Hands

Why do I feel that since coming to India I have lost my ability to speak? This weekend was, again, something I don't feel I'll adequately put into words, or for that matter, even fully understand the impact it has had on me for some time.

We were so blessed by a slight breeze in the first colony we visited. Thank you thank you to all of you who prayed for us. I genuinely attribute the weather to the prayers sent our way. Unfortunately, I did still get pretty sick, but somehow after being with the people of India this weekend, I would be humiliated to complain.

The trip went well, thanks to the pudja our driver performed. (It's a blessing, or a prayer offered at little road side temples along the way, like this one.)

Since our van was new, he sliced lemons and rubbed them on all the tires, then lit incense and said a prayer.That was new. Then we got caught in a traffic jam where we all got out and wandered around because there was a festival and we knew we weren't going anywhere for a while! It was a festival for the Gods, where they take the statues out of the temple and carry them through the streets.

Everyone eats, buys trinkets and just shuts down the main roads. As we piled out of the van, Dr. Kumar warned us to not make light of the festival because people take their religion very seriously.

It was so amazingly crowded.

The first colony we went to we had amazing success. All 45 patients who were to be seen showed up. We got quite a system down of washing, photos, wrapping, and medications. I feel very satisfied and a sense of accomplishment that help was begun with these people and will continue for years. We were the first people to visit them. I was asked to be the photographer.

{Note: some of the photos are graphic}

This was my first patient, so I had to remember his face.

This man wheeled himself around on a skateboard type thing. Everyone had gathered, then here he came down the path dragging himself along in the dirt. So many images I can't forget.

Often times, Leprosy affects their eyes as well.

Wish I could remember her name but they are so long and different.

All I remember was she was chart #17 because I had to track her down and make sure she was photographed. At times it felt like chaos because none of the patients spoke English and none of us spoke Tamil. Somehow, it all sorts out.

The sores on these bodies are hard to see. But there's some sort of strength that comes from physically holding or touching these hands and feet; you don't seem to care how ugly or gross they are, how many flies are crawling on you because you are cleaning the wounds because all you want to do is show them they are still worth touching and loving. And even if their country deems them as untouchable, they are worth touching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whether or not it was the lack of humidity, this morning (second day of our trip) I woke up and finally felt prepared for what I was going to see and experience. Going out into the streets and seeing everything around me, I felt that the first word I would describe this experience as would no longer be a forceful 'hard.' It was refreshing to look at the busy streets and notice all the foreign things and people and feel excited about it again.

As we drove up to the second colony today, it seemed the whole colony was out to greet us. I thought it was a bus stop and that they were flagging us down for a ride because almost all transportation in India seems to be public. Often times when we drive to and from the junction we pick up random people along the way and take them a mile or two. But, it turned out to be the people from the colony waiting for us.

Today I did diabetes testing. 100 people! We could cruise the majority of the time until we would have someone whose hands no longer had fingers. Then they would be so callused from just being stumps it was difficult to pierce the skin and coax out any blood. Sometimes we just moved up to the palm or the arm depending on how much of their limbs they had left. Everyone would smile and watch as we cleaned and pricked their hands and they would always put their hands together in a prayer sign and say 'nandri' (thank you). They may not have hands, but they all still have gratitude.

This lady cracked me up cus she made the biggest deal out of getting her finger pricked for the diabetes testing I did. Out of all the hardships in life, I guess needles are a universal fear.

Their faces and bodies tell stories of having lived 100 years in only 40. I see the little children running around or hear them crying from inside the shelters and just think, "how? How are you going to live? How are you going to learn? How will you find the stamina to live this life of a hundred years?"

Before we left I had the chance to work deep in the colony. Three others and I took our supplies and went to two people who couldn't make it out to us. The first little man. No words. We found him sitting on the cement floor with a cloth wrapped around him, no hands, swollen 'feet', and bones of knees and elbows practically visible beneath the paper thin leather skin of his failing body. Miserable. Just miserable living conditions. I just wonder who he used to be and what it has been like to see his body, his life, and his dignity as a human being just slowly crumble away from him. Sitting there. Just sitting there on a cement floor, in the depths of a maze like community as the flies come and feed on his sores. He doesn't even move. I don't know what to make of some of the trials people of this world are made to

suffer through in this life.

The second person we visited was a lady. She didn't need washing or bandaging, so just Matthew and I went since I knew how to do the testing. Ducking beneath the low hanging thatched roof, we found her lying on sheets making a bed that took up most of the 8x12 concrete room. I sat down on the floor by her and Matthew left me alone to spend a few minutes holding her hand and listening to her explain in Tamil all her pains. We're told the people just want someone to listen to them, even if we can't understand. But it's such a helpless feeling to feel someone is hurting and know I'm not there helping. She rolled over and kept touching her back so I lifted up her shirt and there was a long scar running down her spine. I can only imagine. I rubbed her back and felt bad I couldn't do more. I held her hands, then did the little test, explaining the doctor would be back to see her, even though I knew she didn't understand a single word except doctor, which she repeated after me. I kissed her hands and as I stood she pulled me to my knees to give me a hug. As I ducked back out of her room I turned to wave and saw a hand raise from the sheets to wave in return and could feel her eyes on me as I turned and walked away.