a dying promise

Today I took a few volunteers to a nearby town called San Jorge.  We were scheduled to do a few home visits and then stop in at the preschool and load up on hugs and smiles.  It turned out to be a very different morning.

Our second stop was a man named Rodrigo.  He's been suffering from diabetes for 7 years, has never had a constant supply of insulin, and so he's in and out of the hospital frequently.  We had heard he was doing badly again and so we wanted to stop in and get an update and see what we could do.  On these trips, I'm normally accompanied by my co-worker, Elisa, who is fluent in Kaqchiquel, as most people in San Jorge don't speak Spanish well.  It just so happened that Rodrigo is Elisa's uncle, so she was more than happy to accompany us on the visit.

I came in to work this morning ready for our visits when Elisa told me that Rodrigo was not doing well at all.  He had taken a turn for the worse and the family was beginning to gather around him.  I knew what that meant.  If someone is near death the entire family is called in and everyone surrounds the bed and waits together until the final hour.  I asked Elisa if we should still visit him, since I was bringing 3 white visitors with me.  But she was anxious to return to his home, so we all went.

Upon entering the small home, I immediately saw women crying and my heart sank.  Guatemalans don't show a lot of emotion, so I knew it was bad.  We were led into a small bedroom where an extremely thin, frail man lay in a bed under 3 blankets.  He was surrounded by his wife and other family members.  The room was hot and sticky and quiet as people cried silently.

It was a difficult situation to walk into, but I talked with the wife and took notes concerning his health.  He hadn't eaten in 3 days, he was mostly unconscious, and he did not want to return to the hospital.  If someone is admitted to the hospital and ends up dying in the hospital, it's a very expensive ordeal.  Not only does the family have to pay for the hospital bills, but they also have to pay for a specially licensed car to transport the corpse back to their town.  This is very expensive and has actually caused some families to leave their deceased loved ones in the hospital because they can't afford the transportation costs.

Between the hospital bills and funeral costs, many families go into great debt when a loved one dies.  Rodrigo did not want to put his family in this financial turmoil, so he was confident that he didn't want to return to the hospital.

After about 45 minutes of talking with the family, we decided it was time to go.  Rodrigo appeared asleep, or unconscious, during our entire visit.  I was proud of myself for keeping my emotions in check, although I had teared up once I didn't think anyone noticed.  We were walking out when Elisa called me to quickly come back.  Rodrigo had woken up.

We returned into the room and the family immediately ushered me to Rodrigo's bedside. Me?! Why me?! If he's only awake for a few moments shouldn't his wife and family talk with him?  But the family guided me to the edge of his bed, where I timidly sat.

Rodrigo slowly stretched his hand out toward me and I held his cold hand in my own.  It appeared to take him much effort and time, but he slowly told me that he was worried for his 4 children.  He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Please help my family. They need food. I worry for them."  I gently stroked his hand and told him that I would help them.  I wouldn't leave his children with nothing to eat.  I told him not to worry, that he needed his rest, and that I would find a way to help his children.

He slowly raised his other hand and painfully told me thank you.  He slowly said he was grateful that I was there and would help his family.  He said "May God bless you and reward you."  At that point I burst into tears.  I did not feel like I should be the one sitting on his bed holding his hand, I felt inadequate and at a loss.  I wanted to do more, go get my boss or someone with any type of authority to come and talk to him and assure him we would help.  Who am I to offer this dying man any type of hope or peace?  What could I give him?  Just my word.  Against all of Mayan Families rules, I promised him that I would personally help him and I told him I was praying for him and his family.  I told him God had blessed him with a beautiful family and I would make sure they were cared for.

Elisa and I sat on his bed and just cried.  I had nothing to offer them except my word that I would help this family.  It's hard enough to find words to say during these moments in English...let alone Spanish.  I got up and asked his wife to sit with him, that I wanted her to have the chance to talk to him.

I felt like I shouldn't have been the one talking to this dying man.  My Spanish was broken, my voice wavered with tears, my word was all I had to give.  But the family believed that I could do something, that I could help in ways that they cannot.  So they wanted Rodrigo to have the chance to ask me for help, to hear from me that I would find a way, to rest at peace knowing that someone somewhere was going to help him.  It's been a few hours since I left them and the weight of my promise still lays heavy on my heart.

We were able to bring a doctor to his bedside, who says that he'd have a chance at survival if he'd go to a doctor right away.  But Rodrigo refuses.  His family supports him.  Deep within they know that he is dying and they can't afford to have him die in a hospital.  As we were leaving, the family bought 4 bottles of pure water for myself and the other visitors.  They wanted to give us something for visiting.  I was sick at the thought of accepting anything from them, but I knew how offensive it would be to decline.

The injustice of the situation is that Rodrigo spent his life working in the fields to take care of his family.  He contracted a disease that should have been manageable with medication, but his poverty prevented him from having proper treatment.  So he now lies on his deathbed, too poor to die in a hospital where he may have a fighting chance.  And during his final moments on this earth, he worries for his family.  He worries that they won't have enough to eat.  He worries that his illness will leave his family in debt.  And he has no one with any resources to voice his worries to than a young white girl who just happened to pay him a visit that day.  He and his family have no where else to go.  He can't even afford to die.