On Wednesday afternoon, I found a shop that sells Dr. Pepper and Mt. Dew, so I indulged in these sodas for the first time in 7 months. Fortunately, I needn't worry about blowing the budget or getting cavities from drinking too much of them since it takes an hour to get to the store, make the purchases and then get back home. That's a long bike ride in the busy city for a can of soda. Anyway, I thought that would be the highlight of my week.
But then I went to work on Friday. The morning started out slowly, but suddenly there was talk of surgery and I was invited to join. Not long after that, I was wearing scrubs, a hairnet and a mask while standing next to the operating table. It was disgusting. And really awesome. And when it was over, I went back to the office where there was pizza and brownies. By the time I got home, I was on cloud 9. Sadly, nobody at my home really wanted to hear me gush about surgery.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I'm back finally.
Well, it has certainly taken longer than I expected to be able to update. I have been back in Phnom Penh for almost a month, but my computer has been on the fritz since then. It is currently in the repair shop for the second time in less than 3 weeks. My computer and I both got viruses at about the same time, putting us both out of commission for a while. Thus, I missed the May newsletter, but a May/June issue should be on the way soon.
This is the clinic where I learned to feel infants' livers.
My translator, Hun
Other than computer issues and illness, things have been going well. I am living in a dorm run by EMM and volunteering/observing at a clinic run by a Christian NGO. It is quite interesting, and I get to see a lot. I'm being purposely vague so that I can talk about it in the newsletter. More details will follow.
For now, I thought I'd post some pictures from my time in Prey Veng.
This is the clinic where I learned to feel infants' livers.
Part of my host-family
Kids at a "photo-shoot"
My translator, Hun
Sorry, this is as many photos as I am able to upload at this time.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Apologies
Hello friends,
I would like to apologize for the lack of updates over the past several weeks. I moved to the countryside where I discovered that the internet was only for checking email. It is too expensive and too slow to do anything else. I tried to update while out there, but the internet couldn't handle it.
I also tried to post some pictures today while in Phnom Penh, but it seems that the computer doesn't recognize my flash drive. Therefore, I am sorry, but you will need to wait for 2 more weeks until I return to Phnom Penh. Then the updates will become more regular also.
Sorry!
Greta
I would like to apologize for the lack of updates over the past several weeks. I moved to the countryside where I discovered that the internet was only for checking email. It is too expensive and too slow to do anything else. I tried to update while out there, but the internet couldn't handle it.
I also tried to post some pictures today while in Phnom Penh, but it seems that the computer doesn't recognize my flash drive. Therefore, I am sorry, but you will need to wait for 2 more weeks until I return to Phnom Penh. Then the updates will become more regular also.
Sorry!
Greta
April 2008 Newsletter
April 27, 2008
Dear family and friends,
Greetings from Prey Veng Province, Cambodia! It’s rice-planting season, so all of the farmers are busy. I haven’t been in any rice paddies, but I’ve also been busy nonetheless. For the past five weeks, with the help of my translator, Hun Fisk, I have been conducting interviews with mothers who have lost babies since 2005. Our goal is to determine the infant mortality rate, and how it specifically relates to beriberi (vitamin b1 deficiency). We are trying to visit every home where a baby has died in order to ask questions about the babies’ symptoms. This has been quite the adventure.
When we show up at a home, we are usually quickly asked to sit. Perhaps only the mother and a child or two are home when we arrive, but within minutes, there is often a crowd of neighborhood children, aunties, and grandmothers who have come to “help” with the interview and to stare and giggle at the foreigner and to listen to her speak in her funny language.
Before we leave, someone will probably ask me to diagnose their other medical problems or they will show me all of medicine they are taking and ask me to explain why. Usually I have no answers, but I have been able to help a few times. We arrived at a home one afternoon just moments after a 9-year-old boy was bitten by a dog. The mother wanted to put a camphor and menthol balm on the wound (Tiger Balm, a purported cure-all for everything from giddiness to gas that probably does more harm than good), but I suggested that it might be better to wash the wound with soap and water. I turned around to get my notebook, and when I looked back at the boy, his mother was about to wash the wound with laundry detergent! There’s just so much that we take for granted about basic medical care and first-aid.
There are occasional moments of humor. The schools out here don’t teach colors, so we have received a few responses like, “Oh, the baby seemed fine. His urine was blue.” Or “Yes, my baby had diarrhea. It was blue.” When we question them further, we discover the true color. Blue seems to be a default color.
We also run into frustrations. Sometimes we travel for over an hour, only to discover that the mother we need to talk to isn’t home, and it’s not like we can call ahead. Sometimes people are drunk. Sometimes we reach the end of the interview and we just want to get to the next one so that we can go home. But people have other ideas. They want to talk and get to know us. Occasionally, they ask for money. Some want to tell us of their plight, of how they had to sell their land so that their child could see a doctor, or of how they watched their daughter and then grandson die of HIV/AIDS, and now they have no more family left. So we stay and listen.
And there are other moments of heartbreak. On the second day of interviews, we spoke with a mother who had lost both of her children in a short amount of time. She just seemed so sad that I wished that I could speak fluent Khmer so that I could throw my arms around her and tell her that there is a loving God who knows the pain of losing a child. (This reaction scared me a little because I have never felt the urge to hug a stranger before.) We interviewed another woman who lost six of her seven children, five of them in infancy. And it looks as though all five of them could have been saved by a few simple injections of vitamin B1.
Overall this time in the countryside has been a positive, though eye-opening, experience. I am gaining a sense of what medical care is like in a rural, impoverished area. If I serve in a rural village after medical school, I will definitely have some awareness of what I shall face. Until then, I will strive to learn as much as I can about what God is doing in my life and in the land where I am living.
Peace,
Greta
Praises
--The EMM Asia retreat is April 30-May 4.
--My knee is almost healed after another minor moto accident.
Prayer Requests
--That the people of Mesang would find hope and freedom and life in the Lord
--For the courage to learn and speak Khmer
Dear family and friends,
Greetings from Prey Veng Province, Cambodia! It’s rice-planting season, so all of the farmers are busy. I haven’t been in any rice paddies, but I’ve also been busy nonetheless. For the past five weeks, with the help of my translator, Hun Fisk, I have been conducting interviews with mothers who have lost babies since 2005. Our goal is to determine the infant mortality rate, and how it specifically relates to beriberi (vitamin b1 deficiency). We are trying to visit every home where a baby has died in order to ask questions about the babies’ symptoms. This has been quite the adventure.
When we show up at a home, we are usually quickly asked to sit. Perhaps only the mother and a child or two are home when we arrive, but within minutes, there is often a crowd of neighborhood children, aunties, and grandmothers who have come to “help” with the interview and to stare and giggle at the foreigner and to listen to her speak in her funny language.
Before we leave, someone will probably ask me to diagnose their other medical problems or they will show me all of medicine they are taking and ask me to explain why. Usually I have no answers, but I have been able to help a few times. We arrived at a home one afternoon just moments after a 9-year-old boy was bitten by a dog. The mother wanted to put a camphor and menthol balm on the wound (Tiger Balm, a purported cure-all for everything from giddiness to gas that probably does more harm than good), but I suggested that it might be better to wash the wound with soap and water. I turned around to get my notebook, and when I looked back at the boy, his mother was about to wash the wound with laundry detergent! There’s just so much that we take for granted about basic medical care and first-aid.
There are occasional moments of humor. The schools out here don’t teach colors, so we have received a few responses like, “Oh, the baby seemed fine. His urine was blue.” Or “Yes, my baby had diarrhea. It was blue.” When we question them further, we discover the true color. Blue seems to be a default color.
We also run into frustrations. Sometimes we travel for over an hour, only to discover that the mother we need to talk to isn’t home, and it’s not like we can call ahead. Sometimes people are drunk. Sometimes we reach the end of the interview and we just want to get to the next one so that we can go home. But people have other ideas. They want to talk and get to know us. Occasionally, they ask for money. Some want to tell us of their plight, of how they had to sell their land so that their child could see a doctor, or of how they watched their daughter and then grandson die of HIV/AIDS, and now they have no more family left. So we stay and listen.
And there are other moments of heartbreak. On the second day of interviews, we spoke with a mother who had lost both of her children in a short amount of time. She just seemed so sad that I wished that I could speak fluent Khmer so that I could throw my arms around her and tell her that there is a loving God who knows the pain of losing a child. (This reaction scared me a little because I have never felt the urge to hug a stranger before.) We interviewed another woman who lost six of her seven children, five of them in infancy. And it looks as though all five of them could have been saved by a few simple injections of vitamin B1.
Overall this time in the countryside has been a positive, though eye-opening, experience. I am gaining a sense of what medical care is like in a rural, impoverished area. If I serve in a rural village after medical school, I will definitely have some awareness of what I shall face. Until then, I will strive to learn as much as I can about what God is doing in my life and in the land where I am living.
Peace,
Greta
Praises
--The EMM Asia retreat is April 30-May 4.
--My knee is almost healed after another minor moto accident.
Prayer Requests
--That the people of Mesang would find hope and freedom and life in the Lord
--For the courage to learn and speak Khmer
March 2008 Newsletter
March 23, 2008
Dear family and friends,
He is risen! I pray that this Easter season finds you well as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
My life is quite different now than it was when I last wrote to you. I have left busy Phnom Penh and am just finishing up my first week in the countryside village of Mesang in Prey Veng province. The differences are quite stark. Instead of dodging cars and motorcycles while I ride my bike, I now dodge chickens, cows, and cow patties. The air is filled with the melodious sounds of birds chirping instead of horns blowing. Life seems much more laid back. And of course, the neighborhood is quit a bit smaller.
As a child, I enjoyed reading the Little House on the Prairie series and watching the television show. Sometimes I feel like I have stepped onto the Little House set, except with more water buffalo and mangoes and fewer blizzards and rolling hills. I ride my bicycle down dusty dirt roads. I worry about getting tuberculosis and fleas. There is a hand-pump to get water for washing clothes or the dishes or for taking baths. There isn’t much power, so we go to bed and wake up early. Sometimes candlelight is the only light. And you really can party until the cows come home (The party ends around 6PM).
There are changes that I don’t like: There are no internet shops around here, and the closest market is forty-five minutes away. And I am finding rural Khmer to be slightly different from city Khmer, making communication somewhat difficult. Also instead of contending with one cat who just wanted to hide under my bed, I now faceoff with three cats who want to sleep on my bed and shred my mosquito net (I even caught one cat eating a raw fish head on my bed one evening). There is also an obnoxious resident rooster who begins his crowing at 3:30 AM.
But there are some good changes, too. There is more shade and wonderful breezes that when combined, make it quite comfortable. Mango season is beginning, so I can eat mangoes every day. And I am living with a Christian family this time. I also have a lot more to do.
A month ago I was studying Khmer every day and exploring Phnom Penh. This month I am visiting village chiefs, talking with strangers while sitting under their houses, and learning how to feel infants’ livers to see if they have heart failure due to beriberi (vitamin b1 deficiency). While I am here in Mesang, I will be helping and learning from Debbie Coats, a nurse practitioner, to do some research into beriberi, specifically what the infant mortality rate is and why so many infants here are affected by it. I will also be spending some time at the tuberculosis clinic where Debbie sees many patients.
I am confident that the nine weeks that I am here in the Prey Veng will be a great time of learning, but I also know that they will not be easy in any way. I miss the comforts and conveniences of Phnom Penh; can I live with the simplicity here? Sometimes being a missionary means living without running water or electricity, and I’m in Cambodia to test a call to long-term missions. So I’m going to stick it out. Perhaps I’ll even learn to like this lifestyle. Whatever the outcome, I trust that God has something to teach me about Himself and myself during this time.
Blessings,
Greta
Praises
--Mango season is here!
--For safe travel to Prey Veng
--We found a translator to work with me while I do research.
Prayer Requests
--for continuing transition to my new environment
--for protection for my health
--for continued improvement in my Khmer and for courage to speak it
--that I would sleep well at night
Dear family and friends,
He is risen! I pray that this Easter season finds you well as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
My life is quite different now than it was when I last wrote to you. I have left busy Phnom Penh and am just finishing up my first week in the countryside village of Mesang in Prey Veng province. The differences are quite stark. Instead of dodging cars and motorcycles while I ride my bike, I now dodge chickens, cows, and cow patties. The air is filled with the melodious sounds of birds chirping instead of horns blowing. Life seems much more laid back. And of course, the neighborhood is quit a bit smaller.
As a child, I enjoyed reading the Little House on the Prairie series and watching the television show. Sometimes I feel like I have stepped onto the Little House set, except with more water buffalo and mangoes and fewer blizzards and rolling hills. I ride my bicycle down dusty dirt roads. I worry about getting tuberculosis and fleas. There is a hand-pump to get water for washing clothes or the dishes or for taking baths. There isn’t much power, so we go to bed and wake up early. Sometimes candlelight is the only light. And you really can party until the cows come home (The party ends around 6PM).
There are changes that I don’t like: There are no internet shops around here, and the closest market is forty-five minutes away. And I am finding rural Khmer to be slightly different from city Khmer, making communication somewhat difficult. Also instead of contending with one cat who just wanted to hide under my bed, I now faceoff with three cats who want to sleep on my bed and shred my mosquito net (I even caught one cat eating a raw fish head on my bed one evening). There is also an obnoxious resident rooster who begins his crowing at 3:30 AM.
But there are some good changes, too. There is more shade and wonderful breezes that when combined, make it quite comfortable. Mango season is beginning, so I can eat mangoes every day. And I am living with a Christian family this time. I also have a lot more to do.
A month ago I was studying Khmer every day and exploring Phnom Penh. This month I am visiting village chiefs, talking with strangers while sitting under their houses, and learning how to feel infants’ livers to see if they have heart failure due to beriberi (vitamin b1 deficiency). While I am here in Mesang, I will be helping and learning from Debbie Coats, a nurse practitioner, to do some research into beriberi, specifically what the infant mortality rate is and why so many infants here are affected by it. I will also be spending some time at the tuberculosis clinic where Debbie sees many patients.
I am confident that the nine weeks that I am here in the Prey Veng will be a great time of learning, but I also know that they will not be easy in any way. I miss the comforts and conveniences of Phnom Penh; can I live with the simplicity here? Sometimes being a missionary means living without running water or electricity, and I’m in Cambodia to test a call to long-term missions. So I’m going to stick it out. Perhaps I’ll even learn to like this lifestyle. Whatever the outcome, I trust that God has something to teach me about Himself and myself during this time.
Blessings,
Greta
Praises
--Mango season is here!
--For safe travel to Prey Veng
--We found a translator to work with me while I do research.
Prayer Requests
--for continuing transition to my new environment
--for protection for my health
--for continued improvement in my Khmer and for courage to speak it
--that I would sleep well at night
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Cat
My host family has a cat. I'm pretty sure that before I moved in, the cat had full dominion over my bedroom. It would try to come in my room every chance that it got, and being someone who never liked animals in the house, this was not okay with me. The cat and I had many showdowns, which I always won. 
One night, I woke up and thought there was someone in my room. I was confused because I knew that I had locked the door. Then the cat darted by my head. It had jumped through the window. When I awoke in the morning, I thought it had been a dream, but alas, there were cat pawprints on my black suitcase.
Another morning, the cat tried a new attempt--climbing up the wall and squeezing through the tiny gap at the top. It couldn't fit, so it tried to bite the wood to widen the hole. To be fair, the cat had been locked in that room for over four hours and was very hungry.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Mosquitoes think Greta is delicious!
Every morning, one of my first activities is to sweep dead mosquitoes off of my bed. They fly through my fan at night and die. I appreciate my fan very much.
Mosquitoes love to bite my feet. This is what my feet looked like after four days at my host-family's house. I used to wake up in the middle of the night because I was so itchy. I have since bought better repellent and I often wear socks even when it is hot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)