Wed Dec 07, 2011 at 00:00:00 AM PST
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Just about sunset at Secombe Lake park and we've got a car full of donated medicine, six medical students, a clipboard full of history and physical forms hot off the presses, a flashlight and a headlamp. Off in the distance are families watching their children play soccer. Somebody's charging his cell phone at an outlet by the bathrooms. He points us East; we head out.
We start with the families, the first people we see. We treat asthma, impetigo, vertigo. Past another collection of cars, we meet two people sitting under a tree. In the gathering darkness, they are barely visible. We make friends using socks, toothbrushes, toothpaste (thanks, donors!). The man lets us check his blood pressure (normal) and lifts his shirt to show us the scar where he was recently stabbed. No sign of infection. Two women need dental referrals; I write them out (forgot my resource cards).
We ask if they know anyone who would like to see a doctor; they point us to a field across the street, behind the cemetery. We find a breach in the fence and scoot off into the trails that cross cross the uneven ground. Dogs bark. We see a figure in the trees off to the right and call out. A man and a woman are living in a tent in the trees. We treat asthma, allergic rhinitis. The man points out a collection of dwellings in clumps of trees on the other side of the field; we exchange cell phone numbers and split into two teams. He leads half of us to a woman and a teenage boy living in a van at the car wash next to the field. We treat terrible tooth abscesses. The other outreach team is nearby, in the other set of trees.
We head back to the park to re-group. There is another hotspot nearby, under a bridge, near the railroad tracks-- 20 adult men at the last census, at night. Irresistible.
The trail is easy to find, but it's a steep downhill to the tracks. A man appears out of the darkness at the tracks, wary-- we could be there to chase him off the tracks. He's been riding the rails for ten years. He's happy and robust and grateful for his packet of socks. No one is with him tonight, but he points us to the next bridge down, half a mile away. Off we go. It's a beautiful night. People are in their front yards. Somebody points us to the bridge.
A train passes, slowly. The alley is guarded by dogs, secure behind their fences, their barking is almost perfunctory. A pile of fabric beneath the bridge slowly becomes a person, sleepy, but friendly, welcoming. I see the hospital armbands, two of them on his arm, he lets me see them, over and over. They are dated 10/27 and 10/28. The print is different. These are different hospitals. He doesn't know why he went, what his illnesses are. He is looking for work. I am ticking off the vulnerability index in my head. This guy has a 40% chance of dying in the next 7 years. The truth slides into my head unwelcome. He's smiling. He accepts our socks, toothpaste, toothbrush. He points us around the corner to a group of lean-to dwellings next to a fence. They are cleverly concealed behind bunched up weeds and bushes, pushed up against the tarps. We check-- nobody is home.
It is a dance of trust. Nobody knows us out here. People are hiding, afraid. The people who talk to us are friendly and gentle. Our eyes scan the edges, wondering who we're missing, who doesn't want to be found... |
| poppyseed :: Number 2 |
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"Health is Dignity and Dignity is Resistance"
What is health justice? How are health & human rights fiercely connected to the wellness of our neighborhoods? How do we reframe policy debates? How do we continue dreaming and building instead of just reacting & surviving? And how do we support each other in our healing?
Cure This is an online space for storytelling, discussion, reflection and building around healing justice. Create an account to write a diary or comment. Questions or thoughts: lotusfeet [at] hotmail [dot] com
News: CureThis was part of an exhibit in Chicago: "Visual resistance in feminist health movements, 1969-2009" [link] |
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