Wake up

I could have never prepared myself for what I was about to see. The semi-sentimental infomercials that you catch late at night, pleading for you to sponsor a poor village child could never compare. On the first day of our medical mission, as we walked through the urban slums of Cambodia, I became incredibly disheartened. Made from stray boards and scavenger sheet metal, the houses could hardly be considered reasonable living conditions by any standards. I saw naked children poke their heads out to stare at the strange visitors with their cameras. But I wasn't taking pictures to show friends back home, I just didn't want to forget the utter feeling of guilt. The gut-wrenching conviction was worsened by the Ivy League T-shirt I was wearing. None of that mattered here; these kids knew nothing of privilege or prestige nonetheless they seemed genuinely happy to see me. They played in garbage-filled ponds, used their sandals as toys, and made their own jewelry from tiny, rolled-up magazine pages they found in the trash. I wondered how they could be so content but the attending I was working with quietly mentioned that "they don't know anything better... that this is their world." And then I understood. I wasn't doing them any favors by giving them canisters of bubble-blowing solution and spearmint gum. In fact, they seemed to lose interest in the balloon animals I constructed for them during mobile clinic and community outreach, quickly passing them up for a short ride atop my shoulders. They wanted me. They hungered for genuine human connection and shared some of it with me. That day, they helped me realize my own poverty. I'd always believed that once I earned my MD, that only then would I be able to make the impact I wanted to on society. But I was slowly realizing that the miracle of healing occurs all over the world by everyday people who have learned the ability to exhibit true compassion.