I don't know what tipped me over the edge, but it started with thinking of my husband, and my kids and how great it would be to see them again. That led me to think about one of the women I cared for at the camp. She had 6 kids, and only 4 were here with her. Her husband was "missing" (presumed to have died escaping from Syria but she hasn't lost hope). The other two had made it through the border at Idomeni, Greece before the Balkan route was shut down. They were only several hours ahead of her, as Mom was slow with the younger kids. Her son was 20. Her daughter? 12. I felt incredibly guilty crying that I had missed my kids for the last 12 days, but I knew when and where I would see them again. I would see them grow, marry, procreate, and mature without having to apply for family reunification. I don't know if my patient would. I would see my husband again, and would grow old with him; she wouldn't have that luxury. The tears fell silently.
This happened multiple times, completely unprovoked, during the day. The sadness of the conditions in which the refugees lived was painful, yet they did the best they could to make it feel like a home. Should I have done something more? Should I have shooed away the rats I saw, the rats no one seemed to notice but were in plain sight? Should I have advocated for toilet seats in the porta potties since it was so hard to potty train your child on them, or take care of female business without being able sit? The rampant constipation I saw - who can have a bowel movement standing up? More tears.
Should I have bought cough syrup secretly for the hundreds of people who have respiratory symptoms due to the cold temperatures and sick contacts? In Syria pharmacists may dispense almost any medication - for illnesses from the simplest to the most complex, Syrians have historically trusted their druggist to give them something for any complaint. We volunteers are all trained differently, treating with evidence rather than empathy; should we have found more common ground, if only to establish trust while the refugees were adapting to a new way of life? Did I explain my reasoning for denying antibiotics well enough, or do they think I want them to suffer because they are Muslim? "No," I told myself, "if nothing else, you did a good job of this. You took the time to show them you care." But self doubt is a powerful weapon, and again I wept.
Coming back to my other life - re-entry as some call it - has been hard. Although I landed only two-and-a-half hours ago, I still can't shut off my brain and I know it will take some time to stop feeling like I've abandoned these lovely people. I am blessed beyond belief to have a supportive, amazing family to come home to, all in one place, and safe. I know it's only a matter of time before I go back, so now my tears have lessened some.
I highly recommend the documentary, Salam Neighbor, to anyone who has found these posts from my medical mission trip interesting. Although the camp discussed is in Jordan and is much larger, the people and stories within have so many similarities it is uncanny. It is available on Netflix and is 1 hour, 15 minutes long. My husband has used it for his sociology classes and my kids have watched and enjoyed it. You won't be disappointed and you will learn so much about the beauty of the Syrian people and the importance of maintaining their dignity during such turmoil.
Salam alaikum (peace be upon you in Arabic).
 |
| Thumbnail for the movie, Salam Neighbor. It's also available for purchase in the iTunes Store |
 |
| Me on a cold day figuring out how the Greek referral system (doesn't) works for refugees |
 |
| Remembering the gift of sweet, Arabic tea |
No comments:
Post a Comment