HEALTH CARE A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE by Jon C. Jenkins

Maureen and I had gone from Sikroar in India to Peru to start a new Human Development Project. We spent three months looking for a village that met our criteria. Finally after a great deal of effort, we selected and we were selected by San Vincente de Azpitia, a village 100 kilometers south of Lima and a few kilometers from the mouth of the Mala river. It was in the desert where nothing grew, not even cactus, without irrigation. It was beautiful on a little plateau above the river. To the East the Andes rose higher and higher. To the South was the Mala valley, green since the days of the Inca rulers with corn, cassava and fruit trees. We could watch the sun go down over the pacific ocean on clear days. The northern border of the village was a high hill of sand. In spite of beauty of the community we had work to do.

One of the major problems that faced Azpitia was the lack of any economic foundation beyond farming and the three stores. We wanted to create some additional employment opportunities. With some research we found that some 600,000 fruit boxes a year were used in the Mala valley to pack fruit. The nearest box factory was in Lima. We got a donation for the saw and the first loads of lumber. A family let us use a piece of land and we bought mats for cover and walls.

As the factory began, we discovered that we would never be able to produce enough boxes a day at the rate we were cutting the wood. It was just going to slow. I didn't know much about how to run a box factory but I felt that I could look around and see if there was something wrong. I also wanted to begin an experiment with making charcoal out of wood scraps.

I took Jean Paul, our oldest son, with me on a day no one was working. We began the charcoal fire in an old barrel. I then started to look at the saw. I turned it on and began to cut wood. The wood was very hard and cut very slowly. I tried piece after piece. While cutting, I was distracted, felt my hand jump, look down and saw the bloody stumps of my forefinger and thumb. I grabbed them and yelled at Jean Paul to come on. As we ran to the house, I said, "Run ahead." The house was not far and when I arrived Jean Paul had just said that I had been hurt. I told Luis Alberto to turn off the machine and sat.

People seemed to just stare. Time seemed to stop. I looked at my hand the bone was sticking out and first joint was missing from my forefinger and the tip of my thumb. Kristin Cramer then arrived with a diaper. I felt overwhelmingly grateful. She wrapped up my hand. Luis returned and then went to find Raphael, the owner of the only other car in the village. Maureen and Gudrun, a German intern, were in Lima raising money. I then went to lie down as I was feeling very queasy.

Next I remember Raphael getting me up and taking me to one clinic in Mala to discover it was closed. At the only other clinic the doctor was out (don't get sick at lunch time). The nurse said she couldn't do much but would make it possible for me to get to Lima. She unwrapped Kristin's bandage, poured a bottle of alcohol over my hand, then a half liter of iodine and finally she had me turn over and gave me a shot for pain. I've always thought the sequence was backwards.

Next was the trip to Lima. The fastest form of public transportation to Lima was by a kind of cab. The driver would wait until the car filled with six or seven passengers and off we would go. One could wait for a few minutes or an hour or more. Someone went off to find a cab.

When I arrived at the cabstand, Luis and I had a cab to ourselves. I asked Kristine to call Maureen and we were off to Lima. That is the last I remember of the hour and a half trip. I came to just outside the city at a round about where Gudrun and Maureen were waiting to take me to the San Borja Clinic the best in town.

The next morning I woke up in the clinic bed, my arm in a sling, connected to a plasma bottle and having to use the bathroom. The nurse came in and in my embarrassment I couldn't remember the Spanish word for toilet, so I waited until she left. Carrying the plasma bottle in one had and using the cast to lower my pants, I found I could manage by myself. The nurse did notice that I had damaged the plasma apparatus a little.

The doctor was next to arrive. He spoke English and had done graduate work in the US and Australia. He was a tramatalogist and quite kind. The only worrying point was when he asked if I had found my finger because he could have tried to sew it back on. The comment was meant to reassure but seemed a little late.

It was this experience that once again made real the cost of care. I now wear a ring to remind me of that cost.

-- JonJenkins - 29 Apr 2007