As I watched the taxi-driver shift the gears on the steering wheel of his ’52 Chevy during my direct-route to the beach after my final exam, I began reminiscing over the events from these past two months. Was chasing mosquitoes and doing check-ups on a turtle really that horrible? Everything was put into perspective for me as I looked out at the bright-blue waters of the Cuban coast on my left, taking deep breaths and decompressing from the last 2-months of adventures and 2-weeks of final exams. I realized that mosquito hunting was a huge exercise of pure preventative medicine on the part of the Cuban government. My semester of working in the hospital came to a complete halt to combat the spread of Dengue fever. The Cuban government declared that the health of their people was a priority, and sent us baby-docs into the street to learn what public health really is. U.S. folks who are interested in public health get a masters degree in public health or pay thousands of dollars for elective public health courses, and here I was learning about preventing disease as an integrated part of the medical school curriculum in Cuba…for free. I know I was whining and moaning about the suspension of the semester, because after all I am here to learn medicine. But, when it comes down to it, I really was learning a pertinent part of what medicine is—preventing disease. I was working with the same neighborhood who was actively participating in their own health for 6 weeks. My daily rounds in the neighborhood allowed me to form relationships that I would not have formed if I was in the hospital. House calls still exist! My first week of mosquito-hunting, I met a 17-year old kid (the turtle owner from my blog titled “I hunt for mosquito”), so young and so full of life. The following week, he was traveling back to another state to visit his grandma and decided to go for a walk at the bus-stop. There was an accident and he died. His death not only affected his mom and older-brother, but an entire apartment building that I would describe more as a big house with individual rooms because of the family dynamic between the neighbors. Two years ago, this family suffered through the loss of the dad who died suddenly of a heart attack. I found myself not only taking care of the turtle owner’s mom’s physical manifestations of stress and grief over her son’s death, but also simply stopping by to check on her and the rest of the family. I listened to stories and after a few weeks our visits began to consist of more laughter and less tears. Then, there is my incredibly beautiful (inside and out) new friend, who lives in the same building as the turtle family. I found out over an incredibly abundant lunch-spread at her apartment, that her ex-husband left her to go to the U.S. and had promised to send for her. He re-married in the US. and left her with his 90-year old mother, whom she is caring for and even shares a bed with. She not only cares for her mother –in-law with an inconceivable positive-spirit and amount of love, but also checks in on Margarita (the turtle owner’s mom) and the elderly, eccentric English speaking Richard who has had his foot amputated due to complications from diabetes. What mosquito hunting really taught me is that Cubans are incredibly good at taking care of each other.
These past 2-months challenged my patience, especially as the rumors spread that we might have to repeat the year. I was pissed-off to the “N”th degree, especially as I thought about me being at a critical age in breeding-years. Part of being in medical school, I learn all the risks of being a woman of my age (and still aging) and being a “childless monster” as I am considered in Cuba because I am a 32-year old, childless, un-married woman. There is an increased risk of having a child with Down syndrome and other congenital defects, as well as an increased risk of getting cancer. I am not saying that I am ready to be with child at this very moment, but the administration better not dare mess with my precious breeding years by threatening suspension of an entire year of school ever again.
So, at the 3-year anniversary of my being in Cuba, I am saying “see you later” to the Groundhog –Dengue-Day season and gearing-up for internal medicine and pacing myself for the next 16-weeks of STEP 1 study (countdown to my first board exam). Life is back in perspective for me. Cure: a 20-minute ocean-view trip in a ’52 Chevy with bikini already on under my lab coat and scrub pants because that is how I sat through my theoretical exam, to a beautiful beach right outside of Havana to celebrate the completion of final exams and a farewell to my first (and not last) Dengue Fever season with a few bad-ass, as we now call ourselves, reggaeton doctors.
