Yma Winton
It had taken three planes and over fourteen hours of travel time to reach Rio de Janeiro. I was exhausted and my concept of time was completely frazzled. After dropping my luggage off in my room, my mission partner and I made our way to the very first team meeting.
People were still trickling in from the airport and nearly everyone looked rather deprived of sleep, yet I could still fell an insurmountable amount of positive energy flowing from each and every team member. We were informed that the following week would be long, and full of ups and downs.
The team leaders encouraged us to feed off of each other’s energy; I figured that would be easy considering the all of the positive energy I sensed from my surrounding team members.
With a nice rest and the start of a new day, I knew that I would be all set to fulfill responsibilities as a student volunteer.
It took twenty minutes the next morning to drive from the hotel to the hospital. I was more anxious than ever, as we stepped off the bus and I was confronted with well over 400 restless eyes. In that very moment reality set in.
As the day progressed, my nerves died down and I became increasingly comfortable connecting with the families. After a few hours of working inside, helping the patients and their families along the screening process, I decided to go outside and play with the children who were still waiting to begin the screening process.
I was met by a sea of Portuguese, understanding absolutely nothing I just smiled and began blowing bubbles. I found myself being surrounded by more and more children by the minute, so I started handing out bubbles to all of the delighted children. A little ways away, there was a little girl dressed in all pink holding the hand of an older woman. Her big, brown eyes were wide and filled with curiosity. I stood up and went to where she was standing with a smile containing all of the warmth I could possibly exude.
She shyly moved behind the woman’s leg so I whipped out the bubbles. A smile crept onto her face as she reached for the glistening bubbles that floated past her. Slowly she advanced towards the larger group of children who were blowing, swatting and popping bubbles along with plastering stickers all over myself and each other.
Her name was Ana Julia, and I wondered what her story was. The first day of screening came and left, a lot faster than I thought possible. I saw hundreds of kids that day, but Ana Julia’s big, brown eyes stuck with me.
A week later, Ana Julia arrived at the hospital with her grandmother. It was just about time for her operation. Her eyes were filled with eager anticipation and I could feel her nervousness. Ana Julia took my hand and we walked down the hallway to the play room, where the other pre-op and post-op kids were.
As she played with the various toys in the bubble-filled room, it was as if she forgot all about her surgery. Curious, I sought out a translator and then found her grandmother; I felt the need to know more about this little girl. After about fifteen minutes, I had learned so much about Ana Julia.
She was the youngest of four siblings and the only one with a cleft of any kind. Her mother was a cocaine addict who consumed alcohol while pregnant with Ana Julia. There also a high likelihood that Ana Julia’s mother smoked cigarettes while she was pregnant with her. The doctors believed that the choices Ana Julia’s mother made were responsible for Ana Julia being born with a cleft palate.
For being a three year old girl, Ana Julia had already been through so much, even if she didn’t know it. All it took was a two and a half hour bus ride and a simple surgery to change Julia’s life forever.
Only a few hours later, Ana Julia’s surgery was complete. She was back from the operating room, still lying asleep in the recovery room. Once she woke up, mayhem broke loose. Her tears began to stream so I tried blowing bubbles and I brought her a load of stuffed animals, but it didn’t’ do the trick this time. We brought her grandmother to her to help calm her down a little.
As she lay in her grandmother’s arms crying you could see that she was exhausted. It had been a long day. Ana Julia and her grandmother were wheeled back down to the post-op area. As night came, Ana Julia continued to sleep. The next morning she was the first patient I went to check on. She lay drowsy, still waking up from the last night’s sleep. I walked to her bedside, happy to see that she was doing well. I whipped out the bubbles, as they drifted above her head and throughout the room, her eyes filled with joy, and that same smile that I knew from screening the week before crept onto her face.
Junior at The Brentwood School, Los Angeles, Calif. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: August 6-14, 2009
