Emotions Running Wild

How are YOU feeling today? Where do I even begin? As I hold fourteen pages of notes in my hands, my brain continues to swirl with the possible starting points for this new post. Yesterday I experienced almost every emotion you see on this mood poster, and saying that I'm mentally exhausted is truly an understatement. For the most part, I am angry and frustrated for the children, for their living conditions, for their meal portions, for the lack of love in some of their homes. My current headache effectively represents the unfathomable craziness I witnessed today. So I ask myself again, how am I really feeling? Words, literally, cannot express my feelings, so I will strive to do my best.

Needless to say I am beyond maddened by what I've witnessed! Below you can see Marisol, the first child on our home visits with the Ministerio de Familia (similar to social services) and Magali, the supervisor. Marisol is 2 years old and is seriously malnourished, and in all reality, the cause of her current state is exactly that, a severe lack of nutrients in her diet as the mother could not afford to purchase food or milk. When Judith, her young, healthy mother, articulated that Marisol's 4 year old sister Selena was just fine, I was curious to know how this heartbreaking situation came to be. I then asked how much governmental funding they receive per month, and when I found out they receive 40-50 dollars, I was appalled and could feel a burning transpire from within, radiating anger from my soul. This family is receiving money BECAUSE OF Marisol and she is bedridden here shaking, terrified, skin and bones! The funds are supposed to be used on behalf of this beautiful human, yet she lies exposed, trembling like an overturned ladybug. I was sick. (and still am)

Pictured below is Deanna Valentina, the second child we encountered during our emotional afternoon.  Deanna is 15 months old, severely malnourished, and has a pulmonary disease yet to be identified. Walking up to the crib, any outsider would mistake Deanna for a healthy child with her dreamy blue eyes and jet black, curly locks. But as we drew near, it was impossible to look beyond the frail limbs and blue fingers, toes, lips and nose. After interviewing Teresa Mendoza, her young mother, we learned that the doctor has discouraged physical therapy, stating that Deanna would not benefit from it. (I respectfully disagree!) I couldn't help but resist the need to hold her, smother her with a hug and many meaningful kisses, so I did. And I held her...held her so tight that I could feel her rapid heartbeat pulsating against mine, gazing into her eyes whispering, "Baby, baby, baby."I felt so helpless in that moment, feelings of resentment transpiring, both against the doctor and the situation in general, and then I handed her back to her grandma, quickly turning my head to discretely hide my tears. 

That human beings can live in conditions like the ones we discovered on our third home visit is baffling to me. I couldn’t help but gawk at the swarms of rusty cables and wires decorating the ceiling, the seemingly endless piles of filthy laundry, the dust-covered wheelchair smothered with cobwebs, or the food processor lined with moldy flesh-colored paste. A new, shiny tricycle and a man in sparkling white pants superficially masked the deteriorative state of this home. When we told Marvin, the father-in-law, we were there to see Julissa, he proceeded to reveal one of the most horrifying circumstances I have ever seen. With a smile he replied, “Si, si!” Marvin then grabbed the door handle on his left, pushed it open, flipped on the light, and said, “Aqui.” At that moment in time I stopped breathing and succumbed to incredible anger and hate. (insert anxiety, awe, vomit, and tears here) Lying on the floor in the dark with a bright pink, shredded plastic bag was a human being, a 22-year-old girl named Julissa. Wearing only a sea foam tank and a pillowcase functioning as a diaper, here lay another beautiful girl, kept alive to bring in the money. She remains here, on the floor every day, having sporadic Gran Mal seizures like the one we observed today. I used every last bit of integrity and tolerance to hold myself back from strangling her mother, Gesenia, who arrived in minutes with the 10-year-old brother Darwin. Julissa was born with lesions on her brain and lived with her grandma up until 7 years ago; unfortunately, the grandma passed away. While conversing with the family, who by the way stood in front of Julissa’s doorway appearing embarrassed, Julissa proceeded to smile, yelp, and completely turn herself around, thus slamming her head into the concrete, all the while shredding a plastic bag. Gesenia continues to refuse physical therapy for her, and has for the past 7 years. What does she have to lose? God forbid her daughter's health improve and she might have to be more attentive? To think that they are keeping her alive, in a dark closet, just to secure forty dollars a month? For what? Sparkling clean clothes and dinners out on the town? Julissa’s family is living “the life” while minimally keeping her alive. Who determines when their funding should be cut? Are they really following the rules? I am angry, I am sickened, and I am distressed to say the least. 

God bless you, Julissa, Deanna and Marisol. You will forever hold a special place in my heart, and I pray I have the opportunity to see you again. xoxo