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South & south east Asia/Indonesia 14/05

Slices of life of tsunami survivors

The journey of a stethoscope

By Dr. Wina, Meulaboh

A mother gave me to her daughter, who was in college. From that moment on, I was her closest friend, and that’s where our story together begins.

I saw her growing from a medical student who didn’t know anything to a person who knows a little bit about the world of medicine. It was me who accompanied her when she learned about diseases. I am rather proud because, through my listening, she encountered learning. I saw her working hard to finish school, answering thousands of questions that seemed strange to me. I felt her nervousness as the school officials sat facing her. I saw her finish her schooling and become a doctor eventually, and I was very proud to see her tears running down her cheeks when she had conquered so many obstacles.

One day, we received news of an earthquake and tsunami that had swallowed hundreds of thousands of lives and caused the loss of family, wealth, property and all material goods. I was grieved to see the tears in my friend’s eyes. I knew her heart was touched as she witnessed the tears of all those people. I didn’t know how to encourage her, but in my heart, I prayed that someday I could go with her to do something meaningful for others.

It was as if there was someone who had heard my prayers. My friend’s boss asked her to go to the disaster-affected area, and even though I knew she struggled over leaving her husband and daughter, the apple of her eye, she commenced her journey to the tsunami-affected area, filled with passion and excitement.

That day, we went to Lhokseumawe. At least that was the name I heard of the city we set foot in. My goodness, the air was hot. I was put into a bag and crowded in with lots of other equipment. But that was okay. The hot air and stuffiness didn’t compare with what I did next.

My friend was immediately sent to a room to examine patients. Many patients came in response to our arrival. Without wavering, my friend removed me from her bag and began to place me on the chest of an old woman who said she hadn’t been able to sleep for several days. I heard the beating of her heart - faster than normal - and I knew it was because this woman had experienced great trauma and was worried about another tsunami. I also listened to a young woman crying because she had lost her baby - just two months old - and to a father who had lost his wife and his children. I heard him say, “Why should I eat or go to the doctor? I have no one left anymore.” I saw my friend hold in her tears, because I knew she preferred not cry in front of her patients.

The day continued, and evening replaced afternoon. I saw my friend wipe sweat from her brow, and start to look weak and tired, but there were still many people lined up, waiting for her to examine them. Many of them were not truly ill. Many of them said, “My heart hurts,” perhaps because they had lost the person closest to their heart. My friend and her friends began to run out of medicine, but she did not run out of compassion. Often she just held onto a hand or to a shoulder and talked with someone. Finally, because the team had run out of resources, they began to gather their belongings to return to the health post. They took leave of the displaced people, hoping that tomorrow or the next day they could do better.

Soon the time for assessment was over. The initial mission was finished, and I felt some lack of fulfilment on the part of my friend. And I very much understood why. I knew she felt as if she hadn’t yet accomplished anything. But it was already time to go home to her child and her beloved husband.

After a time at home, she returned to work at the hospital, helping patients who had been in accidents. Some could be helped, and some could not, their trauma so severe that they were returned to their creator. I always feel moved when the heartbeat I’m listening to starts to weaken and slowly stops. Sweat trickles on the brow of my friend and her friends, as they give CPR to their patient, but I know many things that still create mystery will be answered one day... Her work every day consists of smells of medicine and blood. If I could speak, I would say, “Take a break, my friend.”

It seems that, for these past few weeks, my friend has not been as usual. I know there is something going on! Every time there is a TV presentation on Aceh, or news from friends who are still in Aceh and Nias, she is always quiet, as if she’s thinking about something. I very much understand what is on her mind. Like there is a work that is delayed.

Then an opportunity came about for her to leave her home again and to work in the midst of displaced people in Aceh as a doctor in Meulaboh. My friend jumped on the opportunity, even though this time the stay was longer. Was she capable? Could she bring herself to leave her little girl? I didn’t know what was pushing her to go far away, to leave her family. I though I already understood everything about my friend, but apparently there were still many things that I didn’t yet understand.

The morning came for my friend to go to Meulaboh, a city completely destroyed by the earthquake and tsunami. My friend woke up very early, at 4:30 a.m. While others still chose to burrow under their blankets, my friend and I and two others left, heading to the airport. Ah...I was still very sleepy - everywhere was still dark. The sun hadn’t come up yet that morning. But they, with energy, carried their bags filled with supplies and headed to the airport. After going through the lobby - rather bureaucratic and boring - we were finally able to fly towards Meulaboh. From the air, my friend could see how devastated the city was. The trees were brown - withered from the tsunami. What had happened to its people?

We finally arrived at the Meulaboh airport. The day was very hot. This was the place where my friend and I would work. What would I see? What would we face? Would I hear heartbeats lessen and disappear? Or would I hear new heartbeats beginning again? My heart also quivered, thinking of the experience I would face, how many hearts would speak and hundreds of lungs would whisper, asking for analyses.

My work differed greatly from my friend’s work at this time. What she did at first I did not understand. Why did I rarely listen to hearts beating anymore? Why was I only placed into her black bag and rarely retrieved? Oh, my friend, use your whites, and put my two ears in yours, put my hands on their chests. Let us be one like we once were. But a week had passed, and she seemed too busy to listen to the sound of my heart. I heard protests there of those who felt they were not dealt with justly, wanting my friend to be in many places at once. Everyone on the team made requests. Everyone asked for her attention, until one day - I don’t know exactly what happened - but suddenly, she entered her room, and started to load her clothes into her big bag, trying to hold back her tears.

I wanted to ask what had happened. I wanted to encourage her and say, “Be patient, my friend. Everything will get done. Persevere, my friend.” As if she heard my words, she said softly, “I am not allowed to stop here. I am not allowed to lose. I will struggle on until I can give something meaningful. Whatever obstacles come my way, I will face them!” I was so very glad to see my friend wipe away her tears. Come, my friend, we will struggle again. Don’t stop here! There is still much that must be overcome in addition to the other small things that have to be done. Our journey won’t stop here.

Other stories in this series:

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