Surgery

First off, I would like to inform you that this is no longer a blog. It is a travelogue, a brilliant term that Ben Wagner takes credit for.
This week at the burn clinic has been a blast. I've just been hanging out with the kids and playing with all sorts of things my mom bought for me to entertain the patients with. This was mainly possible because the kids decided to not attach themselves to the tv. The legos are, of course, the cause of much commotion and mayhem, since the pieces others have that you don't limits your creativity. We also drew many undecipherable pictures which turned into paper airplanes and projectiles. One day, after one of these morning playtimes, Eva and I went to the downtown clinic and had the opportunity to see a surgery- a woman getting her tubes tied. They cut her open, searched for the Fallopian tubes (be thankful I'm not more descriptive than this), found them, clamped them, then... I passed out. I'm not sure why I didn't look away or walk out directly before, when I felt lightheaded, but for some reason I just kept watching the surgery until I was suddenly looking into the face of a concerned nurse from an awkward position on the floor. Much thanks to Eva who kept a cool head and caught me before I fell onto the patient. From what I can gather, being in a bizarre new situation threw me into fight-or-flight mode, and urged the heart to beat faster and send more blood to brain, but for some reason, maybe including my facemask, the oxygen level in my blood was depleted quickly, and in response to the barely oxygenated blood, another mechanism in the body caused the heart to not beat as fast, depriving my brain of blood and therefore oxygen. At first I was surprised I reacted that way, but I guess it did seem unnatural and unnerving to see them cut through the flesh of someone who had been awake seconds before and fish around in her insides. Everyone kept reassuring me that it happens to everyone and takes getting used to, but it still caused some doubt in my mind concerning my ability to be a surgeon or anything related.
Today, Saturday, after going to the bustling La Cancha downtown, Eva and I went to a park in the city and helped with a baby washing, a ministry of some locals for the streetchildren. However, the most thought-deepening people who showed up were not children, but the older homeless. Some guys highschool-age showed up to wash their hair, and it looked like a very humbling experience when they accepted the charity in front of all the ogling children of the volunteers. Perhaps this was part of the reason they harassed a middle age, apparently insane, homeless woman who also came to wash her hair. She lashed out and shoved one of them down, then the angry teenagers were sent off by volunteers and later pursued by police. Whatever words they spat at the woman made her anguish; her face was startling and pained. After washing her hair she slung her four huge bags of trash, which she had feverishly organized beforehand, over her back and set off.