Before I even thought of volunteering at Mercy San Juan, I was pondering the age-old question: Where could I get hours for the requirements set by the classes and clubs I was in? I just wanted to get a decent grade, and that was about it. The good about this was that a friend of mine got me acquainted with the Volunteer Services staff. Little did I know she was one as well. Feeling a bit confident after the news, I begrudgingly accepted the offer.
Then came a month of medical exams, booster shots, TB tests, and documents galore. Let’s not forget the interview and the orientation afterwards. I didn’t even begin until May rolled around. School was about to go into hiatus for 3 months. I got to know the volunteer coordinator and the desk lady, and, wouldn’t you know it, developed a bond. Apparently I’m more comfortable with adults than with people my own age! It’s a bit of an embarrassment really. I was given one, two days each week to work for 4 hours. In that time I’d be given important documents to file and materials to put gift packs together. I also made rounds, escorted patients out, stocked linen, organized brochures, passed out food trays, served as a translator for those that only knew Spanish—need I say more?
I only did all this for hours throughout the entire summer. I even attended some picnic celebration, helping out beforehand for the sake of selfish means! A ray of satisfaction beamed upon me when I had completed more than the actual requirements they, the school, asked for… It would have been quite easy to leave the volunteer thing behind… But I never did. Never even lifted a finger to use the phone to contact Volunteer Services. I just walked straight into the office to replace my old maroon work shirt with a new one. I stayed the whole of my junior year, my shift 3:00pm-6:30; 7:00pm or so, one day a week. Heck, I even got an award for staying there for so long. One of the most significant accomplishments of my poor little life was made. But when I realized that some volunteers had spent more than half their lives, their 80-year old lives, I received a mental bonk to the head. This was unheard of to me. It astounded me that one was capable… Then I justified it was because of their supreme social abilities. I barely have any compared to ninety-five percent of the population, (and are very easy to convince on a certain level). I then realized how most young volunteers would be planning to quit after making just the hours for their club.
I didn’t think much of it, but I saw that my own actions were extremely selfish back then… I passively dismissed that too and continued aiding various post partum patients. Some were very nice. Some were, as most others would say, “rude”. I can never bring myself to say the same thing. They just went through 9 months of labor! Any woman would feel stressed out if it happened to them I’m sure. From time to time I wished to attach myself more to the patient and their families, but naturally I strayed away from the possibility. The HIPPA code wouldn’t allow it, and, then again, I had no solid communication skills to build up on anyhow. So after mulling the idea over, I discarded it as soon as I thought up of it and went on my merry way. Yes, it’s true; I prefer not to go against authority when the matter doesn’t exactly fall within my interests. But I do not consider myself passive at all.
I hold some form of resentment against certain injustices, even the ones that don’t apply to me at all. I just don’t acknowledge any of it, which only comes across as a being with a cold heart. There was one event in particular when my job was to deliver a discharged patient to the main floor and out the building. Supposedly, there was supposed to be a taxi or some other form of transportation to take this mother home. As I begin to recall, the baby was probably in the NICU, and I don’t remember any of her relatives or husband with her either. I refrain from describing what ethnicity or social status she might have been.
First of all, the taxi never arrived. The driver must have lost his way or something like that. Or it could have been that the transportation was never confirmed in the first place. Did I mention she was in a wheelchair? We were just waiting out there, perplexed. Then the mother tells me she has this strange mark on her arm, swelling up a little. She told me it came from the IV wire that they stuck into her vein. The nurses told her that if anything was wrong, she would have to come up to them and ask what the matter with it was. So that’s what we did. I carted her into the building again and went up to the 3rd floor on the elevator. As soon as we got off, I found one of the ladies in the hallway, and told her that this patient wanted to know about the mark on her arm. I didn’t expect her to tell me that since she was discharged from the ward, there were no longer able to attend to her needs. They had no control over it anymore. Um, last time I checked, nurses had sole duty to aid everybody else, regardless of who it was. I must have come from centuries past, to tell you the truth.
My natural disposition required that I wouldn’t argue with the nurse. I did make a minimal comeback, but I was just a volunteer. What did I know? Anyhow, after biting my tongue to avoid making a scathing remark, I told the patient that she should call the transportation service to see if it would be here later on. I stayed with her diligently until it came, despite my shift being close to ending. Once the taxi arrived, I helped the mother get on her feet and onto the car seat. She held onto me for support; I barely have any upper body strength. She was in, buckled, safe and sound. She thanked me for being here with her this whole time. I smiled faintly, and from the corner of my eye saw my mom parking in the roundabout. I felt a little worried about the patient, so when she left, I prayed subconsciously in hopes she’d arrive home safely, and wished that the child was well, also.
Despite all this I couldn’t bring myself to be a bit moved on the surface. I’m just naturally stubborn that way. But it did ignite a bit of a spark that wasn’t there before. Think of the Grinch with a heart three sizes too small, suddenly being filled with excessive love for another being besides himself. I’ll continue being stubborn, but at least I won’t find myself begrudgingly helping out a friend in need. As of now I’m still getting used to my feminine side, but once it blossoms, it’ll be for the greater good under the powers that be. Not only will I aid others, but it will influence them to do the same for the rest of the world.
