various hammerings, and the window, without warning, fell to the ground. Jackson was quick enough to avoid it falling on his toes, I was not so quick. In fact, the entire weight of the window smashed into my right foot, concentrating it's force on my big right toenail. This hurt badly, and I deemed it necessary to hop about the room on one foot with vigour, murmuring an occasional "ouch". Ansley and Jackson were quick to express concern, and encouraged me to desist from leaping about the room, and sit down for a moment. Upon seating myself, I finally took a good look at my foot, and found nothing impressive. Simply a rather blackened toenail, and a scratched upper foot. In 1/2 an hour, my foot had swollen considerably, and it still remains to be seen whether or not I will lose my toenail.
Despite these minor ailments, I continue on in excellent health and spirits. Except for a peculiarity of gait, due to my blackened toe.

Bent Nails & Crooked Cuts

Our week has been occupied by the construction of doors and windows for our house. Our small spectrum of tools includes a saw, a hand-plane, a hammer, a square, chisel, and some nails. These tools, under the control of a skillful workman, are sufficient for the construction of almost anything. The all-important proviso being this: that the workman be skilled.
For me, it is a daily battle to keep my cuts square, my nails straight, and my project from desentegrating into a complete failure. Despite this, or rather, as a result of this, my skills have improved slightly. I now bend fewer nails, and cut less crooked cuts. I learn, slowly.

Pictures

Mi Amigos: Ansley, Karen, Jackson, and Anthony.
Jackson and Anthony chilling.
Me and Alex at the project site in early morning
A beautiful sunset at the project site!
Me on my way to Peru!

Painted hands

The Jeep coughed, spluttered, and died. This event happens with enough regularity that it has ceased to surprise us; however, the disappointment inherent in the experience never grows stale. This time, in particular, there was good reason to feel frustration at our capricious vehicle. We were on our way to a children’s program, the director of which was a passenger in our vehicle. On a second try, however, the jeep showed a semblance of cooperation when it carried us another 20 feet towards our destination. Jackson, Alex, and Karen got out to push while the jeep struggled gamely down the road. One more try, and the jeep was ready to cooperate, albeit not without emitting strangled cries and noxious fumes as it limped down the road. This time however, it was necessary for Anthony to ride the brake to keep from hurtling too fast down the bumpy road. There was not enough time for Karen, Jackson, and Alex to get back in the car, especially as we feared to stop this last effort of the ailing jeep. It happened, therefore, that the jeep carried Anthony and myself the remainder of the way, while the rest of the hapless team were left to walk. The ride took it’s toll on Anthony and I, however, for though we were spared the hot and dusty walk, we were forced to inhale large quantities of fumes, which no doubt shortened our lifespan considerably.
When the team was finally united at the site of the children’s program, we began the program without further delay. Our program was kicked off to a promising start by a round of singing, in which we were accompanied by a recording, adding much to the prestige and general volume of the event. Rounds of singing were interspersed with bible stories and a skit, in the which, an enthusiastic David managed to slay the giant Goliath, who fell on his spear with considerable dramatic effect. After another round of singing, it was time to commence the children’s activities. We divided the children up into groups according to age, and had each of them perform a different activity. In the particular group I was involved with, a passel of 5-7 year olds were given paint with which to paint some stones they had picked up from the road. Black, Green, Red, and Yellow were duly applied to the stones by the fingers, with a wide margin of outcomes. Some of the finished products were dismal, while others showed signs of budding artistic talent. There was one factor, however, which unified all their efforts. The children had invariably managed to smear the majority of their hands with paint. They surveyed their hands with interest, and were evidently relieved to find that the paint would come off with water, but in the meantime were content to dash about, showcasing their art to Jenni, friends, and the occasional passing motocar. I was in a state of high anxiety lest they should manage to collide or otherwise come in contact with me, as I was in my church clothes, and did not wish them to be smeared with paint. However, as I sidled this way and that in an attempt to avoid the stampede of dirty-handed children, a striking parallel occurred to me. Insofar as the children’s hands were covered in paint, all of us have a nature of sin, and that while we were yet covered in the filth and rottenness of sin, Christ, the sinless one, was willing to come down and touch us. While we were yet covered by darkness, groping for light like blind men, Christ came to show us the way. He was not afraid to let us touch him, unlike the Pharisees, who despised the unclean, and feared lest their uncleanness should mar their appearance. No, Christ let all come to him, and touch him, that they might know a better way. What an example to us.
The rest of the children’s program passed without a hitch. Please pray that these dear children may see a portion of the masters face, and feel a little of his touch when we interact with them.