Dr. Jean Lieu - Jan 9,2005 Nagapattinam
January 9, 2005
I'm wearing down. My memory is lapsing and I can't recall what we've done or where we've been the last couple of days. I've been running on adrenaline, but it's slowly catching up with me. I'm tired and sluggish. I need more sleep than I used to and my energy level isn't as high any more. The rest of the team is showing signs of fatigue too. Everyone came to me with complaints of body aches and pain, fever, cough and signs of dehydration. We're not taking in as much fluids as we should. A new team is scheduled to arrive tomorrow night as my own journey draws to a close. There is somberness in the air. Everyone is aware that our time together is short and fleeting. Each passing hour brings us closer to good bye, without knowing whether or not our paths will ever cross again.
Yesterday, our van was attacked by a mob of people in another fishing village that we visited. Because they were so far away from Nagapattinam, relief supplies were delayed and they were forced to go without food and clean water for three days. For the first time since I've been on the field, I feared for our safety. They wanted food and didn't believe us when we told them all we had were medicines. Although it took us a while, we were finally able to convince them that all we can offer was medical care. While I set up the medical station, Trish and the other volunteers went to play with the children. She later told me that the children were terrified of the beach and did not want to go near it initially as much as they were tempted by the soccer ball she was dangling in front of them. But after a few hours of drawing and games, they finally, though reluctantly, followed her onto the beach for a game of soccer. We stayed there until well after dark before heading back to the hotel to nurse our own tired limbs.
I'm scheduled to leave on the bus tonight. I opted to take the last bus out to spend as much time as I can with my team. After a full day of examining patients and visiting children, we came back to the hotel a bit earlier than usual for one last dinner and group photos. After dinner, Baarti stayed in her room. She couldn't bare to say goodbye. She didn't want me to see her cry. I had encouraged her to be strong. She didn't want to disappoint me.
As soon as I rolled my luggage out of our room, Trish started crying. I gave her a hug and kissed her tear-stained cheeks, told her that I would miss her and that my heart, spirit and prayers would always follow them wherever they go. Anand, Siva, Suresh and I then rushed to the bus station. It was already 11pm. I wasn't feeling to well. I was nauseous and my stomach ached excruciatingly. I cursed myself for not bringing any medicines with me; I had left it all for the team with specific instructions on how to use them if they should ever need them. I sat there trying not to move as the guys discussed the events of the past few days and recalled fondly our various brush with death. And as if on cue, there was a commotion in the streets as people ran and cried in mass hysteria. A lady was screaming at her husband to leave all of their belongings to evacuate to the roof of the house. There was another tsunami scare. I was too tired and in too much pain to move. I told the guys to confirm the report. It was apparently another hoax. The bus arrived a short time later. My exhaustion overpowered the pain and nausea as I drifted off to sleep and the bus made its way back towards Chennai.
I'm wearing down. My memory is lapsing and I can't recall what we've done or where we've been the last couple of days. I've been running on adrenaline, but it's slowly catching up with me. I'm tired and sluggish. I need more sleep than I used to and my energy level isn't as high any more. The rest of the team is showing signs of fatigue too. Everyone came to me with complaints of body aches and pain, fever, cough and signs of dehydration. We're not taking in as much fluids as we should. A new team is scheduled to arrive tomorrow night as my own journey draws to a close. There is somberness in the air. Everyone is aware that our time together is short and fleeting. Each passing hour brings us closer to good bye, without knowing whether or not our paths will ever cross again.
Yesterday, our van was attacked by a mob of people in another fishing village that we visited. Because they were so far away from Nagapattinam, relief supplies were delayed and they were forced to go without food and clean water for three days. For the first time since I've been on the field, I feared for our safety. They wanted food and didn't believe us when we told them all we had were medicines. Although it took us a while, we were finally able to convince them that all we can offer was medical care. While I set up the medical station, Trish and the other volunteers went to play with the children. She later told me that the children were terrified of the beach and did not want to go near it initially as much as they were tempted by the soccer ball she was dangling in front of them. But after a few hours of drawing and games, they finally, though reluctantly, followed her onto the beach for a game of soccer. We stayed there until well after dark before heading back to the hotel to nurse our own tired limbs.
I'm scheduled to leave on the bus tonight. I opted to take the last bus out to spend as much time as I can with my team. After a full day of examining patients and visiting children, we came back to the hotel a bit earlier than usual for one last dinner and group photos. After dinner, Baarti stayed in her room. She couldn't bare to say goodbye. She didn't want me to see her cry. I had encouraged her to be strong. She didn't want to disappoint me.
As soon as I rolled my luggage out of our room, Trish started crying. I gave her a hug and kissed her tear-stained cheeks, told her that I would miss her and that my heart, spirit and prayers would always follow them wherever they go. Anand, Siva, Suresh and I then rushed to the bus station. It was already 11pm. I wasn't feeling to well. I was nauseous and my stomach ached excruciatingly. I cursed myself for not bringing any medicines with me; I had left it all for the team with specific instructions on how to use them if they should ever need them. I sat there trying not to move as the guys discussed the events of the past few days and recalled fondly our various brush with death. And as if on cue, there was a commotion in the streets as people ran and cried in mass hysteria. A lady was screaming at her husband to leave all of their belongings to evacuate to the roof of the house. There was another tsunami scare. I was too tired and in too much pain to move. I told the guys to confirm the report. It was apparently another hoax. The bus arrived a short time later. My exhaustion overpowered the pain and nausea as I drifted off to sleep and the bus made its way back towards Chennai.
posted by JC @ 6:00 PM
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