I was taken by ambulance to a Nepalese hospital.
Relax, mom, stop freaking out. I wasn’t the one who was sick. Relax Doulos parents, your kids are okay too.
Last week Bhuvan (I’m not sure what his title is, but he’s kind of the one in charge around this place) hollers up to me while I’m on the third floor balcony.
“Jenifer! I’ve been looking for you!”
I head downstairs and outside, where Bhuvan tells me a couple of the women are going to the hospital, and he would like me to keep them company. I have no idea why. He tries to explain who is going and what is wrong but I haven’t yet mastered the women’s names and so I actually have no idea what is going on. But in India I got in the vehicle when I was told and got out when I was told and that usually worked out pretty well. I figure I’ll try it out here too, so I get in the ambulance.
Let me clarify. Asha Nepal basically owns two vehicles: a bus that we take to get to church, and an ambulance. It’s basically a white van with a long seat and a short seat in the back. And a first aid box, which I’m assuming is what qualifies it as an ambulance.
Cassie and Ally both ask if I want them to go with, but I say no, I’ll be fine. It’s not until I’m on the road sitting with two ladies in the back that I realize something:
I don’t actually speak Nepali.
So I try to brainstorm and create a list of words in my head than I could potentially say. I know how to say didi (sister), dhanybhad (thank you), vandanalu…shoot! That last one is Telgu, and is no use to me now that I’m no longer in India.
Come on, Jones, get it together.
The only small talk I can think to say is, “woah! Bumpy!” Because it is. Team Doulos, if I ever get sick here in Nepal, you WILL put me in a micro bus before you stick me on that ambulance. At least on a micro bus I’m so crowded and squished that my butt has no choice but to stay on the seat. Not so in the back of this ambulance. This poor woman is hanging on for dear life as she tries not to roll of the seat.
So here we are, in the back of this ambulance, and to the best of my knowledge it isn’t moving at ambulance speed. In fact, we stop for gas at one point. We do turn on the sirens a few times to help get through the mess that is traffic. And, oh my, we start driving in the wrong lane. Folks, I’m basically on a much busier and much more crowded version of I-29, and I’m in the wrong lane.
We eventually come to our stop, and when I step out of the ambulance all I can think is, “Where is this hospital?”
The sign on the window says it’s a diagnostics center. It’s kind of like a private clinic where a couple of doctors have their offices. We walk up the stairs and for a brief moment I’m left alone sitting on the bench. There are Hindu stickers above the door so I say a couple of prayers for this clinic and the people here.
I’m invited into the doctor’s office with the women. The first thing I notice is that the trash bin is overflowing, which means their housekeeper must be not nearly as good as my mom. Then again, my mom is pretty much amazing at her job, so it’s a difficult standard to meet. The next thing I notice is a full size yellow flashlight sitting on the doctor’s desk. I figure he must keep it there for when the power goes out, as it often does here. But nope, nope, that’s what he’s using to look at her throat. And now he’s taking her temperature by sticking a thermometer under her arm.
And that’s when I realize.
My mom must be a Nepalese doctor, because he’s not doing much different than what she would do.
After the appointment we climb back into the ambulance. Throughout this adventure I’ve been rubbing this woman’s back from time to time because I feel like I should do something. But I’m not sure if it’s comforting her, or if she’s thinking, “Who’s this crazy white chick, and why does she keep touching me?” On the ride home I don’t quite know what to do with myself, so I figure maybe singing some worship songs would be a good way to pass the time. Every now and then this poor woman lets out a noise, and I can’t tell if she’s just groaning because she’s sick or if she’s trying to say, “Dear strange American lady, your off key singing is making my tummy ache worse.”
We stop on the way home to buy vegetables, because hey, since we’re in town and all…
Eventually we make it back to Asha Nepal at which time I join in on a dance party with the kids that is already in progress.
This is my life.
This ambulance ride is just one of the many adventures I’ve had that make me so grateful for the things I’ve had most of my life in the US. It makes me sad that these women have to ride on bumpy roads or in crowded busses to get to the hospital when they are feeling sick. It makes me sad that so many of these women have life-long illnesses that were caused by something that they had no control over. There’s a lot of sickness here. It feels like someone goes to the hospital every day.
I love my Asha women, so pray for fewer ambulance rides, k?
