Mission Notes from Hue

Saturday, Surgery Day

6am
Shelia Wong, my roommate and I stare delightedly at our bountiful breakfast spread, unlike no other mission I’ve been on. A great start to first day of surgery! I have not slept since 1 a.m. a product of the 12 hour time change, and I am more wired than tired. There’s Pometo, super sized sweet citrus you not only peal the thick green rind, but each individual grapefruit like section in order to reach the inside…Dragon fruit, with its marvelous magenta colored coat, milky white inner flesh flecked with dark, tiny poppy-like seeds, Langoun or “dragon eyes”, a circular nut that you hand peel the corse outside to get to the inside- a consistency of peeled grape that you pop in your mouth but then discard the large, dark pea sized core or “iris” of the dragon’s eye, passion fruit… guava, tiny bananas, miniature pineapple, papaya….all served with little-bitty rice pancakes or full-cream yogurt. Next to that is an array of rice breads, rice cakes, and breakfast spring-rolls with dipping sauces, spicy and sweet. We also have choices of tofu stir fried veggies and tofu and Pho Soup bar….The coffee is strong and bold and must be tempered with the soy milk provided… Off to the hospital; about 28 kids are on the schedule after a full screening of 161 yesterday, and more kids have arrived to be screened.

8 a.m.
Hung sits tentatively on a metal cot, next to his mother who has just arrived the night before from HCMC, after a grueling 10 hour bus ride with Hung’s father, to be there for what might be one the most important events in their son’s life. There must be at least 100 others gathered on cots, squatting on the floors, pressing their faces against the bars of the stairs, or lining up and down the steps of the third floor, waiting for their turn to be called. Nuong and I stop briefly and squeeze next to him and his mother, and we are immediately surrounded by about 15-20 others. Hung’s mother tiny and thin, visibly worn. There are strangely symmetric patterns of crimson spots on her neck, three spotted rows, each spot about a 1/4 inch in diameter. I nudge Nuong and hope for an explanation. Hung’s mother notices my gaze, and says something shyly in Vietnamese. Nuong explains that in Vietnam, the way to rid oneself of any affliction is to dab a menthol-type oil on the ailing area and to “pick” at the area with your fingernails until blood reaches the surface in order to allow the body to get rid of the evil that is causing the ailment. If she had a headache, her head would be speckled… if she had a stomach ache, there would be red gouges in her abdomen. I try not to conspicuously wince at her words.

She hugs her son onto her lap, and then explains that she was so excited last night to see her son after over 10 months… almost one-fourth of his life. But their reunion was dampened by the fact that he really did not appear to recognize her at first due to the lost time and her guilt is so great that she could not be with him. She and her husband can make much more in MCMC- a combined $100 a month, and if they just eat one container of dried box needles (like our Ramon noodles) in the morning, have lunch on the company where they eat as much possible to sustain themselves, and do not eat dinner, they can afford to send back money to help their son and extended family. Their Hue home, destroyed in the flood, has been “rebuilt” with four trees and a grass covering, and that is where Hung’s mother will live with her son now as he recovers from his surgery.

She says he has grown so since she last saw him. “I am only able to understand when he points, and just some words… and food comes out through his nose.” She sighs and looks expectantly at us. Then she whispers, as if telling a secret too loud would cause it not to happen “He has been scheduled for surgery tomorrow!” We promise we will come tomorrow and show her ways to help communicate with her son. “Com on” (thank-you) she waves as we leave. Hung’s face lights up and he tries to imitate her. “Nom o-” he waves.

4:30 p.m.
Six children are squatting yoga-style on their haunches in the pre-surgery waiting area, as Marcel, the Brazilian pediatrician, is taking their vital signs. I have placed colored construction paper in front of them, as well as markers and pens and stickers, and they attack this makeshift art center with relish. They produce for hours, and are thrilled when their works are displayed on the walls. One little girl draws over and over the exact same theme… a stick figure lying in what looks like a square box, and there is a smiley face sun. After the fourth picture, I smile and tell her I love the pink color she used and asked what she made as I point to the box. She looks earnestly up and points to herself. “Is that you?” I ask. Yes, she nods. “Is that a bed?” I ask. Yes, she smiles, then points to the sun.

8:00 p.m.
Have finished up for today. I am playing the role of both speech pathologist and child life specialist, trying to prepare all the kids for what to expect in surgery and being sure they are entertained as most must wait all day with no food, and ensuring that each child had a “smile bag” when they left the recovery room. I saw about 15 kids for palate therapy with the help of my incredible secretary turned- translator- turned speech assistant, Nuong, and gave them each “kits” with written explanations. I am thrilled that the literacy rate is so high and reading is so coveted in this country. All the parents can read, and were able to follow the suggestions for language development and ways to help their children communicate. Am skipping dinner to get much needed sleep. It is pouring outside, and the rains have not let up. Tam Biet!

- Cathy Snyders, Operation Smile volunteer.