Breathless in Peru
It’s not often that I’m at a loss for words. But the recent research trip I took to Peru with a group of medical missionaries has left me with strangely little to say. How can I describe such an experience? Was it fun? Not really, although we met some amazing people. Interesting? Most definitely. And I did get some wonderful details for my book.
We spent the week working in the villages outside Ayaviri, which lies at nearly 13,000 ft. in the Andes Mountains. Ayaviri is a cold, treeless place, with brutal sunlight and chilling winds. Most of the villagers live in absolute poverty in mud huts with thatched roofs, with no running water, no plumbing or heat. They raise pigs, sheep, alpacas and cattle on their small plots of land, grow various types of potatoes and beans.
Women work in the fields with babies tied to their backs in colorful blankets. Health care is limited or non-existent. Parasites and disease take an early toll. Even the children’s cute, rosy cheeks are due to sun damage, inevitable in such thin mountain air.
There is no tourism in that part of Peru, so foreigners are rare. Many of the village children gaped at my blond hair and backed away when I approached, which I found disconcerting. I finally managed to win them over by offering to weigh them on an old bathroom scale. My husband was a much bigger hit with his basketball skills — he was probably the only person they’d ever seen who could really play. Or maybe just the only gringo. Either way, he was a popular guy.
Luckily, we had a group of student nurses helping us for most of the week. They translated from Quechua into Spanish, which another woman and I then translated into English for the doctors. The system worked well, and by the end of the week we’d seen nearly a thousand patients — not too bad for a small mobile clinic. And the nurses taught me several Quechua phrases I can use in my upcoming book.
Will I go back? Hard to say. Unfortunately, I didn’t do too well at that altitude. Despite my precautions, I came down with altitude sickness — a rather benign name for a potentially fatal condition. My oxygen level dipped to a precarious 71%, giving me a terrible headache and making me so breathless that even walking across a room left me gasping for air. By upping my altitude medication and drinking the local remedy (coca tea) I managed to avoid evacuation, although I remained exhausted the entire week.
Did we make a lasting difference? I guess we tried… which is all any of us can do in our lives. And a trip like that certainly puts our own problems in perspective. Now if I can just add that realism to my book…
(I don’t know how the emoticons work. I hope I got the one with the mouth opened wide and not the word eek…)
