Vessels of Resilience

 

"Where the Lord finds the vessel empty He pours down His blessing.”

~ Thomas à Kempis

The hot sun casts its warmth on us as we prepare for our journey down-river; I am quickly blinded by its bright reflection off the water’s glistening surface. Our driver engages the engine on the back of the wooden canoe, sparking a monotonous mechanical rhythm that will accompany us throughout our fluvial journey. One by one we take our first step off of firm land into an unsteady, floating vessel carved from a once-living tree. In this simple exchange I am reminded of the indissoluble connection between the earth’s fruits and its life-sustaining water.

Careful attention is directed toward our respective positions in the peque-peque in order to evenly balance the weight. Thoughts begin to spin in my head…We won’t capsize. A wide-mouthed plastic bottle lies on the floor of the canoe, its function initially a curious secret. An umbrella in hand serves as a shade from the sun and a pair of sunglasses protects my eyes from the reflective waters…We won’t burn. Dodging the direct sunlight, I am reminded that many that traverse these waters lack even basic protection from the sun’s relentless beams. As we float down the river I feel a wet sensation invading my sandals and brushing up against the skin of my feet. The plastic bottle soon makes its purpose known as I see the friar methodically scooping up the water inside the canoe and tossing it over the boat’s edge. We take turns emptying the canoe of a steadily rising layer of river water…We won’t sink. I am now grateful for the sunshine as I contemplate the ominous threat of a torrential downpour to the meager confines of our canoe. A spare liter of gasoline lies in the rear of the boat…We won’t become stranded. I remember all of the patients who have told me they don’t have enough money for gas to return to their community. Our trip is short to the small community of San Pedro, just under an hour. But it’s enough time to appreciate the welcome relief when we find ourselves standing and stretching on solid land…We have made it safely to our destination. I am reminded of those patients who have traveled for multiple days in more extreme conditions.

***

My limited knowledge of her arduous journey begins when her daughter fell from a tree a little over one year ago. After an emergency referral to Iquitos and multiple months hospitalized in the pediatric intensive care unit, her daughter was left paralyzed from the neck down. They returned to their home in the middle of the rainforest, two hours away from Santa Clotilde. I first visited their home a few months after her hospital discharge- tucked away in the jungle foliage, a wooden home on stilts greets a visiting group of doctors. Her daughter lies on the hard, wooden floor with non-healing bed sores. Her husband suffers from HIV- his wasting body tells me his health is deteriorating. The mother brings her daughter to the hospital a few months later- her daughter’s wounds have progressed and we are concerned for infection. After a month in the hospital as her physical wounds are healing, a new wound opens in her and her mother’s lives. Her husband arrives to the emergency room, his body flesh on bone, his mind altered and confused, his spirit reaching out for help as he grips my hand tightly with his remaining strength. The words, “doctor, help me,” are uttered from his dry, cracked lips. The next day he breathes his last, and all of a sudden the wounds seem too deep to heal, the water within the vessel rising too high too fast. A vessel on the verge of sinking inflicted with wounds of her own, the mother continues emptying herself for the sake of her daughter, a sacrificial love that keeps her afloat. 

He arrives with bruise marks on his neck, swollen from the rope once tied around his neck. His teenage daughter cut the rope and his neighbors carried him out of the muddy ditch. He is brought to the hospital for further evaluation and management. After a thorough investigation he is found to suffer from major depression, his suicide attempt a last-resort effort to end the pain and suffering only he understands. A year ago he suffered a stroke which left one side of his body minimally functional and he has been unable to work to support his family. A mix of chemical imbalances and a misunderstanding of his dignity as defined by “what he can do” instead of “who he is” wreaks havoc on his mind. More than a month has passed, a month of antidepressant treatment, mental health counseling, physical therapy, music therapy, and sacramental anointing of the sick. As we celebrate Mass for our patients outside the hospital one Saturday, his hand rests gently on his forehead while tears roll uncontrollably down his face. I sense the gifts of reconciliation and forgiveness at work, the restoration of a wounded, fragile vessel preparing for the remainder of the journey ahead. 

***

In a unique way my experience traveling in peque-peque reminds me of the intriguing yet precarious journey that is life. When I reflect on the various patients I have encountered recently and the challenging circumstances they have faced, I recognize that the peque-peque is more than a simple mode of transportation. Rather it is a dynamic symbol of their unparalleled resilience amidst an often violent, overpowering current.

Carved in His everlasting image and breathed into existence from His life-giving love, vessels of body and soul are propelled forward amidst the oppressive current of the world. Each vessel’s journey a unique trajectory with a common origin and shared destination. In the end, vessels of resilience fortified by faith, hope, and love, will say, “we did not capsize…we did not burn…we did not sink…we did not become stranded.” In the end, He will bring His beaten and battered vessels safely home. 

Top Left, Bottom Right: visit to community of San Pedro to discuss the importance of “living a healthy life;” Top Right: memorial Mass with his family in the community of Tacsha for the death of my friend who passed away on Good Friday last year; Middle: wound care during a home visit and a muscle abscess drainage with our team of volunteers; Bottom Left: quarterly birthday celebration with the youth group.