Knowing that I am coming home in a month brings a lot of mixed emotions. I am anxious to move forward in my life because I feel as if this three months is small a sabbatical from “real life” – work, school, dating, callings, etc. It’s strange to think that when I get back this experience will only be a few words or sentences on my resume, yet it is so much more than that.
I remember everyone telling me it would be hard. How do you put all of this into one word? Everyday am being stretched in so many directions - everyday I have to experience something I am afraid of, nervous about, feel anxiety over or impatient with. Everything is out of my comfort zone – from the smells to the food, the people, the culture, the language barrier, the public transportation, the workers, the children, the disabilities, the conditions of the hospital, church, the living situation…
Looking back, I hope that I have changed. I hope I have learned something. I hope I have grown.
I learn from the children everyday – sometimes I don’t even notice it. Today, we had a completely different floor. Greeted by a kind, toothless nurse, we were led to a room with 2 kids. The first little girl was absolutely beautiful. She was only three years old and would smile at the littlest thing. On the other bed, a giant round tent of blankets surrounded what I thought was child, but I couldn’t tell.
The nurse had told us there were two kids in the room, but I was a bit apprehensive as I had no idea who or what was behind the blankets in the second bed. As we started playing with the little child Lenutsa, I saw a head peer over the blanket tent and smile at us.
Realizing that she wasn’t too old, I walked over to talk to her. As I approached her, I immediately was shocked to see that most of her upper body other than her neck and face covered in either acid burns or road rash, I couldn’t tell. She was covered in scabs, blisters, bumps and red skin. I couldn’t tell if I was shocked or nauseous.
I couldn’t talk to her a lot with my small Romanian vocabulary, but we were able to communicate a little bit. At first I couldn’t help but stare at her wounds. Then, it made me sick to look at. As I watched this girl, only ten years old, I couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling – lying there and having people look at her as if she is a spectacle. It made me realize that constantly having people stare at us because we are American and because we are foreign is nothing like what this poor girl has to experience. She was always smiling and so kind. She was excited just to have someone talk to her.
I went to my backpack and pulled out some pink nail polish and asked her if she wanted me to paint her nails. I know that if I was in that situation, sitting in a dirty hospital having a body covered in open wounds that would eventually turn to scars, anything to make me feel beautiful would help.
She completely lit up and smiled while I painted her nails. I felt like for a moment I was helping make someone’s day.
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