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Visiting a hospital for the poor in Cambodia. 

3/20/2015

1 Comment

 
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Today I took a break from my writing and took a ride out to a hospital for the poor here in Phnom Penh, the capitol city of Cambodia. My U.S. friend Cowboy Bart accompanied, as well as our trusty local tuk tuk driver and translator, Siman. Bart and Siman had visited this hospital several times before, first as a formal mission for Bart’s Kids At Risk Cambodia non-profit to help a little girl with cancer, and then to visit other patients they met. I wanted to help.

We walked in the hospital without as much as a security guard checking our credentials, as there were no guards, or even doors on some areas, just tuk tuk drivers and family lounging around. We also encountered no nurses or hospital staff when we entered, just a few random stretchers and someone’s moto they’d parked inside. 

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Our first visit was to a young woman that Siman and Bart had visited before. A poor single mother with a baby boy, she was on her moto driving to work one day when a thief grabbed her arm to try and steal her cheap bracelet. That’s an all-too familiar story here, as desperate thieves (“Jao!” is the local word) don’t care who they are hurting when they rip people from their speeding motos for a purse or jewelry. The woman crashed badly and shattered her jaw, and was now staying at this hospital awaiting surgery to have her jaw wired shut.

You could tell she was happy to see us, though she couldn’t smile. But Bart commented that she looked much better and she could whisper a few words of thanks in Khmer to Simon for him to translate and even drink out of a straw now, as she had been living mostly on coconut water she dabbed onto her lips before. The woman had no parents and a family friend was watching after her little boy, but she had no money to eat or feed her child, especially now that she couldn’t work.

We spent about half an hour with her and she never complained about the pain, just that she was lonely with nothing to do all day and no one ever to visit her except her sister once. Our visit further cheered her up when I handed her enough cash to buy plenty of rice to feed her and her son for about a month. As is the Khmer tradition, we took a photo of me handing her the money. Bart and Siman promised to come check on her again next week and we all wished her luck with her upcoming surgery. Before we left, I tried to brighten her mood by putting Bart’s cowboy hat on her head, but quickly remembered making someone with a broken jaw laugh probably isn’t a good thing.

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With Siman in the lead, we headed upstairs to see if there was anyone else we could help. Of course there’s never a shortage of people who need assistance here, but my first opportunity was on the stairs. A small woman, who must have been from the provinces she was so dusty and dark from the sun, was carrying a huge sack of rice up the stairs. (Of course there is no elevator in the hospital.) It must have weighed 70 pounds but she cradled it and lugged it up one step at a time. So of course I offered to help and carried it for her. I didn’t know where we were delivering the rice when we got upstairs, but she led me to the door of a supply closet. She knocked and the door peaked open and two women were sitting comfortably in there with two dogs. They held the dogs back by their collars and held their mouths closed so they wouldn’t bark. The smiling woman took the rice sack and thanked me and retreated into the closet, shutting the door before the dogs escaped or drew attention.

It took me a second to process what I’d just seen, but apparently the three women and their two dogs were living in the supply closet, and that rice would probably feed them all for a few weeks in there. One of the most bizarre things I’ve ever seen! 

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We made our way down a long, sunlight corridor with grand open shutters on one side and patient rooms on the other. There were no closing doors, just openings into the rooms. Each one held six or eight beds, further crowded by the families and visitors of the patients. In fact, when a lot of these people were seriously injured and sent to he hospital, their families moved right in with them, the only ones to take care of them because there wasn’t a hospital cafeteria and the few doctors and nurses I saw were running at a fervent pace trying to keep up. So family members congregated in the halls, smoked cigarettes by the windows, came and went with food, lit incense and made offerings to Buddha for good luck, and slept on bamboo matts on the floors.

I was worried about being intrusive or violating the privacy of these patients – the last thing I wanted to do was be a tourist in someone else’s misery – but they all smiled and waved when we poked our heads in the rooms. Their children said hello in English and ran up to us for high fives. Everyone was amazed when I said a few words in Khmer.

We walked by a man who was standing by the window with his wife with the help of a walker. He had a steel rod holding his left leg straight, with 6 steel pins running straight into the bones in his legs through bloody openings in his skin. His leg had been severely broken. His knee cap was removed and he had to keep the steel rod attached for 5 months but he was happy because he would walk again and didn’t have the leg amputated, a practice that’s all too common as a quick default when someone comes in with a serious injury. 

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Siman led us into the next room where he was talking to a patient’s parents, and indeed, there were three guys with amputated legs among the four patients. One young man was working construction when an errant cable wire ripped his legs completely off well above the knee. But he didn’t seem downtrodden or sad at all; Khmer people are some of the strongest, most enduring people you’ll ever meet. 

We talked to everyone for a while, or rather Simon interpreted as we smiled and tried to comfort the patients and families, and then we gave them each a nice donation.
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Our next stop was to see Meas Vanny, a young woman who just weeks before suffered a barbaric attack when someone threw acid in her face. Vanny, a beautiful 20-year old woman who worked at a security guard, was suspected of sleeping with someone’s husband. So the jealous wife approached her on the street at 5am one morning and threw a bucket of sulfuric acid on her. 
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Acid attacks are all too common in Cambodia, where the victims are hideously disfigured and face a life of searing pain. Even worse, they are often ostracized from the public eye or even their own families, and forced to beg or sleep on the street and sift through garbage to live. There have been some highly publicized cases in the past, even a famous singer who was attacked with acid when she started speaking up politically, and several charities exist solely to help acid attack victims. Of course it doesn’t help that you can buy this shit right off the shelf in stores and in recent years they’ve been trying to pass laws to permit the sale of this acid. But mercifully the attacks have been less frequent in recent years. Meas Vanny was the first of 2015.

Bart and Siman had visited her several times before and the beautiful girl was now hairless and seared on almost all of her face, neck and arms. She wasn’t in her room when we went to see her but we ran into her family sitting outside on some benches in the shade. They told us she was in the ICU getting the first of many skin grafts. We went to the ICU and then made a nice donation to the family, who had tears of gratitude in their eyes. 

We turned to walk down the hall and out toward the tuk tuk, which Siman had run out to collect for us.

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“Goodbye! Goodbye!” we heard as a smiling little boy chased us down the hall. We had just given his father some money and his son tracked us down to thank us. But he didn’t know any other English words except “hello” or “goodbye.” The little boy paused for a moment as he tried to work out how to communicate what he was feeling. Undeterred, he thrust his hands up in the air to make a big heart, his smile expressing more than words ever could, in any language.

What a day. I’m eternally grateful to have met such wonderful, courageous people and I look forward to going back next week to visit and help a few more.

If anyone out there wants to make a humble donation to help feed these hospital patients or contribute to their medical care, drop me an email.

- Norm   :-)

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Update:

Yesterday - the very next day after we visited the hospital - I heard the news that Meas Vanny passed away, succumbing to her extensive burns and injuries. She never complained or lost her smile, and I'm honored to have known her in this life and helped her family a little. My only consolation is that she's no longer in pain and definitely going to a better place. 

1 Comment
Bart Belanger link
3/20/2015 01:18:30 am

Thanks Norm for joining with us. I was a wonderful day

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    Norm Schriever

    Norm Schriever is a best-selling author, expat, cultural mad scientist, and enemy of the comfort zone. He travels the globe, telling the stories of the people he finds, and hopes to make the world a little bit better place with his words.   

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