The Clinic

I recently spent a week translating for a Clinica Mobil. This is basically a doctor’s office in a trailer. The clinic offered services in General Medicine, Pediatrics, Dentistry, Ophthalmology, and Gynecology. They needed seven different translators, one for each different clinic, plus one in triage (getting all of the basic information down), and one in the pharmacy (which offered free medicine). Cesar needed Meredith and me to serve as translators. From the moment we arrived at the first day of the clinic, I was so impressed with the group of volunteers. It was about 9:00am when we arrived with the other translators, and there was a hustle and bustle underway. Half of the team from Central UMC in Florence, SC was already working hard on the construction of a church in Concepción (a town about 30 minutes outside of Huancayo), while the other half was organizing their medical posts. Not one of theme seemed unhappy to be there.

Because I am a woman (there were few women translators), I was needed in Gynecology. Meredith got to spend the day playing with children in Pediatrics, while I learned a whole slew of new vocabulary, as one would imagine, in order to accommodate our patients.

The second day of the clinic we were in a pueblo near Huancayo called San Jeronimo. The line was already wrapped around the side of the building when we arrived. We served many women that day, some pregnant, some not… some sick, some well… but there is one woman whose face will never leave my memory. For the sake of honoring her privacy I will call her Maria. Maria came to see us late in the morning. I asked her the usual questions while Sloan, the OB/GYN nurse, took down my translations of her answers. Then Maria began to cry. I walked over, and sat beside her on our make-shift exam table and asked her what she felt that she needed that day. She said so meekly, “I fear that I might be pregnant.” Sloan immediately grabbed a pregnancy test out of the many mounted containers of medicine, and we directed her to the bathroom so that we could do the test in the privacy of our trailer. When she returned, I hurried her to the front of our line, much to the dismay of some of those who were still waiting… I had to do some crowd control, to which they responded graciously. I helped Maria up on to the exam table where she looked at me with fear and dread. Because I was the translator I was the one who had to tell her that indeed she was pregnant. I took a deep breath, and invited her to relax and do the same. She cracked a little bit of a smile. Then I told her, “Maria, the test is positive, which means that you are pregnant.” She began to cry.

Sloan told me everything that I needed to explain to her, from the approximate due date of the baby, to prenatal vitamins, to the clean-home delivery kit. (I am pretty much a pro at explaining how to cut an umbilical cord). I asked Maria if she would like to talk to a pastor before going home. She said that she would, so I ditched my post at gynecology for a few minutes, thanked the women in line for their patience and then escorted Maria to the church (which was the waiting room). I invited her to sit and went in search of Cesar Sr. (my supervisor’s wonderful dad), for a pastoral presence to be with Maria. When I couldn’t find him, I felt kind of defeated, and went back to sit with Maria for a few minutes. We sat in silence while she held my hand and cried. Then I realized something.

I heard myself saying inside my head, “Stephanie! YOU are a pastor. Why don’t YOU do this??” I know that sounds like a pretty delayed response… how could I have been so slow to realize it? I was so caught up in my tasks as a translator for the week, and a teacher during my time in Peru, that I forgot that indeed I AM a pastor. I confessed my idiocy to Maria, and asked her if she would like to talk to ME. I felt a little unqualified, but indeed she wanted me to listen to her. We talked about how this baby, even though it is baby #6 being born into uncertain financial situations, is a gift. I told her that God loves her and her child, and that the Psalmist tells us that God knits us together in the wombs of our mothers. I touched her newly pregnant stomach and told her that there was LIFE here. She put her hand on top of mine and said, “Sí, Mamita… sí.”

After we prayed, she cried and I choked back tears. I told her that I would be praying for her. She kissed my cheek and held me in an embrace for a long time. I was being summoned back to Gynecology to translate and I needed to go.

That afternoon, I saw countless faces of women who came in and out of the clinic. I played volleyball with a couple of school girls while we were waiting for our next rush of patients. I can’t remember any of their names, and only a few of their faces. Later that afternoon, as we were about to leave, I saw María walking past the clinic with 4 small children chasing after her grabbing on to her legs, and saying “!Mamí! Mamí!” She looked up from the kids for a moment, still carrying her prenatal vitamins and other medicines, and our eyes met. For the first time that day, María smiled. I jumped down out of the clinic (keep in mind that it is a trailer you have to step up into), and she turned around and walked back to me. I kissed her face and told her that I loved her. She held my hand for a minute, said, “God bless you, Mamita,” smiled, and walked away holding her vitamins in one hand, and the hand of her 3 year old with the other.