Last Week of Clinic

Time in Cambodia has an incredible way of both lingering and passing too quickly. Already, I am six weeks into my time; already, I have to think about returning to the US and to medical school. Already, my time with the clinic has come to close. Because Aug 1, the ship travels two days to move to the Tonle Sap Lake near Siem Reap/Angkor Wat, which is far from Phnom Penh and most of the crew's families, they get this coming week off--all but a few are home at this point. It will be both a blessing and a curse--a blessing because it is a quiet week, where I will be able to relax and work on putting some of my research together, and a curse because I love the clinic, I love working with the Khmer patients and witnessing their kindness and the kindness of the crew. It is as it is though, and I know this will benefit all, and I am happy for the crew, for their time with their families.

Clinic on the ship works half like a well-oiled machine and half like organized chaos. 20 patients come in at 8am, up the gangplank and up the stairs. Children, mothers, fathers, men and women in their 80s, all traipse up the steep ship stairs for triage--blood pressures and temperatures. They come down in clusters of five for the doctor, of four for the dentist. When I am not interviewing or doing something else, I am standing downstairs, making sure everyone sits where they're supposed to, people see the doctor in something that resembles number order, and that everyone is ok while they wait. Or mostly, I try to speak Khmer and smile, or play with the children or sit with the old women, while they try to speak to me in Khmer or tell me my nose is beautiful. We delight each other, and it is beautiful.

The Khmer doctor will see 80 patients a day, every day, and the dentist will see 35. Everyone is grateful and excited--very few appear pushy, too eager to see the doctor, though a few are disappointed when they do not receive a slip to get the glasses the ship gives out to those the doctor says would benefit. I understand now when people tell me about their eyes. I nod and say (in English because I do not know the Khmer), yes, tell the doctor.

The beautiful thing about clinic is that I have the opportunity to interact with nearly every person who comes on the ship. Whether I check their number as they come in, tell them to go up the stairs, help them down the slippery gangplank after rain, or tell them the doctor is ready, I see nearly every face at least once. Everyone has a smile. The last village we were in was poor despite its proximity to Phnom Penh, some of the patients and children came in dirty and probably hungry, and yet everyone looked kindly at me, many put their hands together in the Khmer greeting of respect and thanked me as they left. There is such a sense of mutual love every day--it is energizing and utterly amazing.

Now the ship is in Phnom Penh. Acrobatics from Piseth, who I am convinced is Superman because he can literally do almost anything and Kha, who is just amazing in his quiet work ethic and huge heart, helped us tie the ship down next to a boat in dry dock. We have to walk down three gangplanks and two boats as well as cross a bit of the river on a raft made of a metal grate and four empty barrels to get off the ship. At night, we can see the multicolored lights of the ferris wheel across the street and the tour boats. It's a different world here than in the villages for sure, though still quiet in its own way.

Be blessed and well!