Open Head Wound (Warning: Graphic) or Keeping the Pain Inside

I have a knack for creating intriguing blog titles, don't I? I mean, you're reading this. Unfortunately, this one really is about what it suggests. Don't worry, this isn't about my head.

This morning, I woke up with a new scrape. It was nothing big, but it was something that back in my other life, I would have complained about and thought about all day. I didn't really think much about it and just dealt with it as I have been since acclimating to this new life. I was starting to think that I've been much more resilient to pain (and complaining) as the people of this country very much are. Below are two examples (one male, one female) of why the Cambodian people meeuhn kla'hahn (or: are brave).

This morning: I was at the health center fraternizing with the staff having a merry ol' time. The receptionists were chatting away about their favorite soap (opera) while the guy who does administers immunizations was asking if it would be easier if I could give him a visa rather than having to go to Phnom Penh to apply for one. After a long explanation of the process, a police car pulled up: everyone stopped what they were doing. This hasn't happened (at least in the morning hours) in the past 8 1/2 months (since I've been at site). Four policemen step out of the car; they open the car driver's side back door, and out walks a kid (I find out he's 22), dripping blood from somewhere on the top of his head. Half of his face was stained with drying blood with a good portion caked on to his eyebrows. The staff immediately brings him into one of the rooms and lies him down on the bed. One staff member cuts away most of the hair from the wound, which is about an inch 1/2 in diameter. Mind you, there are know electric trimmers. Also to keep in mind, there is hardly any medication for the pain. As she dripped some hydrogen-peroxide into the wound, he shut his eyes tight and said nothing. After she blotted the wound, she began to suture the poor kid up whilst he was cringing, his feet moving back and forth, tightening up. Yet, he didn't make a sound. He's now off at Mongkol Borey Hospital (the best provincial (this one) hospital in the country).

A month ago: Again, I was sitting in the health center on a regular Wednesday morning when one of the midwives came out with a patient, holding her new born baby. What?! When did this happen? I asked her, "When did this woman have her baby?" Her response: "Two minutes ago." No screaming! No sounds at all! I was oblivious to the birth of a new baby. It's hard to believe, but in Cambodia, women silently weep while they give birth.

For a country torn by war and genocide by a group that only left the country 13 years ago, you can tell. It's in ingrained deep into their emotions. It's as if all of the suffering of their past has sucked them dry. They are an emotional people, they just don't show it. When they do, though, it's very, very serious. Just today, right before the 22 year-old guy came to the health center, one of my midwives asked how I was. After I told her I was fine, I asked her how she was. She was not happy, she said. I asked her why, and she told me it was because her father was still very sick. He has been sick for six months, now, and it does not look hopeful. Her eyes were red, and she just stared down at the table trying to hold back the tears.

I don't think I've necessarily learned anything new today, but I've certainly been reminded of a lot.

Keep well and

Talk to you soon,

Garrett