discrepancy

On Monday morning I awoke with a painful right arm. I had a small bug bite there the night before, and overnight it had become hard, swollen, painful, and hot. I noticed that the other bites on my legs and ankle were more swollen, red and painful as well. As soon as I got home that day (I was traveling) I showed a few people, one being a nurse. They were quick to point me toward medical care; and quickly. I was pretty sure I would need to be seen by a doctor; yet their swift replies and concern caught me by surprise. Just because I am a nurse doesn’t necessarily mean I am good at making the right decisions about my own health.

After some back and forth and decisions to make, I realized my best option was to be seen in Phnom Penh, a 6 hour taxi ride from where I was. I wasn’t sure about when I should leave, because deciding to leave right then meant that I was potentially going to pay quite a bit more money than if I waited for transportation in the morning. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the money, I just didn’t know if it was necessary or not. I didn’t feel well at all, and it was hard for me to have people giving me all kinds of advice on what was best for me to do, and all the while feeling really uneasy because medical care was far away.

Despite feeling a little silly moving forward, I decided it best to make my way to the city as soon as possible, and to be seen that night. I had some friends, both Khmer and expats, who helped me arrange transportation, gave me a place to stay, made phone calls, traveled with me, texted and called me with encouragement and prayers.

I traveled to the city in the back of a taxi, flying through the country of Cambodia like a bat out of hell. The driver had no idea where I was going, but it almost felt like a long ambulance drive the way he sped; dodging cows, people on bikes, other cars-through the rain and darkness. But I was chilled from the air conditioner (or fever?) and too tired to think about it much.

But perhaps it was because I couldn’t get out of my mind was what I was actually in the middle of. I was sick. I needed medical care. I was living in the middle of nowhere. Yet I had resources and people who surrounded me which could make quality medical care a reality- this same day. Yes, I had to ride a long way in a car. But this seemed like nothing because at least I was going to see a doctor and be cared for.

I had to tell two Khmer friends I was sick and needed to see a doctor in Phnom Penh. This might sound normal, but it is not. I almost couldn’t speak the words without breaking down. This is NOT a reality for my friends and neighbors here. Another Khmer friend sent me a text; ‘I hope you feel better, I am praying for you.’
I can’t tell you what this feels like; what this means. I can know that I have the money or the health insurance to pay for my medical care in this place. I can know that because I have this ability, it is a smart decision to seek care when my health is in danger. But that doesn’t make it easy to do. It isn’t even as obvious as it might seem. I point out the little details above not because they are all super important, but because they further illustrate the absurdity of the difference of our situations. Do you pay extra money to travel one day verses another day, or do you have an obvious answer based on your lack of income to make a choice at all? What does it feel like to come home and not talk to your neighbors because you are sick but you don’t want to tell them because that would mean explaining what you are going to do because of it? I had thought about these things before, but I didn’t know how it felt. I still don’t know what to do with it.

I got to the International Health Clinic in Phnom Penh about 8:30pm that evening. I filled out some paperwork and was seen in about 30 minutes. A nurse made faces as he looked at my skin, and then got a little worked up over my vital signs. I was okay, but the infection had spread all over, giving me a fever in all its glory. The Cambodian doctor I saw got upset with me for not coming in sooner. “This country is NOT like your country…it is dirty and dusty and you will get very sick from this!’ He very seriously raised his voice at me.

Yes. Not helpful, but thank you… I get it. He told me that I had celluliis and gave me some medications and said I was okay to leave, as long as I came back in if anything spread or got worse. It was most likely simple enough to cure, yet is really dangerous left untreated. I left, grateful to have some answers, some medications, and a home to go to with loving people waiting for me. I am still here, ‘recovering,’ although I feel much better now. The medications are working, and I am beyond thankful.

Yet I still weep, because my health is not really the issue here. I cry on the inside and the outside for this obvious discrepancy that surrounds this situation I am in. It isn’t new. But it is still really painful. I am on the ‘have’ end when I am living amongst so many who are in need- who don’t ‘have.’ What do I do with this? What do we do with this? I wonder how Jesus looks upon our world and sees things like this every day- and how He weeps and feels that much more for each one of us. I know He loves my neighbors as much as he loves me, and desires that we all receive equal care when we are sick. I will keep asking what difference I can make while I have the privilege to live here, amongst His treasured children…

But I don’t have any answers.
So today I write, weep, and keep talking to God…