Southeast Asian Summer

Day 32

Yangon, Myanmar

Three days of medical experience were done. I finally got to sleep in, so naturally I felt the need to draft a Go Fund Me from my phone in bed and unexpectedly raise enough for not one, but two refrigerators over the course of breakfast because even on rainy days I specifically set aside for doing nothing, things go from 0 to 100 at a headache-inducing speed.

Home was 10.5 time zones away. It was bedtime for my friends and their families. The willingness, trust, and efficiency (seriously, one hour?!) of collecting money restored my faith in Americans. Thank you.

I had never asked for donations and don’t plan on doing it again. “Help me go on this mission trip,” or “help me sponsor that African child I fell in love with,” is not my style. I paid for the medical mission trip out of my own pocket. I haven’t seen or heard from Andrew since I walked him and his siblings home from school the day before I left his village.

I’ve always said that I’m trying to see the world, not change it.

It made me highly uncomfortable to involve money. My parents have no idea I did this because the chance of starting arguments with them was way too high.

But what if? I know so many people. I know how we spend our money back home. $150 could be done in a single day. Comfort zones are for burning, right?

15 hours was the time it took from the first mention of “fridge” to closing the completed fundraiser and withdrawing cash from the ATM. I didn’t have a bag. Ei Tone, my Burmese friend studying medicine, didn’t have a bag. We stuck the bills in between the pages of her planner.

The reason why I was disturbed enough to do this was because they didn’t ask for it. I was touched at how everyone here has treated me, the stranger, like royalty. I was inspired by their selfless efforts. Simple as that.

Up until then, had I been selfless, had I truly been an asset to patient care? Of course not. Me volunteering was helping me more than anyone else.

I was wondering on my own why insulin injections were unavailable. Just before I was dropped off the previous night, meaning the medical staff had paid for my dinner and driven me the hour between the door of the hospital and the door of my hostel, it was mentioned in conversation (one with giant language gaps, might I add) that the charity was looking for a donor for a fridge. I asked how much a fridge costs in Myanmar and then switched subjects. I got back and told Alyssa, a friend from home, that I was mildly triggered. Because why not just ask other hostel guests? She was the one with the Go Fund Me idea. I couldn’t have raised the money without her help.

Unlike Kenya, Cambodia, Haiti, you name it, Myanmar was not saturated with Western saviors swooping in. Yet. The Burmese were so elegant, authentic, and polite. They weren’t sucking up to me. I didn’t know that Myanmar physicians working in non-government hospitals make $300 a month until I asked, after the fact. 

They can do what they want with the money. I don’t care. Diabetes is best managed by diet and exercise, which is free.

But I like donuts. We like to eat shit. Patients don’t listen here, patients don’t listen back home. That’s why we rely so much on insulin.

I merely wanted to give the staff something they were looking for. A refrigerator was such a specific, tangible thing.

If a few phone taps on our end could give them a peace of mind to not have to send home a patient on maxed out meds with skyrocketing (500 mg/dL) blood glucose and failing eyesight with only “eat more vegetables” month after month, then I’m happy.

 

 

 August 2017 Update: I am beyond thrilled to say that HONEST GOOD PEOPLE HAVE BLESSED MY CLINICAL JOURNEY. THEY GOT THE FRIDGE. They got it last month, but on Day 99 as I was waiting out a stifling hot rest stop on a Vietnamese bus journey, I was nearly floored with photos of our brand new baby fridge.

A huge, warm (or chilled?) thank you to Alyssa, Michael, Lisa, Blair, Marcy, Zadia, and their friends and families who didn’t hesitate to lend a helping hand. Because of your care for strangers from across the globe, the diabetic patients of the San Mya Thida charity clinic will receive insulin for the first time ever starting next week. What’s more, Baby Fridge Number Two for Nyaung Tone is on its way. You guys are my inspiration. You guys motivate me to finish school.

Thank you Ei Tone, for soundly delivering the cash that was so hastily passed, and for taking time away from your studies and sweet clothing company to help treat rural communities.

And one last jesu ba to Dr. Min, Dr. Albert, and most of all Dr. Ko Min Nyi for your trusting and inviting attitude towards my curiosities. I don’t need tours when the highlights of my trip were made possible by you!