My own country

Tuesday, July 13, 2011

8 PM (Vietnam Time)

Scott and I have been reading My Own Country by Abraham Verghese while we have been here. His book recounts his experience as a physician in Tenessee during the 80s and 90s when the HIV virus and AIDS was first being discovered in the gay community. Somehow, reading his book has made me feel better and more comforable about being here in Rach Gia and working in a forgein hospital. As if Abraham himself is reaching out to me through his words and telling me that I should not feel ashamed for feeling afraid when I first got here. I see certain parallels between his experiences and mine. Though he was in America, he was dealing with a new disease and a new virus, and much of the science was unknown to him at the time. Through his words, he has showed me that it is natural to feel fear at what is unknown and at what is foreign. One does not have to be outside of America to have foreign experiences or to see what is unfamiliar. The hesitation, judgments and stereotypes that crossed his mind when he examined his first gay AIDS patient have shown me that everyone, even experienced physicians, may feel apprehensive about doing something they have never done before.

When I first walked into the hospital, I felt this same apprehension and fear. Streams of thoughts flooded my mind as I struggled with judgment, germs, and illness. As I looked around all the sick patients crowding the hallways with sicknesses I did not know. As I looked into the crowded rooms and as I smelled the musty and stagnant air. After two full weeks of working here and seeing patients everyday, something that once was foreign is so foreign anymore. Patients that seemed so distant, are not so distant anymore. They wave as Scott and I walk by. They come up to greet us and thank us for the glasses. They ask to see our pictures. Each day, I see a patient with completely different stroke symptoms. I hesitate as I reach out to touch the patient and to help him lift his hand. Should I be touching him? What else does he have? 

Yes, I should, because that’s how I make the connection.

Family member sleeping in the hallway

Hallway of the Neurology ward

10 PM (Vietnam Time)

Everyday is a new experience, and yesterday, Scott and I decided to buy some food home to cook. We have been eating out every day since we have been here. We went to a special (dac biet) vegetarian place to order banh mi chay, or vegetarian sandwiches. The store is actually the front of someone’s house. All members of the family, daughters, nieces, sisters, and dog, were busy preparing the food that they would be selling for the afternoon. In the back corner, vegetables were being washed. Outside, a young woman was making some sort of wonton filling. Another young lady was preparing the little stand with all the sandwich condiments and vegetarian meats. Inside, the owner was overseeing all as she fried up some tofu skin and tasted some filling to make sure it was up to standard. They were busy at work, and we just sat at an overly small table as the dog barked at us and our mouths drooled.

The bread was perfectly crunchy and everything inside was salty, savory, crunchy, gooey, and chewy. You name the texture, and it was in that little sandwich. I had no idea what was in it, but it was guaranteed “chay (vegetarian)”. We tried a few things and decided, why not, let’s just buy a bunch of stuff. The owner was a lady in her 50s who was enthusiastic about the food she was selling. We asked for tofu, and she fried some up for us. She told us that she did not want anyone else doing it or else her beautiful tofu would be ruined. We bought little cakes and foods I don’t know the names of. The woman was so pleasant, and we found out that her son married the daughter of the doctor who owns the island we visited. I told her they recommended us to the store. As we were leaving, I overhead, “No wonder they knew how to get to this special and local place.” Did that mean Scott and I were integrating? I would believe so.