Goal is 37 Degrees

And just like that, it's Sunday again! My weekend is ending on a high note after getting over a pretty rotten 24 hour fever that hit me on Thursday. I was disoriented and a little freaked out when my host mom looked at the thermometer and said: "yep, definitely above 37." I was like !!!!! 37!!!! that is so low!!!!! Then I woke up a little and remembered everywhere else in the world 37 degrees *Celsius* is normal. None of that 98.6 crapola. But I got over it as everyone does, and yesterday, Maria and I watched our very first frisbee tournament! We did our best to not project our American-ness as we tried to cheer for Shayna and Bryce. They are such superstars! Today, Chelsea got the full 3 points after winning their game against Everton on a beautiful afternoon at Stamford Bridge. And now I'm just cuddled up in my bed listening to some smooth tunes as I finish up my Spanish homework. Not a bad end to a week at all.

"View" of Santiago from Parque Mahuida

Because I was sick, I stayed at home for the majority of the weekend to recuperate. This took me out of this week's (almost) weekly cultural monitor trip around Santiago. The fifteen of us are divided in three groups of five to explore the city with Universidad de Chile students. Last week, my group leader, Javiera, took us around Parque Quinto Normal which (most closely related to the National Mall) houses Santiago's largest collection of museums. The Museo de la Memoria y Derechos Humanos, which we went through during orientation with Professor Peter Winn, is there along with el Museo de la Historia Natural, el Museo de la Ciencia y Tecnología, el Museo de Arte Moderno, among others. We explored el Museo de la Historia Natural and el Museo de la Ciencia y Tecnología. We also went to explore the incredible the Santiago Library where I played jumbo chess. I felt like Harry Potter... until I lost... 

But besides classes, the only other major event from my illness ridden week was my first shift at CONIN! I rang the side door bell at 8:51 on Tuesday morning, and, after a little confusion with the nurses of who I was and who I needed to sign in with, I buttoned up my short sleeve nurse's jacket with a sharpied “Voluntario” in all capital letters over the left pocket and headed out to the patient rooms to get my internship started. All of the little infants were up, and those that could were standing against the metal frames of their cribs with arms outstretched, ready to be picked up and given a little bit of extra attention. The head volunteer, Carla, working under false pretenses that I did not know a word of Spanish, kept gesturing to me and speaking so slowly. Incredibly outgoing, she introduced me to anyone we passed in the hall, but always ended the introduction with "you must talk very very slowly with her because she is a volunteer from the United States." When I asked a followup question once in response to where a specific key was located, she paused for a second, a tad baffled at what she had just heard. With a smile exclaimed, “Hablas el castellano!” It certainly added an extra bright light to the start of my first shift. After that she told people they only needed to speak slowly (graciously without the "very very").

Between the start of the morning shift at 9 up until 11, the volunteers stayed within the playroom with three little kiddos: Joaquin, Anesi, and Genesis. We "danced" (ie bounced around and attempted to keep infants learning to stand on their own to do just that) to a catchy song that every one of the nurses knew every word to. I have a feeling in a week or so those words will be replaying in the back of my mind as I fall asleep too. To the children, I am Tia Olivia, and those who can talk quickly picked up on the presence of a new volunteer and called me out by name repeatedly. As soon as I would sit down, Anesi would bounce/crawl over to get me to dance with her again, and then as soon as we would start dancing she would plop down with a giggle. This went on for a solid hour until cleanup began, which she wasn't too thrilled about, so she started pelting fellow infants with toys. She didn't love me so much after I was instructed to bring her back to her crib early. She had three strikes, but decided the feeling of bopping a plastic truck off of her next door neighbors head was worth it. Until she realized we really weren't joking and was carried out of the playroom in tears and left alone in her crib for timeout. Sooooommmeeeeone didn't hear "Little Bunny Foo Foo" as a child. Sometimes I feel like I work at a pre-school instead of a clinic.

One thing that really captured my attention throughout the day was how separated the CONIN staff is. I met Catalina, a nurse, and the other volunteers, but I know the names of few of the other nurses and absolutely none of the doctors. I spent the day interacting with them and tried to introduced myself, but there is a clear hierarchy set up. The doctors wear white coats. The nurses wear navy or green or light blue scrubs. The experienced volunteers wear purple button-down nurses coats, and the inexperienced volunteers wear white “delantales” (a sort of mix between a lab coat and scrubs). There are patient rooms that I was clearly instructed to never enter, and there are patient rooms that the nurses cannot even enter without established clearance.

I spent the time outside of the playroom feeling a little in the way, not totally sure what my defined role was. Having friendly infants always in need of attention gave me an escape from this unease because there was always a little nug who would be down for some playing, but I do feel like I was thrown right into the deep end without any training or rules. I might have missed some through the language barrier that still exists, but I think that is also part of the organization that I joined. CONIN is not a large private hospital full of intense structure and protocol. It is a one floor, one hallway building that can hold no more than 35 infants at maximum capacity while having about the same if not more doctors and nurses on call at all times. The lighting is dim in the hallways, the toys are donated, and the cribs are old fashioned with chipped grey paint. But what is clear is that each and every nurse and volunteer that spend their days there having real connections with the children and are working as hard as they can to keep the infants as healthy as they can. They are kissed as they are placed back in their cribs, and they are hugged and cuddled if they are screaming. They are punished when they throw toys, and they sit in the laps of the nurses and volunteers when a book is being read or a song is being sung.

11 am meant feeding time, and I was ushered into Sala 2 to help out. I was put in charge of little Wisley, a little one year old, who upon first glance, looked just as happy and healthy as any one year old should. He was just about walking on his own and seemed to be hitting a lot of normal developmental milestones right before my eyes. He was giggly and easy to feed until, like any infant, he wasn’t and starting squirming out of the high chair. But there's nothing a little deceptive apple sauce coverage can't fix! It wasn’t until I put him back in his crib when Carla came over to me and told me that this little beeb has AIDS. But it was less of telling me, and more of a whisper in my ear as if it was a secret or something that is an embarrassment. It certainly explained why he was in the clinic which was helpful to me, but I was astonished by the lack of information I received about Wisley before I worked with him and how that information was relayed to me. (I am currently researching more about AIDS in Chile because I know little more than the fact that it is the country with the highest growing rate of HIV/AIDS in Latin America. More information to come). I realized afterward that that this treatment was really the case with all of the kids I was working with. There are some that have visually obvious developmental disorders, and Mariano, the three month baby and youngest patient in the clinic, has wheezy breaths that give away the respiratory challenges that he is recovering from due to a premature birth. But for all of the other kids, I have know knowledge about why they are being treated at CONIN unless I ask the nurses. A part of me likes that because it forces me to ask the nurses about talk to them about the patients, but I also wish I had a little more up front working with these kids week in and week out.

Above all, I witnessed the workings of a little family at CONIN. A tight knit collection of incredibly sick children and medical staff (in all forms) that are working hard to make sure that each and every infant at Pedro de Valdivia 1880 can get home to their family as quickly as they can. And the date of admittance (along with their birthday) plastered above each and every infant’s crib is a reminder of just that. My goal for this coming Tuesday, my next shift, is to get to know more of the stories behind each of the children, what their specific maladies are, and know the names of more of the medical staff.

Much love to all,

Olivia/Liv/Boo

Spanish Word of the Blog: sickness themed yay

Fiebre: fever

Refrío: cold