New to ONE LOONEY IDEA - read below
In 2006, we began a relationship with Ethiopia that we cannot turn our backs on.
In Ethiopia, the majority of people build a life with less than a dollar a day.
A dollar a day does not buy basic necessities.
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.
Impulsivity is a choice of the privileged. But, the privileged have a responsibility.
My goal through this year has been to spend an average of a loonie a day on not-essential items. It is hard, and I am not managing to succeed on a daily basis. However, it provides me a lot of food for thought.
PLEASE consider pledging your support to me, through financially supporting the work of Canadian Humanitarian in Ethiopia. My original goal was to get FIFTY people to pledge a dollar a day for the 365 days of this challenge. But, give what you feel you can toward my campaign—no amount is too small, every dollar makes a difference in the life of another—or continue to make a difference through your own chosen channels. The link to my personal pledge page is below.
Betam amisegnalo.
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| Laurèn in Ethiopia, in 2013 |
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| Faven in Ethiopia, in 2013 |
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| Yohannes in Ethiopia, in 2013 |
Health and Well-Being
October, 2013 — Ethiopia
Our bus pulled into the small village of Turge, in the woreda (community) of Shashemene. The cacti grew large, and stretched like fingers from the earth up toward the sky, providing natural barriers between properties. The plot of land where we parked, boasted a large grassy area underneath expansive trees, where people from miles around had congregated. Some came to bear-witness, and others waited to bring their “third-world” concerns to a team of health care specialists—volunteers who, in their places of employment in Canada, solved and treated complex problems on a daily basis, and made innumerable differences to the quality of life of their patients.
This would be the last rural community we visited in the two weeks our family volunteered with Canadian Humanitarian (CH). Traveling with CH founders Dick and Deb Northcott granted us “celebrity” status, and the locals awaited and then cheered our arrival. Canadian Humanitarian had been working in the area for several years, assisting with a community development program. Their advisor role changed in 2013, and they were asked to assume responsibility for the programs in three areas of Shashemene. Our main function, over five days, was to do intake medicals for students and guardian families of the programs.
We were fortunate to have on our trip, two nurses, one pharmacist, and five physicians: two general practitioners, an emergency doctor, a pediatrician, and a respirologist—all over-qualified, and with the exception of a couple of them, all under-trained in the medicine they could offer here.
Our team carried several hockey bags filled with medical supplies to temporary clinic rooms. We would run five clinics between two buildings. There was no electricity or running water, and the bathroom—utilized by several of us volunteers battling gastrointestinal “flare-up”—consisted of a straw hut with a hole in the ground.
The largest room—divided into clinic and pharmacy—was where Ward and I worked. It had a packed dirt floor, a doorway and a shuttered window for light. The walls didn’t quite reach the ground, and exposed sticks and branches could be seen secured into the dirt. They created a misshapen frame for the hut, upon which a combination of leaves, mud and water was plastered to create shelter and protection.
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| The community gathered |
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| The washroom |
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| A boy peeking into our clinic, through the sticks exposed near the ground |
The dark room had a table, and two plastic chairs. Everything else we brought with us: stethoscope, otoscope (mainly for its light), wound dressings, paper gowns, pads of paper, hand wipes, gloves, plastic table cloths, eye glasses, alcohol swabs, and medicines. The pharmacist set up on the ground, and used her backpack as a stool. We had a translator with us named Ahmed (Ah-ha-med). He wore jeans, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, and runners. He told me bits of his story throughout the day. Working as a nurse helped him support his big family, who suffered the effects of poverty. Although Ahmed wanted to find a lovely woman, get married, and have a family, he pledged his support to his parents and siblings. He considered his life a service to them. I was humbled to work alongside of him.
Outside the dark clinic rooms, the sun shone, and benches were set up like pews in a sanctuary, facing the larger hut. There sat the Foresight Fathers, Provident Mothers, and their families. The CH programs supported them in small business development, farming and community service. Deb had a pad of paper and a translator; she acted as triage, and determined which medical team to send the family to, based on their chief complaint.
Our first family, consisted of mother, father, and six children. They crowded into the room. We assessed the father first, and then the children, youngest to oldest, and the mother last. As the babies finished their exams, they were passed through the door to waiting hands, ready to hold them, or watch them run and tumble through the grasses with our children, Faven, Laurèn and Yohannes. Every family member, covered in raised and scaly bumps, had been “food” for scabies mites. Completely treatable with medicated cream. However, without a way to eradicate the mites from their homes, treatment would be ineffective. Still, we sent the mother home with enough cream for everyone to be treated. The problems of diarrhea and malnutrition would not be solved today, but with steady support over the coming years, this community would feel a change.
In the midst of the hours-long clinic, a donkey cart arrived. A large woman lay in the back, on top of a mattress. There was no donkey; the cart had been pulled for many miles by a group of men. I am not sure why the “patient” was assigned to Ward—a lung specialist, with internal medicine training—perhaps ours was the only room open at the moment of her arrival.
Two people helped her into our room, and laid her down on the table. A woman, a friend or sister, stayed with her the whole time. At thirty years of age, the woman had already suffered the loss of two of her five children, as well as her husband; the most recent child died just months ago. Her list of symptoms was long. She found herself unable to get out of bed, felt too tired to care for her children, had aches throughout her body, and found the sun too bright to bear. Ward did a thorough examination, listening to her breathing, her heart, testing her reflexes, and asking several questions. He was slow and methodical; caring and attentive. His prescriptive treatment consisted of listening, and the tried-and-true therapy of “laying on of hands”. I stood back and looked at her, and made my diagnosis. When I worked in the hospital, we used the term “failure to thrive” to describe babies and children that would not get healthy despite good medical care. This woman had suffered losses beyond what her heart could absorb. We had nothing in our duffle bag to help her.
Some of our family members had suffered losses too.
Between mid-2013, and mid-2014 our family of five spent over $18,000.00 on psychology services that included: counselling for every member, couples therapy, parenting seminars, and psychology-facilitated book clubs.
How could any “regular” family need this much mental health support?
How could any sane adult justify the cost? Truthfully, we didn’t tally up the “cost” of it until the end of the year. We just met the needs of our family during chaos in the best way we could. When we saw the numbers we experienced jaw-dropping shock too.
Most people who know us see the strength that Ward and I possess, the forethought of planning ahead, the organizational skills of a mother who is detail-oriented, the calm pragmatics of a thoughtful father, and two parents who believe that their kids deserve every opportunity to become independent, loving adults, who are happy.
Our family looks too good. But, what cannot be seen is:
~ the struggle of a mother who takes most everything personally, and then doubles her efforts,
~ a father who has difficulty with intense emotions, and wraps himself in pursuits that make him feel comfortable, and worthwhile,
~ a child who sees demons, where angels exist, and fights or flees,
~ a family who regularly suffers verbal abuse from a child,
~ a couple who struggles to maintain a connection, or quality relationship,
~ and, the amount of energy it takes to function in this environment.
In this loonie year, I’ve stopped to ask myself, how much is the health and well-being of our family worth? According to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, mental illness is the leading cause of disability in Canada, but these illnesses receive less than 6% of health care dollars.
How many people with severe mental health issues or disorders are helped from traditional counselling? I can’t find a statistic on this, however what I can find is that “management of symptoms is possible through a combination of medications, therapy and personal work, [but] they can’t make the disorder disappear altogether.” (outofhtefog.net)
Just as the woman in Ethiopia came to see Ward, hoping for a "cure" for her mental and physical ailments, we go to counselling hoping for the same thing. If only we try harder, and apply more bandages, things will start to feel better.
Psychology services is but one area that we spend money on health and well-being that is outside the normal medical model. It is difficult to discern that which makes a difference.
What will contribute most to the “experience of joy, contentment, or positive well-being, that [makes] one’s life good, meaningful, and worthwhile” (Sonja Lyubomirsky)?
I don’t know.
What if I lived in Ethiopia? Who would load me into a donkey cart and pull me along dirt roads in the heat of the day to see a physician—in the hopes that his remedy would change my life?
If I sit and think about who would take the time to load me into the cart, and then pull me for hours, all the while tending to my wounds and heart aches, I have my answer.
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| A woman brought her sick husband to the clinic. |
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| An elderly woman that Ward and I assessed. |
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| Ward, with two of the other volunteers. |
