Each day there was a job to be done, and the evenings brought a chance to hang out and relax with some of the Jamaican men I was becoming friends with. During each of those weeks, however, there was one day I dreaded – the visit to the May Pen Infirmary. We’ll be telling you more about the infirmary in upcoming posts, but for now I’ll simply say that it is a place of deep suffering.
I had a very hard time coming into contact with so many people who had been cast from society and were receiving care below their dignity. Also, I just didn’t know what could be done for them in the few hours that we would visit the infirmary during the week of the trip. The first two times I went to the infirmary I spent most of the time wandering around, trying to look busy, but avoiding interaction with the residents. I’d settle into it enough to finally read scripture or pray with a few people, but I was always checking my watch and was very ready to leave when our time was up.
My third trip to Jamaica was as part of a medical team. I helped the team set up clinics in various villages throughout the week, enjoying this new and different way of helping Jamaicans. Again, though, I was anxiously aware that we would be hosting a clinic at the Infirmary, and we would be there for almost a full day! I began the day as I had on other visits – wandering aimlessly, hoping that the time was passing faster than it seemed. I even got a brief respite and joined a couple of my teammates to help take some donated wheelchairs to the local hospital. Upon returning, however, my friend Amber had a task and a challenge for me.
The orderlies at the infirmary were hoping that we would help bathe some of the residents, and Amber asked me to help. Reluctant, but trying not to show it, I agreed to help. Covered in garbage bags to stay dry and armed with a bar of soap and a bucket of water, I began to bathe a man who could not do this for himself.
Connected as we both shivered – me from anxiety, he from the chill of the water – I experienced an intimate moment of caring for another human being.
Later in the day I was able to join a small group of teammates as they walked around the infirmary and sang for some of the residents. Our wandering band of musicians soon drew a following, and many of the residents accompanied us from ward to ward. At the sound of the music, the residents came alive - many of them singing, some dancing, and others closing their eyes to enjoy this rare experience. One of the Won by One staffers had given a few harmonicas to our team with the instructions to give them as gifts to some of the residents.
Though it was late in the day, I still had one of the instruments, and I gave it to a younger man who seemed keenly interested in the music. He accepted it happily and joyously joined in to accompany our guitarists. A few songs later it was time to leave, and as I was waving good-byes and making my way to the bus I noticed the young man coming towards me, extending the harmonica.
At first I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but then I realized he was trying to give the harmonica back, thinking I had only loaned it to him. I did my best to explain that it was a gift, and as he began to understand, a broad smile blossomed on his face. “All mine?” he said. “Yes. All yours,” I said.
That day represents my vision for our work at the Infirmary. I want to be able to equip the staff to care for residents in the way they, as human beings, deserve. I want to bring those good gifts – be it music or the joy of laughter – to those residents whose days are otherwise quite dark.
Ryan with some of the residents at the May Pen InfirmaryRyan
---------------
No comments:
Post a Comment