NEW to ONE LOONEY IDEA, read below. Otherwise start at the picture.
In 2006, we began a relationship with Ethiopia that we cannot turn our backs on.
We don’t really want to turn away, but life became undeniably more DIFFICULT after our first, and consecutive trips. Members of our family were in Ethiopia in ‘06, ’07, ’08, ’09, and ’13. In Ethiopia, the majority of people build a life with less than a dollar a day. A dollar a day does not provide basic necessities. Roughly 39% of Ethiopians live below poverty (<$1.25 USD)—that is over 28 million people. The population of Canada is just over 35 million.
The world is not equitable.
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We all have challenges. At this point in my life I am living with abundance. It doesn’t feel good to continue to accrue treasures when so many live with scarcity. I want to choose something different.
From January 15th, 2015 – January 14th, 2016, I am going to spend ONLY a dollar a day (average) for discretionary items.
I will put one loonie into my purse each day. Every time that I want to make a purchase, I will stop and think. I am becoming a thoughtful and responsible consumer, one day at a time—for a lifetime.
You can support me by pledging a dollar a day for any part of my 365 day challenge. The money will go to Canadian Humanitarian, who we have worked with extensively over the past nine years. —Just check out my Pledge Page on the left side bar.
Betam amisegnalo.
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46 WEEKS left to Support Wendy in her One Looney Idea!
The View From Here
We arrived at a community “clinic” in Sheshemene, Ethiopia. The day was still and warm. We heaved supplies and bags over our shoulders, and walked through the ditch and into the compound. The open gates welcomed us. In the large grassy yard, an old and gnarled Warka tree provided the only shade. Our large group dropped supplies and gathered on the large veranda at the main building. We scouted the area to figure out where and how we would set up. Scattered across the property, smaller buildings served as extra examining rooms for the clinic that would start later in the day. Five doctors, five interpreters, two nurses, and a pharmacist made up the medical team; the rest of us filled the roles of intake, photographer, runners, and doctors assistants. I worked with Ward during this clinic. Our exam room, a small office with a desk, a chair, and a sewing machine table, had one window, which provided our only source of light. We pulled the desk and the sewing table together and covered them with a flowered vinyl table cloth to make a “bed”. I set up our supplies on the chair: tongue depressors, gloves, Ward’s otoscope, alcohol wipes, disinfectant cloths, and hand sanitizer. I put a chair outside for waiting patients.
The patients arrived, escorted by one of the runners: Yohannes or Laurèn. Faven helped with intake, taking photos of the children in the program. Each patient held a sheet of paper with name, age, height, heart rate, blood pressure, and a list of complaints: tired, headaches, short of breath, stomach ache, itchy, and GI problems. Ward, along with the interpreter, discovered the main concern, and then performed a physical exam, and determined treatment. Some patients required further tests—not always available; others needed medicines, some of which we had in our pharmacy; and for others, we had nothing to offer outside of kindness and empathy. Yohannes or Laurèn appeared periodically at the window, asking if we needed anything. Ward would hand them the prescription and they would run across the grounds to the pharmacy, the prescription would be filled, and they would deliver it back to us. If the patient needed further tests, I would escort them out to the Director of the program, and he would arrange it, if it were possible.
Part way through the afternoon, someone dropped off a large plastic bag filled with eyeglasses. Individuals identified with vision problems soon arrived and lined up for an eye assessment. Suddenly, I transformed into an eye glasses expert. My lack of qualifications did not deter me in the least. None of the glasses were marked or labeled. I briefly looked through each pair to determine which one’s were for reading or distance, and which one’s I couldn’t see a darn thing through—I separated them into three piles. And then, without the aid of an interpreter, or vision charts, I determined whether the patient had difficulty seeing close up or far away. We did this outside, so that it wouldn’t interfere with the clinics. It looked like a game of charades, and attracted a lot of attention. Soon the “runners” came to assist me, and a group of bored citizens came to guffaw. Here is how it went. After a round of charades, I determined their need: near or far-sighted. Yohannes or Laurèn would pass him or her a pair of glasses from the appropriate pile. For far-sighted subjects, I held Ward’s pocket book on infectious disease for them to look at through the glasses. We kept changing glasses until the person let out a WHOOP of excitement. And believe me, they WHOOPED, and laughed, and carried on once we got it right. Because our station looked to be so much fun, almost everyone came over pointing to the glasses and to their eyes. We had the unhappy job of turning most of them away.
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| The man in the middle, is the handsome doctor that I assisted, at these clinics! |
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| Here I am with a woman of many ailments. I took her to get set up for further testing. |
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This week, the kids and I had our eyes checked. Three of us need glasses—two new prescriptions, and one alteration. We have known for years of Faven’s vision problems. But after going to the trouble of seeing an Opthalmologist at the Children’s Hospital, and ordering state-of-the-art, fashionable glasses, Faven refused to wear them. She has compensated for her vision problems her whole life, and didn’t see the point of marring her good looks with glasses, thank you very much. Eventually, I stopped taking her for eye check ups, even when she complained to me about headaches or problems seeing. I don’t know why I included her this week with our regular Optometrist. But, I did.
As Faven performed the vision test, I sat in a chair beside her, looking at the progressively shrinking lines of letters, and saying them in my head. Faven moaned, she said “Umm” repeatedly, but she did not say a single letter. Dr. N asked me to come to the front and look at Faven, “See how hard she is trying to see,” he said. I watched. She screwed up her whole face, tilted her head, and squinted to try and see what was shining on the wall ten feet in front of her. “Holy cow,” I said, “she is really working.” A sudden realization donned on me: she can’t see. I had a flash of worst-mom-ever thoughts. After the testing, Dr. N created a pair of glasses for Faven by inserting multiple lenses into special multi-slot frames. He asked her to put them on, and stay still. She put the heavy round glasses on. She WHOOPED. She started pointing out things in the room to me that she could now see. It was as if she thought we both saw the world through the same lens, and I saw the objects for the first time too. Worst-mom-ever. Dr. N, who is usually very serious and composed, smiled loud.
We live in a place where eye testing is a regular part of our lives. Not only do we have access to diagnoses, we can afford the treatment for most, if not all of our ailments. What a blessing. I am so thankful. Faven got her new glasses two days later, and her view drastically changed. She is phenomenally excited, and now we have trouble convincing her to take them off for sports. I don’t know why it is different than it was years ago. Perhaps her eyes have deteriorated. Worst-mom-ever.
One difficult aspect to parenting Faven is her resistance to being helped. Anywhere, anytime, by anybody. She not only refuses help, she sabotages good relationships that might be helpful. Including me. Of course, this happens subconsciously, for reasons that will never be fully understood. “Help” is a trigger word.
I feel pleased that Faven has made a choice to wear these new glasses, and see. I suspect that it will make school easier. However, life is so much more than our vision, or hearing. Perspective can’t be measured in a lab, but it is a key to human happiness.
No prescriptive lens can change what the eye will see when the brain remains blind, and the heart is covered in darkness.
| All three kids had "drops" put into their eyes, so we left the eye doctor with these cool shades. "Their future's so bright...they gotta wear shades!" |
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