Long Tail, Short Tale
This is a short tale of 24 hours. Here is the background information. My buddy and I moved into an apartment with a Cuban named Tony. Tony moved onto the couch. We found Maida, an endearing mother figure of 56 years of age to cook a pot of beans on Mondays. The “sopa de sustancia” (soup of substance) that they serve in the school cafeteria is thin and mysterious…and can you think of a more communist name for soup!?
So Buddy and I started talking. The Cuban on the Couch scenario was getting old quickly and for the price, we agreed that he was exploiting us by not leaving (and eating our food to boot). We came home from school on Monday having decided to confront him. Maida was in the kitchen preparing to cook the pot of beans. There was a long frozen tail in the pot, at least a foot long and tapering to a fine point. It was rigid and gray, with coarse hairs missed in a quick shave. She said, “for sustancia!”…mystery solved. I walked back to my bedroom, where I hide from Tony and saw that he had moved a bed into his room. Buddy and I said something about how great it was that he got a bed and would move off the couch. Maida chimed in, “Yes, Cosita (the neighborhood nurse) loaned it to me…so that I can take better care of you!” She was moving in.
It was a friend’s birthday and we were meeting up at the famous chocolate truffles and decadent drinks spot in the mall, “Chocolates de Baracoa”. The menu alone looked good enough to eat. The Birthday girl started, “I’ll have the Chocolate mousse.” Well, she got the only one. From that point on, the 17 year old girl with the prickly personality of a 65 year old diner waitress would respond, “We’re out of that, what else do you want.” Everyone ended up with chocolate milk…the choice was “Hot or Cold.” Buddy said, “It’s so commi! Let’s go get some peso beers!”
I went to the hospital today for my 6th day in a row. I am learning the Physical Exam in the Geriatrics ward. My patient, a 78 year old with diabetes, hypertension and now Dengue was going on her 6th day, too. I assessed her and we talked about the sky, “It looks like it might rain.” I told her she would be going home tomorrow and we would have to say good-bye today. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Let me give you my phone number so that you can come and visit me.” She said, “We are poor, very poor, but what we have we give with our hearts.” The old lady with rheumatoid arthritis in the bed next to her agreed. And it is true, Cubans are poor. But where else in the world can you make $20 a month and have your own Rheumatologist?
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Breaking out of Quarantine
I broke out of quarantine on day two with the help of my buddy, Sarah, and my Cuban friend, Yeilette. They went with my bags and I strolled out the front door a minute later with my eyes set forward. The male nurse caught me, I noticed from the corner of my field of vision, but the heat and the line of kids waiting for their daily dose of malaria drugs kept him from making half a gesture keep me there.
That same day I moved into my new place in central Havana. Said Buddy’s boyfriend’s Aunt lives in Havana, and she knew someone whose daughter’s boyfriend knew that Tony was renting 2 of the 3 bedrooms in his apartment. We moved all of our stuff from the beach town of Baracoa to the bustling city streets in a bright red ’52 Plymouth.
So here we are within 2 miles of everything, in the smack dab middle of the city. The apartment is rustic…layers of dingy paint on concrete. The whole building is concrete…exterior walls, floors, countertops, interior walls and all. You have to turn the water on from the back porch to wash dishes or take a shower. All faucets in the house then pour at once. The lights take at least 10 seconds to flicker on. The gas stove is hot wired at the base of each burner so that when you touch the naked wire running from out the side of the nearest socket to it, it sparks and you get your cook fire. We share the land-line phone with the neighbor next door. If it rings and then seconds later rings again, it is for our side of the concrete wall. If you answer it and they ask for any of the 7 people next door, you say, “Please repeat the call.” On the outside, the street is busy. People walking, city buses, tractors, flat-bed trailers, loud motorcycles with side cars all going by. There is an urban garden plot next door. I can see basil from my bedroom window. If you walk around the backside of the complex and down a block there is a little farmer’s market tucked between the baroque façades of two old buildings, where you can get fresh green beans, avocados, guavas, platanos, yucca root, squash, dried beans, limes, tiny bananas, mangos, tomato paste, garlic paste, guava paste, and a peanut sugar paste that reminds me of a Reece’s PB cup.
I think I’ve found a stable place to be, but nothing in Cuba is a sure bet. Another friend of mine isn’t so lucky. She paid to have her room held during the summer vacation months and came back expecting to have it waiting for her. Instead, my 25 y/o beautiful Persian friend is sharing her room with a 14 y/o boy, son of relatives of the owner of the place… “They will be gone soon,” his dream come true.
School starts the 19th of September. I will be in an open aired, white washed hospital ward with French style windows and colonial columns studding a wrap around porch, treating “patients with fever of unknown origin”, but mostly it’s hemorrhagic dengue. With that, I start my clinical based education. The self-financed kids start this year, too. Cuba has decided to open up their medical training program to capitalism. Based on recent publications, it looks as though Cuba values my education at @ $96,000USD (not including the room and board, and $4 stipend I get every month!). Thanks for the scholarship, Fidel!
That same day I moved into my new place in central Havana. Said Buddy’s boyfriend’s Aunt lives in Havana, and she knew someone whose daughter’s boyfriend knew that Tony was renting 2 of the 3 bedrooms in his apartment. We moved all of our stuff from the beach town of Baracoa to the bustling city streets in a bright red ’52 Plymouth.
So here we are within 2 miles of everything, in the smack dab middle of the city. The apartment is rustic…layers of dingy paint on concrete. The whole building is concrete…exterior walls, floors, countertops, interior walls and all. You have to turn the water on from the back porch to wash dishes or take a shower. All faucets in the house then pour at once. The lights take at least 10 seconds to flicker on. The gas stove is hot wired at the base of each burner so that when you touch the naked wire running from out the side of the nearest socket to it, it sparks and you get your cook fire. We share the land-line phone with the neighbor next door. If it rings and then seconds later rings again, it is for our side of the concrete wall. If you answer it and they ask for any of the 7 people next door, you say, “Please repeat the call.” On the outside, the street is busy. People walking, city buses, tractors, flat-bed trailers, loud motorcycles with side cars all going by. There is an urban garden plot next door. I can see basil from my bedroom window. If you walk around the backside of the complex and down a block there is a little farmer’s market tucked between the baroque façades of two old buildings, where you can get fresh green beans, avocados, guavas, platanos, yucca root, squash, dried beans, limes, tiny bananas, mangos, tomato paste, garlic paste, guava paste, and a peanut sugar paste that reminds me of a Reece’s PB cup.
I think I’ve found a stable place to be, but nothing in Cuba is a sure bet. Another friend of mine isn’t so lucky. She paid to have her room held during the summer vacation months and came back expecting to have it waiting for her. Instead, my 25 y/o beautiful Persian friend is sharing her room with a 14 y/o boy, son of relatives of the owner of the place… “They will be gone soon,” his dream come true.
School starts the 19th of September. I will be in an open aired, white washed hospital ward with French style windows and colonial columns studding a wrap around porch, treating “patients with fever of unknown origin”, but mostly it’s hemorrhagic dengue. With that, I start my clinical based education. The self-financed kids start this year, too. Cuba has decided to open up their medical training program to capitalism. Based on recent publications, it looks as though Cuba values my education at @ $96,000USD (not including the room and board, and $4 stipend I get every month!). Thanks for the scholarship, Fidel!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
A loud rhythmic banging woke me up from a nap this afternoon. In my lifting dream state I was convinced that it was the Argentinean girl down the hall practicing her traditional stoic boot-clad foot-stomping dance. It turned out to be the Dominican girl with a meat cleaver and a chicken. Didn’t my last entry start out like this? Well, food is essential. The cafeteria has been serving you guessed it, beans and rice! It has been yellow “chicharros” for a month and a half. They are pretty good, especially when accompanied by the pink jello. And, I have found my sustenance. Popcorn! It gets me through the late night study munchies. I bought both the oil and the corn to pop here in Cuba. It is renewable as long as it can be found on the grocery store shelves, intermittently at best. Sometimes when you walk in the store, one whole aisle on both sides will be stocked with one thing. The last time I went it was Nestle Quick strawberry flavored powdered drink mix…and no popcorn. Knowing the likelihood, I bought 10 bags the time before. I’m figuring it out as I go along. I just traded my government soap for sugar from the tia who cleans the bathroom. Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, I will get some powdered milk. Good days are punctuated by small victories as such. A good night means studying for 6 or more hours and then falling asleep easily. Right now, midnight Saturday, I can see the Brazilian boys in their dorm having a good time throwing knives at a wood block. It has all together been much quieter around here since the School of Sports kids left. The School of Sports is another scholarship program in Cuba where kids from all over the world come to play. They moved in to the medical school in late November because their school broke. If you could just imagine for a moment a typical mid morning here…medical students in freshly pressed white and navy blue uniforms walking from histology class to gastrointestinal physiology class having to weave between School of Sports kids practicing throwing each other on the ground. It was oil and water here for a couple of months!
The 2011 US pre-meds got here a couple of weeks ago. They are here for the next 6 ½ years. It makes me feel good about only having the rest of this year and 4 more to go. They moved into the room next to me after being let out of quarantine. It was funny hearing them talk before going to the city for the first time. “I’monna get some black pens and a bottom sheet.” “I need a light bulb and a fork.” They really thought they were going shopping! They came back 7 hours later with some onions and a better idea of where in the world they were.
Of school…January was final exam month. One exam a week left plenty of time to start some self guided (in other words, tangential) study. We had an MD from Brooklyn come down last week and present us with some information that will be on the boards but is not included in the curriculum here. I really appreciated her anecdotal teaching and wisdom from years in the field. It was the first class I’ve had in English in a couple of years! I also had the opportunity to take an elective course. By that I mean that I hunted the professor down for 4 days to get into his class. He had to ask the permission of director of the laboratory where the class was to be held. She happened to be his wife and so that part at least went smoothly. The class, Histocompatibility in the Transplant Patient, entailed 5 days at the National Institute of Nephrology. We learned about the monumental collaborative national effort involved in organ transplant medicine. I saw the refrigerator where the serum of every person in Cuba with end-stage renal disease is sent on a monthly basis. We had a brief overview of organ transplant genetics and immunology and then went into the laboratory to view the process of determining tissue compatibility with a microscope. Most other countries have access to an international pool of organ donors, making finding a match more likely. Cuba’s pool is confined to its own population, making finding a match far more difficult. This is one of the far reaching and sinister effects of the US embargo on Cuba.
Last week we started the spring semester. The school gave out brand new books to 2000 students. It is my final semester at ELAM before moving to the big city to study in the hospital setting. I have medical microbiology, genetics, pathology, epidemiology, psychology and of course PE to look forward to doing for the next 4 and a half months
Life is good here. I study a lot. I also find a little time to enjoy the small beach town life. My buddy has a bicycle with a rack on the back. That’s where I sit. I’m the bumper sticker that says “Candela!” We cruise up and down the drag on Friday nights drinking cold Buccaneros and trying to stay on the bike through the potholes…
Once again, This blog is my work, my income. This is how I intend to support myself through the next 4 years. I need your support. I don't have the same access to loans and grants that other medical school students have. While Cuba has given me this full scholarship to study medicine there, it does not cover the cost of books and supplementary materials, nor does it cover the cost of traveling back and forth from the island once or twice a year to be with friends and family.
Donations large and small are very appreciated. I would also be interested in a personal loan. Life in Cuba is really fascinating. No doubt there will be some great tales to come! Please feel free to leave comments and ask questions. Also, share this blog with anyone you know who is interested in medicine or mischief! Thank you so much for your support! Heather*
The 2011 US pre-meds got here a couple of weeks ago. They are here for the next 6 ½ years. It makes me feel good about only having the rest of this year and 4 more to go. They moved into the room next to me after being let out of quarantine. It was funny hearing them talk before going to the city for the first time. “I’monna get some black pens and a bottom sheet.” “I need a light bulb and a fork.” They really thought they were going shopping! They came back 7 hours later with some onions and a better idea of where in the world they were.
Of school…January was final exam month. One exam a week left plenty of time to start some self guided (in other words, tangential) study. We had an MD from Brooklyn come down last week and present us with some information that will be on the boards but is not included in the curriculum here. I really appreciated her anecdotal teaching and wisdom from years in the field. It was the first class I’ve had in English in a couple of years! I also had the opportunity to take an elective course. By that I mean that I hunted the professor down for 4 days to get into his class. He had to ask the permission of director of the laboratory where the class was to be held. She happened to be his wife and so that part at least went smoothly. The class, Histocompatibility in the Transplant Patient, entailed 5 days at the National Institute of Nephrology. We learned about the monumental collaborative national effort involved in organ transplant medicine. I saw the refrigerator where the serum of every person in Cuba with end-stage renal disease is sent on a monthly basis. We had a brief overview of organ transplant genetics and immunology and then went into the laboratory to view the process of determining tissue compatibility with a microscope. Most other countries have access to an international pool of organ donors, making finding a match more likely. Cuba’s pool is confined to its own population, making finding a match far more difficult. This is one of the far reaching and sinister effects of the US embargo on Cuba.
Last week we started the spring semester. The school gave out brand new books to 2000 students. It is my final semester at ELAM before moving to the big city to study in the hospital setting. I have medical microbiology, genetics, pathology, epidemiology, psychology and of course PE to look forward to doing for the next 4 and a half months
Life is good here. I study a lot. I also find a little time to enjoy the small beach town life. My buddy has a bicycle with a rack on the back. That’s where I sit. I’m the bumper sticker that says “Candela!” We cruise up and down the drag on Friday nights drinking cold Buccaneros and trying to stay on the bike through the potholes…
Once again, This blog is my work, my income. This is how I intend to support myself through the next 4 years. I need your support. I don't have the same access to loans and grants that other medical school students have. While Cuba has given me this full scholarship to study medicine there, it does not cover the cost of books and supplementary materials, nor does it cover the cost of traveling back and forth from the island once or twice a year to be with friends and family.
Donations large and small are very appreciated. I would also be interested in a personal loan. Life in Cuba is really fascinating. No doubt there will be some great tales to come! Please feel free to leave comments and ask questions. Also, share this blog with anyone you know who is interested in medicine or mischief! Thank you so much for your support! Heather*
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