It has been a long time since I’ve done anything except work, work, work. But this week I had an opportunity to take a drive in the country.
I received a call from an expat friend. A worker of hers has family in the pueblo of Macano (Macano is the name of a tree, a very dense hardwood, probably Ironwood by the English name). A family member was very, very ill and had no way to get to the hospital. The police wouldn’t do the drive, nor would the ambulance nor the fire department. It appeared that I was the last resort.
If the patient was unable to get to a doctor but instead died at home, there would have to be an autopsy and the family would have to pay for it. But if they could get a letter of terminal illness from a doctor, there would be no autopsy.
Macano is remote by local standards, about a half-hour drive into the mountains from here. With Ambulancia de Fred ready to go, I met up with two family members who would ride with me to the pueblo. Here is a video from our house to Macano: Notice the ‘road block’ at the 4:21 mark. Also, although difficult to discern, there is quite a hill going down at the 17:30 mark. On the return trip it took me six tries to get up the hill without slipping and sliding:
When we drove as far as we could, I parked the car next to an abandoned house. Straw bale and adobe house construction isn’t a yuppie dream here; it is survival. Here are a few pictures of the domicile past-its-prime:
The men didn’t want me to have to walk the extra distance down to the house in the valley and suggested that I wait for them. But after taking some pictures and waiting at the car for quite some time, I decided to walk down the hill to the house.
When I got to the house, the men had just returned from cutting a long pole from a Macano tree. I helped them lash a hammock to the pole. After they transferred the patient to the hammock, we carried the woman (with the two smaller men in the front, I carried the back end of the pole) the significant distance uphill to the car. The hard physical labor of building the house must be good for me, because the two younger men were huffing and puffing but I hadn’t broken a sweat.
We carefully transferred the older woman to middle of the back seat and two women sat one on each side of her. I noticed that in this culture that there was no quibbling over the division of labor between the men and the women. The men sat back in the pickup bed.
I told them that I would drive “lento pero seguro” (slow but sure) and we were on our way. The ride back was somewhat difficult. A light rain had made rocks on the hills a slick slip-and-slide experience. I did my best to give an easy ride as the patient in the back seat was crying and screaming in pain. I never did find out what she was suffering from.
Out on the main road it was a quick ride into town to the local Central Salud (health clinic). I dropped them all off and left after it was determined that the patient would be transferred to the hospital.
The family was thoughtful and appreciative, each person thanking me and shaking my hand. My take-away was that if you want to feel good about yourself, do something for someone who has little or nothing.
In other news, Ramiro and I have finished welding and grinding five tables and Armando is all but done with the rock walls. Photos next time.
This past week Cynthia and I watched a TED Talk by Brené Brown about vulnerability. I Googled her and found a quote that is meaningful to me as I work my way through this never-ending, giant-canvas shipping container house art project:
That’s all for now. Thanks for stopping by.