A moment of truth...

So here we go... 

I think **one** of the reasons I didn't go to med school earlier, is because I was afraid I'd never get in. I'd never make it, so I might as well not try. 

When I was a freshman in college, I was the TA for my chemistry class, and I got a C in one of the lab write ups. The teacher, an old German dude, came to me when I was working in his office and said "you think you can get into med school with C's? You can't. You'll never make it." Folks, it was a lab write up. I did NOT get a C in that class, but the damage was already done. His words stuck with me to this day, 15 years later. 

I eventually changed my life and decided to pursue a career in something completely unrelated to medicine. It was not because of what that professor said, but I am *sure* I would not have given up so quickly, if I hadn't had his words echoing in my head and that horrible feeling that I just couldn't make the cut. 

So I graduated, got a job in Germany, (one of those real, grown up jobs) and started to settle into "grown up" life. Until I realized I wasn't happy. That my job did not make me happy. That I was not making the world a better place, and if I wasn't there, at my job, nobody would even notice. 

That realization came when I was 29 years old. Not an easy moment to face, even in the best circumstances... 

So I had a mini life-crises, questioned everything, and realized that the only consistent dream I had ever had, was to become a doctor. And thought it was insane. Crazy. No way could I do it now! 

Luckily, I have a couple of really good friends, who heard my rants, held me while I cried, and assured me that yes, I could do it. That if it was really what I wanted, not only *could* I do it, but I *should* do it! 

That brings us to today. Getting into med school is not easy, and it actually took me a little while from when I made the decision to this day. I am in my first year of medical school. Until today, I wasn't really sure I could make it. Today that has changed. I belong here. I am not only going to be a doctor, I'm going to be a great doctor. Dr. F (the chem teacher)'s words may have done a lot of damage, but they weere not true. I'm here. I made it. And I'm not nearly done! 

Watch out world! :) 

There's a song that fits perfectly with this post: "Let it be" by Superchick -- check it out! 

Three weeks in...

Sorry folks, there's a bit of an adaptation to be made at the beginning of anything, and Medical School definitely requires a bit of adapting. 

But here I am. I made it through the first three weeks, and I'm happy. So far, honestly, there's nothing really difficult, there's only a LOT of stuff. They throw everything at us, and a giant bibliography for every class, that we have to read, summarize, and post on the online forums for each class. That is also graded. Then we have homework. Then we have one exam a week, on Fridays, which are a compilation of everything we learned that week in all classes. 

We're learning a lot of concepts in public health, like equality in healthcare, the right to Health, the determinating factors of Health. And bioethics. Also, communication technics for how to conduct an interview (HPI). In a week we actually get to conduct our first interview with a member of the community (not a paid actor!) where we'll be working with health education, primary care, prevention, etc. They really do throw us straight into the deep end to see if we can swim. 

But I was expecting this. And I must say, I really like that we have a test at the end of each week, because it helps me to keep on top of things with somewhat manageable amounts of material, as opposed to having thousands of pages and concepts to go through at the end of the month. Hopefully I'm not forgetting things right after the test! (I'm not, actually!) 

So, that's what's going on this side of the world. How are you all doing? How was your beginning in Med School?

The First Day of Med School

I think I mention elsewhere on this blog, that I had a different life before. I have a degree, had a different career and studied and lived in several European countries, as well as in the US, Brazil, Argentina and currently in Uruguay. 

If you add all that up, you can probably figure out that I'm not in my early 20s, much less straight out of High School (here, like in a lot of other South American and European countries, you start med school straight out of high school, but it lasts 6-7 years. Your undergrad is included into the medical training). This means I am older than 100% of my class, by at least 10 years. 

In some ways, I think this is awesome, they're all panicky, never gone to college, have no life experience and some had never even seen "the big city" before. They're lost and overwhelmed by the newness of it all, being away from family for the first time, etc. 

I, on the other hand.... well.... You can read a little about me on the rest of this blog. Suffice to say I was not overwhelmed by anything related to starting Med School. 

However, when I was getting to that amphitheater, shuffling along with the crowd of youngsters, I had butterflies in my stomach. It was the introductory and welcome talk, so no big deal, right? Wrong. 

The big deal was that I was actually here. That the dream I've had for the last 30 years is finally coming true. That after all the struggles and sacrifices I had to make, I am finally a med student. 

And it is AWESOME. 

However, being older than everyone *including the teacher* might take a little getting used to... (She's more like a tutor for our Problem Based Learning days, but still!!) 

*edit-- just remembered that in my other life, I was actually working at a University and was younger than some of my students. I guess the tables are turned! 

The *actual* beginning

Hi everyone, I'm back, and I think a slight explanation might be in order, as to the question: "she calls herself a medical student but seems like she's in a different country every other day. How is that possible?"

Well, last year I left my beautiful life in Berlin, Germany, because I was assured, after asking everybody that had anything to do with it (the med school back home, the dean of admissions, etc., etc., etc.) that I could start med school in March 2014. 

So I packed my bags, arrived in Montevideo, Uruguay (that's where I'm from), rented an apartment and prepared to start school. 

After all of that, however, they managed to come up with a stupid bureaucratic reason to find fault with my paperwork, and to rectify that, unfortunately, took months. And they did not allow me to start without solving that first. 

I was very pissed off, almost got myself on a plane back to Germany, cried, consumed massive amounts of chocolate, and then calmed down. A bit. Enough to realize that this might be a blessing in disguise and that I could use this time to my advantage. 

This is when I contacted the doctor in Tchad and asked if he wanted a volunteer. And how I planned a trip for the last 6 months, possibly the last block of that much free time I'll ever have. 

However, now I'm back, and there's no paperwork crap this time. It's actually happening. I'm T-4 days from the very first day of Medical School, a day that, if I'm honest, I've been dreaming about for at least 24 years. Seriously. You can only imagine how excited I am. I think ecstatic would be a better word!!! 

Wish me luck!! 

Tchadian Flashback

I am back to Uruguay now. That's where I live, despite my 6 months of traveling last year. I had to find a new apartment, because obviously there was no way I was going to pay rent for 6 months without actually being here.

But I did. I found a great place and I'm super happy about it. Hopefully I'll be able to stay here until I can buy my own place.

Moving sometimes is complicated though, and this time had its ups and downs. Today was the first day I really felt like I lived here, and I went to the grocery store and bought all the things I needed to stock up the cupboards and the fridge. Then I thought I'd make myself a nice little dinner. And I remembered something...

Back in September, a friend of mine took me to a restaurant in Tchad, to eat chicken. That's all they had,  rotisserie chicken. Which you eat with your hands. And they give you a metal tray, like cafeteria tray, with a bit of bread, a bit of salad, and some spices. You're supposed to dip the chicken on the spices and eat it.

I had one bite, and I was hooked. It was fantastic!! Not the chicken, the spices! Well, both. I had to know what that was. I asked, but the guy who knew what it was wasn't there, so I came back a few days later and asked him. He told me it was a mixture of several things that he made himself.... I was a bit disappointed, I had hoped it was something I could just buy and take home. He said: "Wait here. I'll be back!"

I waited for maybe 15 minutes, until he came back with a ton of little packages full of different spices. He dropped them all on a table, then started picking up one by one,  smelling it, and telling me what it was, while I wrote it down.

Then he opened them and mixed a bit of this, a bit of that, all in front of me, showing me how to do it. And if all of that wasn't enough, at the end, he put the entire mixture into a little plastic bag and handed it to me.

 Incredible!!! And so nice! And delicious!

So today, when I thought about cooking, I remembered those spices, brought all the way from Tchad. And my food tasted like a little bit of Tchad.


I miss it.... 

Powerless

My head is reeling. I powerwalk through the city trying hard not to cry. There's a knot in my throat. I finally reach the solitary haven of my musty room. 

I don't know why it hit me so hard. It's not the first, and definitely won't be the last time I see this, but somehow I'm overwhelmed and powerless, just like I felt in Chad, when Salomé died. I want to save them all, but I know I can't. My heart breaks. 

This is what happened: after brunch today, I start walking around, looking at little shops. I see a pre-pubescent girl tie a ballon-animal around the waist of a giggling todler. I smile and keep walking, but somehow the toddler ran ahead of me and entangled herself in my legs. She is giggling. She lifts her arms, and without thinking, I pick her up and realize she is naked from the waste down. I turn around to see her sister smile and come to me. I put the baby down and before I know it, the sister is begging me for food. "No money," she says, "just food." I look at her friend, who is carrying another toddler, a little boy. I say "Ok, I'll buy you food." 

We sit at a restaurant, and I ask the waitress for a menu. It's an italian restaurant. My guest looks at the menu and points to a pizza. The waitress looks at me and I acquiesce. I order a coffee for myself and a bottle of water for them. I ask their names and they tell me, but they're too foreign and I can't pronounce them, much less remember them.

I ask how old she is, and she tells me 20, then 14. I think she's 12. I ask her if she goes to school, and she says no. I ask her why and she shrugs. She speaks good English. I get a book out of my purse and ask if she can read, she says no. She can spell the letters though, "T-H-E" but can't form the word. 

The food arrives, and these little girls pounce. The little boy is on the other girl's lap and she's giving him food. The little girl, the one who stumbled into my legs, is sitting on her own chair and reaching for the pizza. It's too hot, she's going to burn herself. I sit next to her and start slowly feeding her with my hand. 

Then comes a man, walking with his hands, his atrophied legs dragging behind him. I offer him a slice of pizza, and he accepts without words. I hand him a slice of pizza and smile. I try not to think of Chad, and Paulin, and wonder if there's a way to find this man a tricycle. 

He has a sign around his neck that says he's 35, has 5 kids and sells books as the only way to support his family. I resolve to buy a book after he's done eating. 

The little kids are not talking, they're munching down on pizza and looking at their plates. 

I ask to see his books, and he has "At first they killed my father," a true story from a survivor of the Khmer Rouge who watched her dad get killed. I wanted to read that anyway. I offer him $5 dollars and he accepts with a smile. 

The kids are almost done eating. I am going to burst into tears if I stay much longer. I ask them to look at me as I take a picture, hug them, and tell them to take care. I tell them to go to school. To read books. All of that is probably impossible, but I say it anyway. 

I wave goodbye and walk away, as fast as I can. 

This world is too unfair. Yesterday, I spent 14hrs without my iPhone, feeling miserable and planning to buy a new one already. I was ready to spend $600 dollars in a damn phone, and these kids have nothing to eat. 

I am crying now, in my room, feeling powerless and angry at myself. I have so much, yet I complain because of minor inconveniences. I feel guilty. I could do so much more. 

My heart breaks. I miss Africa. I miss being able to do something, even if not very much, to ease the pain. To bring comfort, healing, peace. 

I don't know what to do... 

It's the end of the year, and with it comes new challenges and resolutions. If you're reading this, may I suggest that one of your resolutions for this year is to help someone, at least once? And I don't mean give money to a begger or a charity. I mean you, actually helping someone. Offer a meal, and sit with them while they eat. Go help in a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. Volunteer at an orphanage, hospital, jail. Do something to better this world. If we all join forces, we can make 2015 a better world. 

Welcome to the world of bribes and corruption... Or is it?

After a 2-week whirlwind tour of Vietnam which left me wanting more, although not exactly sad to leave, I got on a boat from Chau Doc in Vietnam, to Phnom Penh in Cambodia. 

The cruise through the Mekong was beautiful, bright sunny day, watching the world go by in fast-forward mode, as the boat sped north. 

After a while, we stopped at the Vietnam border, got off the boat and got our exit stamps on the passports. Back on the boat for 5 minutes, and we stopped at the Cambodian border. 

We had already handed our passports and $34 dollars to the boat guy, who gave all of our passports together to the border control. First problem: there's a big sign saying "Tourist Visa=$30 dollars". Where did the extra $4 go? Not sure if boat guy or border official. Couldn't do anything about it, had already given the money. 

I'm sitting quietly under a tree, reading a book about the struggles of a Northern Vietnam soldier after the war, when the boat guy comes and asks me if this is my passport. Apparently it expires in less than 6 months. The border guy is asking for a bribe. 

Triumphantly, I pull out my Uruguayan passport and say: "I'm not paying a bribe! *This* passport is valid until 2019!" So I go talk to the guy. However, he holds all the cards. He thought he was going to get a little extra padding in his pocket today, and by golly, he is getting it! 

He said he couldn't do it. That he had already seen my Brazilian passport. That *he'd get in trouble!* After making me wait there, and telling me I could go back to Vietnam (which was no longer an option, since I had already stamped out and had only a single-entry visa), he told the boat guy again (in Cambodian) to tell me to just pay his bribe of $20 dollars. 

I have a photo of the guy. I will update this after I leave Cambodia, just to make sure I actually get to leave! 

Sensing I had no choice in the matter, I grudgingly agreed, whereupon he instantly put the visa on my *Brazilian passport,* the one which supposedly wasn't acceptable because it expired in 5 months and 21 days -- less than 6 months. 

Outraged and impotent, I have, for the first time in my life, payed a bribe and therefore contributed to the cycle of corruption. I'm not happy about it. If I could, I would have actually gone back into Vietnam, gotten a Cambodian Visa from the embassy, and then come back. Alas, that was impossible, as I was trapped in no-man's land, having already legally exited Vietnam. 

Back on the boat, a German guy handed me the Cambodia Lonely Planet, where it says that though corruption exists everywhere in Asia, it has become an art-form in Cambodia. Great. Just great. 

I then continued reading my book until we reached Phnom Penh. 

Leaving the boat, I had to go get a bus immediately, as I have to arrive in Sihanoukville by this evening. Tuk-tuk drivers abound, as usual, and I resigned myself to be scammed once again, as I have no idea where the bus station is. I tell a guy yes, and start walking with him up to the wharf. He says there's a bus that leaves from nearby. I don't have to pay for a Tuk-Tuk, he'll show me. What? Did I hear this right? 

I keep walking, and he takes me to a place where they sell bus tickets. There are other foreigners waiting. He was still with me, so I expected to be quoted an inflated price, so he could get his kick-back. Nope. Normal price! 

Then he says "you have 30 minutes, maybe you're hungry", and as I acquiesce, he walks me to a street-food stall, where I pay $2 dollars for a heaping plate full of rice, veggies and fried chicken on top. He then says "Have a nice trip!" smiles, and waves goodbye. 

In short, I'm confused. I was expecting to be scammed at every turn, since even the police is openly asking for bribes. Little does this Tuk-tuk driver knows that he single-handedly erased the bad opinion I had already formed of his people, just a couple of hours earlier. 

Lesson learned: not everyone is corrupt, there are still honest and friendly souls out there. 

Hallelujah!