Beginning

Whoa, I know...another ridiculously long post. But it covers a whole week in Ukraine! And I feel like there's so much more I could have said...I like the part at the end, so you can always skip to there. Still no pictures, but I hope to post some someday soon.
Also, I do love hearing from all of you! Hint-hint...comments, questions, Facebook, email, pony express...

I think part of me has been putting off writing this post. Yes, it's busy here and finding a period of time to write a long note without a dozen 11-year-old girls coming to tap at my tablet is difficult...but I think it's more than that. I'm not sure where to start...how to describe this place and these people...how to explain what I'm learning and how I feel about being here when I'm not even sure myself. But I think I owe you an effort. So here goes.
I wrote my last post on the train from Budapest. After writing that post I switched trains in Zahony (Hungary), and crossed the border into Chop (Ukraine). At the Chop station I waited in a short line at customs to officially enter Ukraine. As I waited I prayed that they wouldn't search my bag, the way they were every other person's. No, I wasn't smuggling drugs or illegal fireworks...I just really, really didn't want to unpack and repack my entire bag. The fierce-looking customs woman I was assigned to barked at me in Ukrainian as I hauled my bag onto her table. "English?" I asked faintly. She stopped, eyed me, then with a terse smile replied, "Why not?" She asked me a few questions in English about where I was going and what I would be doing, smiled at my answers and looked at me like I was a crazy person, then waved me into the next room without even opening my bag.
I bewilderedly scanned the area as I stepped into the waiting room, and almost immediately heard a kind voice say my name. The voice belonged to Pal Oroszi, the Ukrainian doctor who had arranged for my visit, and as I shook his hand I saw that his eyes and smile matched his voice (was that line too cheesy?). This was a good man, and he was here to help me.
Dr. Pal walked me out to his car, insisting on hauling my giant bag. We pulled away from the station and as we drove through the countryside he explained some of the history of this area of Ukraine. Although I don't remember all of the details anymore, during the past hundred years or so this region has been a part of Hungary, Czechoslovakia, the U.S.S.R., and of course now Ukraine. The people here still consider themselves Hungarian, and although the official language is Ukrainian (and is understood by nearly all), Hungarian is the first language.
The day was beautiful, probably in the 60's, with the sun shining. The countryside was flat and open, and as we bumped along the rough road I saw that most of the land seemed to consist of small farms. Men were out harvesting crops by tractor and by hand, and we passed gypsy families on horses and in carts.
Dr. Pal drove me directly to the orphanage, and the rest of the day became a blur of faces and strange names. I met the director of the orphanage and his son, women who work at the orphanage, dozens of girls who live at the orphanage, and not one but two nurses named Margit (that seemed like an unnecessary trick to confuse me). The room I was given was nicer than I had ever expected with two beds, two chairs, a desk, my own bathroom and shower, and even a TV with a couple of fuzzy Hungarian channels. In the afternoon Dr. Pal took me to two gypsy camps in the neighboring villages of Kisdobrony and Telek, where I met the second nurse Margit (Gitka), a gypsy pastor, preschool teachers, and other gypsies in the camps. When we arrived at the first camp we were invited into one of the gypsy homes, where Gitka was giving an IV antibiotic to an older woman.
Since the Roma in this area are no longer nomads, the camps are more like small villages on the edges of villages Many have no running water or sewage system, and some are without electricity. The houses I have seen are cramped and dirty. Young children go to the bathroom in the street, along with the numerous dogs and cats present in each camp. Yet the people I have met in the camps are friendly, quick to smile and to laugh. They know and trust Gitka, and as her friend I have been welcomed into their homes, where they try to communicate with me through Hungarian and Russian. The children are beautiful and like most children, are always ready for a game or a joke.
Dr. Pal left me on Monday afternoon, and I was given Monday evening and Tuesday to settle into my new life at the orphanage. The orphanage is officially known as The Good Samaritan Children's Home, and was founded (in the late 1990s?) by some sort of Dutch organization. Since this area of Ukraine consists almost entirely of Reformed congregations, it receives a huge amount of financial and volunteer support from Dutch reformed congregations. The orphanage has its own guesthouse, farm, and bakery, and is home to roughly 70 girls, ranging in age from about five to twenty-five. Many of the girls here have physical or mental disabilities, while others simply needed a home. These girls are already near and dear to my heart...I will write about them more at the end of this post.
On Wednesday I visited The Luke Society Clinic in Mukachevo, where Dr. Pal works. He gave me a tour of the facility, which was larger than I expected, and extremely BUSY. Although visits to this clinic are not free for Ukrainians the way visits to government clinics are, the expertise and quality of care in the clinic make it popular with Ukrainians throughout the region. Compared to the U.S. prices are extremely low...just enough to cover the cost of supplies and the salaries of doctors and nurses, which are about $250 and $200 per month respectively. A colonoscopy at the clinic costs about $5. Ukrainians have been reluctant to pay for screenings such as colonoscopies and mammograms, so by keeping these costs low, the clinic hopes to increase the number of Ukrainians who seek this preventative care. They also distribute coupons for the clinic to local churches to distribute to those in their communities who may be most unable to pay for care.
After visiting the Mukachevo clinic I rode about 45 minutes with Dr. Pal and Dr. Laszlo (another doctor from the clinic) to a smaller satellite clinic in a different village. There I got another tour of the facility, sat in on a couple of Dr. Pal's patient visits, and ate a lot of traditional Hungarian foods to celebrate a birthday of another doctor. Strangely enough, I also discovered that one of the women I met at that clinic is good friends with Anika, a Ukrainian student I met on Mackinac Island two years ago. It truly is a small world. Or it could be that Anika really gets around.
On Wednesday night I called Gitka, the nurse I am supposed to work with here, to try to figure out where and when we would meet the next day. The problem is, I only speak English and a very tiny bit of Russian. Gitka speaks Hungarian, Ukrainian, Russian, and less English than I speak Russian. Have you ever tried to talk over the phone with someone who speaks a different language? Other than a telemarketer? I wouldn't recommend it. We finally figured out that I would ride my bike to her house the next morning at nine, which would have worked well if my bike hadn't disappeared the next morning, and if I had remembered with more certainty where her house actually was...
Anyway, I eventually made it. That day and the next (Friday) I visited gypsy camps with Gitka. Gitka and I have an odd relationship...we use a lot of gestures, pictures, and strange combinations of English, Russian, and Hungarian...but somehow (other than over the phone) it sort of works. I feel like she and her family have sort of adopted me. I've picked corn with her and her husband, I've played with her sons, I've met her parents and their cows, and I've visited the cemetery with her family to decorate graves. I don't know how she puts up with me...I don't think I could. She is a such a gracious person. I am so grateful for her and her family's kindness.
Although Gitka and I visited gypsy homes on Thursday and Friday, not much of our work was really medical. We helped at the preschools in the camps, where the goal is to teach the children hygiene and basics like colors and numbers, so that they have a chance of entering Ukrainian state schools and possibly someday leaving the camps. We did head checks at one preschool, and about half of the kids had lice. Gitka sprayed their heads, but there really wasn't much we could do. My head started to feel very itchy, though...
This week I met some of the people responsible for establishing gypsy preschools, a group of about fifteen Dutch folks staying in the guest house next to the orphanage. They invited me over on Thursday night for chocolate, drinks, and wonderful ENGLISH conversation! Several of them spoke English very well, and I think I spoke more English that night than I had spoken the entire week. They invited me out to dinner with them on Friday night, to celebrate having built two Roma preschools in the week they had been in Ukraine. They really are an amazing team, and great at what they do. Some of them have come to Ukraine for building projects eight or nine times now in the past several years. We had a lovely dinner (I have to say, better than the orphanage food...), and they introduced me to some native missionaries and a translator who had helped their team. Since the group from Holland always stays at the guest house they were very familiar with the orphanage, and able to clear up some of my questions about the place. They also gave me their contact info and phone numbers of some locals, so I don't feel so isolated. They left early Saturday morning, and I was very sorry to see them go.
On Saturday I walked to the local market, spent time with the girls, and had dinner with a group of locals at Victoria's apartment (Victoria works at the orphanage and speaks some English). This morning I walked into town again to the single church in Nagydobrony, where an old babushka (actually she'd be called a "mama" in Hungarian), grabbed my hand, led me inside, and shared her songbook while I tried to stumble though Hungarian hymns. Today is Monday...I was planning on heading to one of the camps, but I've decided to take the day off to rest and allow my immune system to kick a nasty Ukrainian cold.
So...there it is. You're pretty much caught up on my life, except I haven't yet talked about the girls here.
In a nutshell...they're amazing. They're quick to love and eager to be loved, even by a stranger who doesn't speak their language. And they're so easy to love. They're sweet girls, who look out for each other and for me. They make sure I have enough to eat at each meal, they loan me their bicycles, and they teach me Hungarian. Slowly I'm learning their names...Timea, Tunde, Judit, Bella, Morica, Yulika, Anita, Ruslana, Slava, Sila, Vicki, Angela, Sveta, Valentina, and so many, many more. And slowly I'm learning their stories...two girls abandoned naked in the street as babies, another separated from her brother and brought to the home after her father was killed, and another unable to walk after a fall from a tree and incorrect treatment by Ukrainian doctors.
Sometimes I feel so helpless here in Ukraine...there's so much I can't communicate, and so much I'm not sure how to do. But I know how to love these girls. We can't always talk, but I can play with them, tickle them, laugh with them, hug them. They hang onto every smile, every touch. They come sit on my lap, braid my hair, and give me kisses. I feel like Wendy when she goes to Neverland with Peter Pan and meets all the Lost Boys, except my children are girls and infinitely better. So when I feel frustrated here, especially about language, or about not doing as much nursing as I'd like to be doing...I've started to remind myself of this:

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging symbol. If I've been given the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge but have not love, I gain nothing,"

So loving these girls...I think it's a good place to begin.