Jul 2007

Last Saturday I summited Rucu Pinchincha, the 15,500 foot mountain that towers beside Quito. (That's about 1,000 feet higher than any mountain in the continental US.) I went with a few American friends who are serving as interns in Quito for the summer. Pichincha is high enough so that, even as it sits on the equator, it has snow on the top. The top was cold, but much worse, it was very difficult to breath. Our last 150 yards took us half an hour to ascend because we'd take about 6 steps through the steep, soft, sandy terrain and then have to stop to catch our breath. On the way back down, the same 150 yards took us less than 2 minutes. I've felt exhausted from pushing myself physically many times before, but this was a much different feeling - feeling fine throughout my body, yet not having the air to tell myself to keep going.
The top looks sort of like Mordor from Lord of the Rings with its dark, jagged, unfriendly looking rock. It was cloudy at the very top, so I hope to go up again on a clear day. From below the clouds we got a great view of Quito and the surrounding area. I never realized how big the city is.
-Pete

"I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight."
Percy Shelley

In our last three months in Ecuador we have endured cold showers, seven hour bus rides through the jungle without air conditioning, kids throwing up on us, and the Ecuadorian government refusing to let us become legal. However, these things seem trivial when compared to something I like to call the "warm fuzzies." The warm fuzzies are little reminders of why we are here, and they have made our time here worth while. The first time when one of the kids, Angel, cupped his grubby little hands to my face and said, "Te quiero Tesha," or "I love you, Tesha," I thought my heart would burst. That was only the beginning.

The warm fuzzies come in different shapes and sizes but they're mainly due to kids that we work with. Every morning when we arrive at the orphanage there is one little boy named Fabian who runs up to me as fast as his little two-year-old legs can carry him. While he is running, his chubby face spreads widely in a smile and he yells, "Tesha, Tesha!" as he runs. I scoop him up in my arms and he hugs me tightly. It is one of the best feelings to be loved by a child.

Another time that's sure to give me the fuzzies is when we come in the evenings for music. As part of our program at the orphanage, Pete and I come two to three times a week to teach and sing songs with the kids. We sing in both English and Spanish, and we've been amazed at how fast they learn! My favorite song to sing at music time is "Old McDonald" because the kids love to choose the wildest animals for Mr. McDonald's farm. Inwardly I laugh as together 15 toddlers and I sing "Old McDonald had a tiger" and then we all roar as loudly as we can. Sometimes, after music, when we're tucking the kids into their beds, I hear them drifting off to sleep singing softly, "E-I-E-I-O."

Many times after music, we arrive at our house just as the sun begins to set. Sometimes, Cayambe, the third highest peak in Ecuador at almost 19,000 feet, is just visible through the clouds. This produces a different kind of warm fuzzies which is more of awe for such a majestic mountain. Recently, it was an unusually brisk evening and we could see Cayambe clearly from our balcony. Pete and I took a blanket out to the balcony and watched the sun set turning the mountain beautiful shades of red and purple.

Living in Ecuador with its many inconveniences, causes us to remember that the small trinkets of joy that we get from working with kids or witnessing the beauty in nature are some of the most rewarding experiences in life. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said it best when he wrote, "Tell me not, in mournful numbers life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers and things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art; to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul."

Today was a day mixed with sadness and relief as one of FHC's children, Teresa, died today. Poor little Teresa (or Teresita, "Little Teresa," as she was called by her tias) lived only to be six months old. She went to be in paradise with her heavenly father early this morning after spending the last two months in a children's hospital here in Quito.

Teresa was one of the first babies that I got a chance to work with. Teresa's biological mother was very young and "fell down some stairs" causing her to go prematurely into labor when she was still only about 7 and a 1/2 months pregnant. I used parenthesis for "fell down" because there is some debate over whether or not the mother purposely tried to do something to end her pregnancy early. Shortly after Theresa was born, weighing only 3 pounds, her mother abandoned her at the hospital. So as a result, Teresa was born with many problems. For starters, she was diagnosed with hydrocephalus (excess fluid in the brain), and sepsis (an immune system response to an infection, causing severe inflammation, faster breathing, faster heart rate, and a higher body temperature). Teresa spent the first three weeks of her life in intensive care and was brought to FHC needing 24-hour supplemental oxygen and a feeding tube.

In my first month at FHC, I accompanied Teresa and her tias on many doctor's visits. It seemed like if Teresa wasn't sleeping or eating she was going to the doctors. She was still on supplemental oxygen but started to be able to eat from a bottle. She was a sweet baby girl who loved to be held. We had high hopes for her until about a month and half-ago when she developed pneumonia and had to be taken to the hospital again. We didn't get to visit her in the hospital, but we felt comfortable knowing that FHC sent a tia to be with her 24 hours a day while she was there. This is why I wrote in the first sentence that is Teresa's death comes as sadness and as a relief, in that she had suffered so much for someone so who lived such a short time.

Teresita's little body is being kept at FHC today and tomorrow for her memorial service. I had the strange experience of unexpectedly walking into the room where they are keeping her body. I've seen the dead body of my grandma at her viewing service, but I've never seen a dead baby before. It was so sad and surreal at the same time. What struck me were her tiny little eyelashes. She looked like a little sleeping doll, except that Teresa had long, beautiful eyelashes that you could tell were real.

So that is Teresa's story. I felt that someone should tell it in honor of her memory. At least I know that while she was a FHC, she was given the best care available by the tias here. I know nothing can compare to a mother's love but the tias tried their very best to love that little girl. Please pray for these tias when you think of them because Teresa’s death is difficult for them right now, and rejoice that this little girl has now gone home to a place where she will suffer no more.