I spent around 3 hours on Wednesday morning shadowing Dr. Jason in the medical clinic. I rubbed iodine on people's knees as he injected triamcinolone acetate into their joints to help with their arthritis. I felt so honored to pray for every single patient with him, and hear the words "Dios le bendiga" (God bless you) when they left our clinic. The amount of needs in our makeshift clinic saddened me, and I felt a pang in my heart every time our patients flinched at the needle. One by one I would go outside, call in a patient, and watch Dr. Jason lean in close to them, look them in the eye, and treat them with incredible love, dignity, and respect. If I ever become a doctor, I'd treat my patients like that. I thought. I met a man who was blind and many people with pain all over their bodies. Then, I met a patient with severe pain in her ankle. Well, I sure remember what it was like to have pain in my ankle every time I tried to walk. It really sucked. I felt excited to see her walk better.
"She gave consent for us to inject her ankle," Dr. Jason told me, preparing the needle.
"Okay! Same drill right?" I replied.
"Well, actually ankle injections are a lot harder to do. It's not only harder to find the right spot, but since we're injecting the joint directly it is going to hurt a lot more," he said. A wave of fear swept over my body.
He marked the spot in her ankle with his pen, and then I slipped on my gloves, tore open the package with an iodine stick, and drew a large circle around his mark. After doing this twice, I changed my gloves and pulled my chair closer to her, and I watched Dr. Jason draw the medicine into the thick needle. He sat down in front of her.
"Should I hold her ankle?" I asked.
"Yes that would be great," he replied.
He asked her if she was ready. When she nodded, I held her leg with both hands at 180 degrees. He stuck the needle in. I looked at her face. She cringed at first. Then I looked at the needle, then her face, then the needle. She started screaming. I took a deep breath. She repeated a phrase in Spanish over and over again and then grabbed my right arm tightly. I wanted to hold her, but I had to hold her ankle. I wanted to make the pain stop, but I knew that this injection would be truly better for her in the future. So I didn't let go. At last he took the needle out and she jolted up in pain for the last time. We sat there breathing heavily for a few minutes.
"Lo siento," Dr. Jason said. I gently lowered her foot to the ground and clasped her hands in mine. So God, this is what it's like. I thought. This is exactly what it's like to have to inflict pain on people you love for the better. It hurts. And although I had heard similar analogies of God's love before, I really realized the amount of pain God feels to see me going through something I do not understand. And here I was, knowing that when the medicine kicks it will be easier for her to walk. And although seeing the tears in her eyes melted my heart, I wasn't going to cry for I knew everything would be okay.
His daughter, Alyssa, cleaned up all the leftover iodine and put a bandaid over the tiny dot. "Should we pray for her?" I asked after a few minutes of silence.
"They prayed for her before we did this," he replied. I nodded.
I gently slipped her shoes back on her feet. I gave her a hug, and helped her walk outside.
"Gracias," she told me, smiling, still holding my hands.
"De nada," I replied, smiling back. I let go.
When I came back in, Dr. Jason was throwing away all of the trash on the table.
"You ready for another patient, or do you need a moment?" I asked.
"No I'm good. You can grab another one." I smiled, nodded, and went back outside to pull another file.
