Chapter 3, Daily Routine: Clinic at the Orphanage

This is a long one. Get yourself a cup of coffee.

This is the orphanage where we worked most of the two weeks we spent in Cambodia. It is called Ou Ambel, and is one of over 100 orphanages in the country ran by the Foursquare Children of Promise (FCOP).







It is located on a dusty dirt road just off of the main road in Sisophon.


Before I get too involved talking about clinic life, let me first officially introduce our team: Back, L to R- Jim Stephens (assistant), Franklin's daughter Brittany Young (assist.) Me, Franklin Young (dentist) Front row- Darold "Slacker" Slack (assist), Mike Eilers (dentist), Mary Kay Eilers (hygienist), Pat Long (assist.), and Dave Long (dentist).


Our Cambodian team members: L to R: Ratha, Rit, Jork, San, Tola, and Bot.


There was another dental student on the team. His name was Da. He was only with us the first week, and I don't have a good picture of him. Here he is with Franklin. He is very stylish; quite the fashionista. When our team was first learning the students' names, behind the scenes one of us would refer to Da, and the other would say, "Now which one is Da, again?"
"You know, Prada glasses."
"Oh, yes. Prada glasses."
That's Da on the left.


Anyway. Each morning began with Franklin screening the patients. Written on a small white slip would be the only information we had on each child, which included the name, age -sometimes a guess- , orphanage, and dental needs.




Here is our clinic. One side of the room was the treatment side, the middle was the supply table, and the other side was the waiting area.






There was no running water or electricity at Ou Ambel, so all of our dental equipment was ran by a generator. We wore headlamps for light. This is our sterilizer. We boiled the instruments.


The kids would sit and wait, patiently, along one side of the clinic, directly across from where we were working. They would wait for hours (and I mean hours). I never saw kids freak out, or become impatient, or whine. They just sat and waited for their turn to be seen.


We treated the dental needs of the children of Ou Ambel, then each day after that, they'd truck in kids from other orphanages. And by "truck them in", this is what I mean: I am getting ahead of the story here, but this is a picture of an entire orphanage-load of kids, leaving after a long day at the clinic, packed into the back of this small truck. We counted 25 kids in the bed of that truck (with 10 more in the cab). They did have a bit of a system- The bigger kids sat along the perimeter, with the smaller kids in the middle and standing room only in the center. At least they implemented safety measures wherever they could. You can't really tell from the picture, but it was actually pretty dark by the time they left. They had about a 30 mile drive back.



Back to the story...I photographed this sweet boy as he sat and waited.


Hours later, still waiting, he eventually gave up and conked out.






My first day in the clinic, I instantly knew I was doing what God put me on the Earth to do. Besides becoming a mother, I have never been so sure of anything. I felt it sitting down with my first patient. I remember thinking about my one patient back home who said to me, "I don't know why anyone would EVER want to do that." I thought to myself, "Who wouldn't??" Serving a mission like this was the best of everything I love to do.

It was hard for me to not be able to communicate with these kids. Most times we didn't have anyone to translate. I couldn't ask them if they were scared or if it hurt...and you'd otherwise never know because they always laid there like perfect little mannequins. The were the best patients. So I got into the habit of doing this little trick that my friend Slacker showed me. Right when I got the patient into the chair, I'd pull my chair up real close to them (like the 10 o'clock position). I'd kind of drape my left arm around the top of their head and place my left palm against their cheek. Then I would take my right hand and lay it right across their chest. Normally, at home, I am not so affectionate with my patients. These are orphans, though, and I wanted them to feel comforted. But I used it as a gauge. I could feel their heart rate, and if they were scared, their heart would be pounding out of their chest. This, sadly, was often the case.

I remember when I came home, Erika asked me what the best and worst parts of my mission were. My first thought was everything, and nothing, respectively. But after a little thought, sitting in those plastic red chairs for 9-12 hours a day was the worst (aside from saying my goodbyes, that sucked, too). I took for granted the luxuries my chair back at home provides: A nice cushion, and up-and-down lever, and WHEELES! Oh how I missed the ability to swivel!!


We had no charts, no x-rays, no medical histories, no antibiotics, and no real way to follow-up.




I remember this one boy in particular. He was probably 6 or 7. He had on pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a jeans jacket buttoned all the way up. Then, we always covered the patient in the chair with a fleece blanket. I never understood this...but then found out it is another comfort measure. But they always wanted the blanket when I offered it so after a while I just stopped offering and just draped it over them. Just looking at them made me hot. Mind you- everyday I was in Cambodia it usually hovered around 90 degrees and I'd be sitting there sweating in my capris-and-flip-flops clinic attire. Anyway, back to jacket boy. So he is laying there all bundled up, and this big old fly starts to land on his face, over and over. This kid does not even flinch. I couldn't believe it. It would drive. me. nuts. Then, when I was finished with him, he had to wait another 3 hours do see the Dr for some extractions. This particular series of events would be the purest form of punishment for my kids (whatever we did, mom, we're sorry. Please don't make us suffer in the heat with a fly attacking our face and then after that make us sit against a wall for 3 hours, then pull out some of our teeth. We'll behave!) But this kid never made a peep the whole day.

There is Dave. Hi Dave!

Each day for lunch Jork would bring us takeout. Either fried noodles or fried rice. We'd sit in a big circle. After lunch we'd usually go out for a walk.

Hi Tola.

One great part about working with the dental students was trading jobs. Here Tola was doing a cleaning while I assisted. It was nice to have little breaks here and there.

Here is Prada Glasses. I mean Da.

Franklin

Da extracting. I was bummed I never got to pull a tooth...but I did get to drill out a cavity once. It was Dave's idea. It was fun.


Ok, if you have a weak stomach close your eyes and quickly scroll past the next two photos.

Still here? Cool. The next photo is of a little boy (about age 6). I was counting the abscessed teeth. He had 3...in 3 different quadrants. In the photo you can see I have cleaned the 2 more forward teeth, and have yet to get to the 3 teeth towards the back. See the red lump on his gums just in front of my finger? That is a fistula, which is a manifestation of an abscess. I had a hard time with this kid...It broke my heart knowing how much pain he had been in...and for how long he had to have been hurting for it to get to this point...yet he didn't make a peep, of course. Such is life as a Cambodian orphan. They tolerate because they have learned to. It makes me sad.

This is a typical mouth...lots of calculus.

Dave and Tola


Ratha assisting Mary Kay. We'd fight over Ratha because he was such a good hygiene assistant!

Mike and Bot. I know these two became friends for life.





Hi Pat!