I had always wanted to do mission work. I have come across different opportunities – Tanzania, Guatemala - that came and went. To do actual mission work is commendable in charity, but requires coordination and commitment in timing, resources and mental and emotional fortitude.
While walking on my solo tour of this little town of Nabas, I pondered what these people dream of. Under their roofs of thatch, some concrete, some corrugated metal, do they know there is a world of hustle and bustle? While the kids play with sticks, stones, dirt roads and karaoke, are they aware of eager listeners who appreciate natural talent of singing and dancing? Of eager patrons waiting to taste their remarkable cooking? In this part of the world where nurses make $3.50 per day and $1 in tip is “too much”, can they fathom that people throw away leftover mac and cheese or dinners from a fancy restaurant? Perhaps. But they dream anyway, of this pipedream of someday arriving in the States. The magical country which personifies hope.
This love for both countries is what we have learned to appreciate for the first time, but is something these doctors have already known for decades. They ask for nothing but to do good and quietly serve. And I am honored to have been in their company.
To donate to the RMMF Mission, please send check made payable to RMMF Mission, 3250 Highpointe Court, New Berlin, Wisconsin 53151.
I asked my cousin about his annual mission trips to the Philippines. Dr. Rolando Mendiola is an international surgeon and is a pioneer in laparoscopic surgery. He travels at least four times per year to visit patients at Asian Hospital and for mission work. I just know him as my jovial and generous “Kuya” Rolly, which means “older brother”. He always encouraged me to “take the opportunity while you can and while it exists. What better way to help our brothers and sisters back home?" He planted a seed.
He informed me the other surgical team leader was one of my absolute favorite women east of the Mississippi. Dr. Jazmin Parcon is one of Wisconsin’s most highly-regarded OBGYN surgeons. She is equally humble, incredibly charitable, hard-working and positive in spirit. Could not ask for a better leader and role model as a human being.
Then I received a call from a childhood friend, Divina Wells. Her trip to Thailand fell through. She would like to join the RMMF (Rizal MacArthur Memorial Foundation) Mission, if I were up for it. She always wanted to serve on a mission trip and had never been to the Philippines. It would be an honor for me to witness this “first” in her personal journey.
I have to add, Divina is not just a professional nurse who serves in in-home healthcare. Divina Wells is an “experience”, to say the least. Her facial expressions, delivery in storytelling, antics, over-the-top humor.... Her twisted flair of saying things people cannot and would not say -- and getting away with it -- is a talent. I call her the “one-woman show." Sit back and enjoy, folks. And try the veal. Those who have the pleasure of knowing her, join my boat and chuckle at their own recollections of madness. Her laugh is contagious, her presence and positive attitude are infectious, and equally strong is her compassion and respect for fellow man, woman, child and in particular, the elderly. She gave her credit card number to some woman who needed to use the Internet. We just met her at the airport, for crying out loud! She is a rock.
With this stellar lineup of companions, I was still uneasy in leaving my family for an extended amount of time. My husband and I had several talks, which eased my fears time and again. He was MY rock. With his encouragement, I finally purchased the tickets…and committed.
We flew into Manila and settled into our hotel at 1:30am. With the 13-hour time difference, our 3am wakeup call came too quickly. We met in the lobby. Some teammates were returning. For some, this was a brand new experience as well. And others were dear friends of my parents from long ago, which instantly brought back memories and hugs.
We caught a plane to the central island of Aklan. After driving through the picturesque mountainside, I saw greens meet the ocean. Surreal to be on the other side of the globe. It was simply breathtaking. A few hours more took us to a small town in Ibajay District called Nabas. This is where we were to stay for a few days. The Ibajay “hospital” was more of a clinic.
With 6 rooms, the only hotel in Nabas was now completely booked. There is only one road that leads in and out of the town. Divina was exhausted, so she slept. I went downstairs to meet our group of 16. Um…what group? The groundskeeper motioned to go straight down the road. I saw Dr. Montes about 1 ½ miles away. So I walked. I sported a hoodie that endearingly scribed “Love”, wrapped my Nikon D40 around my neck and my “DEFY” bag that clearly screamed “Foreigner!” in my own foreign land.
After two miles, I realized it wasn’t him. Hmmm… So I snapped some shots of the countryside and charming people along the way. I was a bit panic-stricken when I realized no one knew where I was. Nor did I. But just walked tall, proudly and friendly.
While walking on my solo tour of this little town of Nabas, I pondered what these people dream of. Under their roofs of thatch, some concrete, some corrugated metal, do they know there is a world of hustle and bustle? While the kids play with sticks, stones, dirt roads and karaoke, are they aware of eager listeners who appreciate natural talent of singing and dancing? Of eager patrons waiting to taste their remarkable cooking? In this part of the world where nurses make $3.50 per day and $1 in tip is “too much”, can they fathom that people throw away leftover mac and cheese or dinners from a fancy restaurant? Perhaps. But they dream anyway, of this pipedream of someday arriving in the States. The magical country which personifies hope.
Once I arrived to my misguided destination, I walked into a home, disrupting an afternoon game of mahjong among four strangers. Just so happened they had heard of the “doctors in town.” The kind 60-something stranger took me back to my intended destination – her sister’s home. Via motorcycle. Three miles away.
There was Dr. Parcon coming back from our hotel looking for me. With a warm smile, she greeted us, “And here you are on a motorcycle!” Our host Gretchen West, took care of all of our food, accommodations, food, travel, food, patient schedules, excursions and food. She thought of everything, including a lunch and dinner with the Congressman, Mayor and Governor. Another strong woman with a heart of gold, Gretchen was a nurse in a former life, as well as a hospital administrator and director of OR in Baltimore. She and her husband Stan met in Saudi Arabia while he was teaching Environmental Studies, married and moved to Maryland. They eventually took residence in the Philippines for part of the year.
Divina and I were amazed at the colorful people with whom we were fortunate enough to travel and quickly call friends. Stan was a Physics graduate from Syracuse, with an Anthropology Masters. He taught engineering at MIT, was involved with the Three-Mile Island cleanup and taught Environmental Studies. Milwaukee Anesthesiologist Cornelia Riedl, married her college sweetheart. John Riedl was an engineer for years until the pursuit of his first love caught up with him; he is now a Russian Translator. The easygoing, jovial and contemplative Milwaukee Surgeon John Haeberlin served in the Middle East and sported a tattoo with his wife’s and children’s names. This was to identify his body in case something ever happened to him. Retired Nurse Alice Rouleau was a natural at taking charge in the Recovery Room. Her ability to be “present” and her zest for experiencing everything culturally possible, inspired me to soak in this experience as well. By the end of the trip, she and her husband Mark were more Filipino than I.
The first day consisted of preparing the clinic for the successive days of surgery. Dr. Mendiola and Dr. Parcon screened patients. The RMMF Mission only helps uninsured or underinsured. Because healthcare costs are astronomical, some family members must even choose whose medical situation is more dire. These doctors see the most extreme cases because some patients wait up to 10 years until a mission arrives. And some still forego the opportunity out of fear. Of the 60 cases scheduled, 40 showed. Under Cornelia’s coordination, we unpacked the 16 to 20 boxes and organized the supplies for several hours. We were ready.
I spent the first day mainly with Kuya Rolly in the Minor OR to see what I could handle. During a break, Kuya Rolly was telling jokes, per usual. He was either joking non-stop with the patients to make them feel comfortable, or with the group of nurses and doctors who were still getting to know one another. Then he started reminiscing about his residency in 1979. I was not even 10 years old. When he was completing his residency, he did not know where to go.
“Joy’s dad, Tio Peping, was the busiest doctor on the south side of Milwaukee. He told me to look in Greendale. We found a house we fell in love with, but moving from a tiny apartment to a 4-bedroom home was a pipedream. The bank did not approve my loan. I didn’t say anything to Tio Peping. But when he found out, he wrote a letter and told me to take it straight to the bank. They approved my loan right there!
Within two years, I was the busiest surgeon just from Tio Peping’s referrals. All I needed to do was schedule the patients. I spent weekends at Joy's house. They had a pool and tennis court in the backyard. Tio Peping loved tennis. But we really bonded when he found out I played cards. He invited me over one night to play with his friends…the Hospital Administrator and accomplished doctors and surgeons. He asked why I wasn’t playing. I told him I had no money. So he took out an envelope and said, 'Here. You play my money.' Could you imagine? Me, a mere resident, playing opposite the Head Administrator?”
Kuya Rolly told us my father was a surgeon in the Philippines. I did not know this. How could I not know this? In exchange for sending Dad to medical school, my grandparents obligated him to send his remaining six siblings to college. And he did. He also sent his own seven children to college. Dad was extremely generous without complaining. When he decided to move to the States to seek a better life, Dad was required to go through another four years of coursework and testing to be certified as a surgeon. This was why my father switched to family practice. The practice he was married to…we barely saw him growing up. And when he retired and sold this practice, he could not stand being without his self-worth -- a life based on serving others. So he bought back his practice.
Kuya Rolly’s wife told us that Dad and Kuya Rolly were so close. The hospital staff thought she was his daughter. They were inseparable. Kuya Rolly was the one who called our house when my father had his first heart attack when I was 14. And he was at the hospital 10 years later with my family when my father had open heart surgery. A surgery from which he would never recover.
I now understood why Kuya Rolly was so loyal to my father and family.
My father passed away the year I got married. I asked Kuya Rolly to walk me down the aisle. Though my siblings and I feared my father growing up, through these stories we learn of the man he was outside playing the role of our father.
At this point, I could feel the tears begin to well and had to get up and leave to compose myself. Strange how at the least expected times, the understanding of life and our relationships come full circle and shower us with such pithy epiphanies. I was mourning the father I did not fully get to know. But at least through spending time with his contemporaries, including his cardiologist who joined us on this trip, I could feel close in getting to know him better.
That afternoon, Kuya Rolly called me to help in the Emergency Room. A granddaughter and grandfather suffered a head-on collision with a van. They were on a motorcycle. I took the photos while Drs. John and Cornelia intubated and tried to revive the man. He passed on. The granddaughter was in shock, suffering severe lacerations. She was later taken to a larger hospital for proper attention. It was a bit surreal to be present, taking the photos, knowing I was witnessing his last day. His wife was not there to say goodbye. And it was also the last day for his granddaughter of knowing “normal” at 19. How do they cope in the aftermath? As Cornelia explained, “when we do everything we possibly can, we have to understand [losing them] is part of the job.”
The next day, we were short technicians. Kuya Rolly asked if I would be able to help in the OR. Ever positive, he encouraged me, “I saw you taking photos yesterday. You handled that just fine.” So the doctors talked me through the scrubbing in process and how to keep everything – and I mean everything – sterile.
I held the patient’s arm down and watched quietly while Kuya Rolly made the incision. We were removing a lump from a woman’s breast. He instructed and educated calmly while I held the retractors to keep the area open. He gave the specimens to the pathologist who came back and said it was a malignant tumor. Kuya Rolly was choked up. Prior, as she was wheeled in and nervously looking around, he held her hand and said not to worry. We were here to take care of her. She was only 30 years old.
After a few days of meeting each patient and their families, I walked up and down the halls. I sat with some in the wards and passed out pencils, candy, jewelry and makeup. I looked at the paint-chipped walls and antiquated beds where some patients had to bring their own sheets. And food. The wards in back seemed forgotten in the heat and humidity. The look on their faces, the mumbles in a different dialect but smiles nevertheless, made me want to stay and visit a while. So I did.
At our nightly dinner at the house, I spoke of 19-year-old Letalynn’s dream of working at Boracay, a resort island only a few hours away. And my new friend 70-year-old William, who hopes to someday see his only daughter before he passes away. And as we were talking, Gretchen surprised Divina. Not much shakes Divina, but this brought her to tears. Gretchen found and invited Divina’s cousin Reza and uncle Solomon.
“It was so touching. These relatives I probably should have known years ago, and this was the first connection? It’s embarrassing. We become so self-absorbed in our lives, when there are family members who have a very modest life half a world away. I felt ashamed but at the same time so honored to meet them. What are the odds of Gretchen even knowing these people? Her aunt is married to my uncle? And the proximity of one block away? That is totally crazy. It was fate.”
The next day, we met up with the Medical Mission team of 15+ people. Most were from Milwaukee including students from the Medical College of Wisconsin, some were from Las Vegas and as far as New Zealand. During their mission in the north, they saw 2,000 patients. Unbelievable. Their team was led by Dr. Oscar Toledo. We all spent the next day at the town festival Ati Atihan, which is similar to our Mardi Gras. Thousands dress up and parade to music for hours. I saw Letalynn again and met her husband and mother. It was difficult to say goodbye because I knew we would never see these people again.
We retreated to the next part of our journey and took a boat to the island of Boracay. This was highly anticipated for I had only seen photos of this paradise island in People Magazine or heard of others’ adventures. Divina and I walked a few miles up and down the shore each day. She enjoyed a massage, manicure and pedicure on the beach. We dined, danced, talked and laughed on the beach until moonlight, with the largely European contingency.
My mom mentioned to me I had a cousin who worked on the island but did not know where. She instructed me to find him, Bong Evangelista. Like it’s that easy.
Amusingly enough, it was. A cousin texted me his local phone number. He invited me to the resort he manages, Mandala Spa & Villas. I took a bicycletta five minutes through town to see paradise on paradise. Individual villas with canopy beds and rose petals in the tub. Following Divina’s sentiment, it was humbling to meet my relative… one who is most respectful, kind and hardworking. He introduced me to Dieter, the proprietor, and we chatted on his back veranda about the Filipino culture and our philosophies on life for a good hour. He said, “My son left for Switzerland today. The last piece of advice I gave him was to envision the lifestyle he wanted. Pursue the vision, not the dream job. Then everything will fall into place.” Good food for my thoughts.
Bong and I spent the rest of the evening together, shopping, eating and talking for hours. He talked about his wife and children who he sees every several months. For me, I felt an inner shame of how we complaining Americans really have no idea how lucky we truly are. In the Philippines, there is no choice. And there is no help. People must sacrifice…from the maids who live abroad in order to send money back home, to my cousin who is missing his children grow up, in order to ensure they grow up. He sends money for their education and is barely covering his costs.
We spoke of Bong’s accident which ended his basketball career in the Philippine Basketball Association (our NBA). Some in our group recognized him. He spoke of the shame in starting over as a busboy at a local hotel. “I had no experience. My son was starting school. When the teacher asked, ‘What do your parents do?’ Some said doctor, some said lawyer. How can my son be proud that his father is a busboy?” And when Bong received his first promotion, he told his son straightaway, “Your father is now a supervisor.” And look at Bong now. A facilities manager, customer service manager, bookkeeper…many trades within his 14-hour day at a high-end, world-renowned resort. So proud of you, Bong.
After flying back to Manila for a few days and spending time with more cousins, I began to fear what I already knew might happen – out of sight out of mind. I did not want to forget what I experienced and the lives we touched. And those who touched us. But I was anxious to see my family again. I anticipated the eventual culture shock from leaving a patient, giving and polite culture to a loving but somewhat self-centered culture, but I missed home.
Divina and I had experienced so much…from our new Japanese friend on the outbound flight from Minneapolis, to seeing Divina in her element as a nurse, to meeting the European friends at the outdoor karaoke bar on Boracay. We felt the emotional rollercoaster of connecting with the roots of our history. We came to understand why the romantic fine arts, and the food…the incredible food…are all a part of our culture. And for me, most importantly and introspectively, I had the opportunity to continue to learn more about my incredibly loving father. He paved the way for many and served as a role model in giving back. Lastly, he taught us by example, the importance of service to our fellow man.
Divina and I have sent money back to our relatives and plan on attending the next RMMF Mission in 2012. “It's one of those things that once you experience it, you are compelled to visit again and preserve your roots. It’s the only way for me to feel like I’m giving back. The best part was that we were helping these people get what they needed but wouldn’t be able to get. I do assimilate more with the American culture, but these are my people.”
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