Today, after a fascinating, albeit a bit overwhelming, second day of work, I decided to throw on my trainers and go for a run instead of taking the van home. While running away from Yakima Neighborhood Health Services (henceforth ‘YNHS’) towards the general direction of La Case Rodillo Grande (henceforth ‘my house’) I heard a number of hollers, whistles, and obscenities yelled my direction from passing cars or the cars that slowed down beside me. It only took a minute to realize that I am not from this world. Yakima may just be a small city in central Washington, but the city definitely is not home yet. Thankfully, although the city is not yet home, my house and community have quickly taken that role in my life. Over undercooked cookies, a couple bottles of wine, or budget grilled cheese dinners - we still constantly find ourselves exploring the souls of our housemates, finding out what makes each of us tick. We have not lived here for even a week, and already it feels as if our guards are locked in the closet and we are able to ask and tell each other anything. Unfortunately, I think I don’t have any idea how wrong I am going to prove myself in the upcoming months.
My work today at the clinic as a Medical Assistant (MA) consists of prepping and doing workup on patients for doctor or NP exams. Today I learned how to administer vision exams, audio exams, measure and weigh someone (difficult tasks, clearly), and the like. My patients will come from all walks of life, but since YNHS charges on a sliding fee scale, the majority of the patients are hispanic (many non-citizen farm workers) and very low-income. Tomorrow I will work down the road at the free clinic for homeless persons in Yakima. I worked in pediatrics today, and was once again shocked by these adorable children who come in held in the arms of their 15 and 16 year old mothers. It is interesting that in our society I feel that as a 22 year old, college educated, mentally and financially stable (thanks mom and dad), healthy young woman I am completely and utterly unfit to raise a child, yet these loving 13-19 year old mothers are in the clinic day in and out raising these children on their own or with limited assistance.
Last thought- this clinic and its services are largely funded by the US government through a variety of grants and programs, many of which I voted (or would have) against when back home in good old Laconia, NH. I am providing health care for people regardless of their citizenship status. Illegal aliens and US citizens are treated on the same level and receive the same services - funded by American tax dollars. Without explaining too much of my internal struggle at the moment - I am finding it difficult to reconcile my firm fiscal and capitalistic beliefs with the social justice work I am performing. When I am sitting in front of a beautiful little girl who happens to be the daughter of extraordinarily poor Mexican migrant workers there is no doubt in my mind that I should give her a full exam and that everyone in the clinic should do everything in their power to keep her happy and healthy, yet on paper, these costs are a bit more difficult to reconcile. Thanks Dad, you sure engrained these Republican beliefs in my being. How can I find middle ground between the poignant and elegant ideas of Ayn Rand and la niña Mariposa?
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