Click

So much has happened in the past 36 hours since we left Darjeeling that I don't know where to begin....

After our visit to Jesu Ashram (a hospice I will talk about in a bit) I was chatting with the elder Father there, who has spent that better part of his life working with the very sick and suffering (I don't know how, but I sure respect him for it), and over the course of our chat we were talking about the different things groups like ours experience while in India; he had a great analogy, which I told him I was going to use.

He said trips like our are like watching TV with remote control in hand. We stay on one station for just a minute, long enough to get the picture of what is going on, and then click, we change the channel and are somewhere else, then click, it changes again; sometimes we stay on one station for just long enough to get the feel for the "show" and sometimes we move so quickly we barely get to see the actual picture.

Yesterday was one of those days that I was grateful we could change the channel; it was a very hard day.

We began in Darjeeling, where we had to say goodbye to the city in the clouds and our 3 jeeps made their way down the mountain. Unfortunately one driver was not aware of our intended stops, and he sped ahead and to the group directly to the train station, where the rest of us wouldn't arrive for another 6 or 7 hours. We all knew we would find each other (we weren't going to get on the train if we hadn't), but each group was concerned about the other nonetheless.

After an somewhat uneventful stop at a tea factory for the famous Darjeeling tea, where we all believe the signor who spoke to us had been drinking too much of his own "special brew" of some form or another, we made our way to the Jesu Ashram.

Before I go further here, I have to admit, though not exactly proud, when World Vision commercials come on television I often change the channel. I find the suffering so hard to watch, especially knowing that there is nothing I can do to help. The little money I have goes to local charities, where I feel the need more directly, and my time and energy goes into the work I do in my school and my community. Here I know I do the best I can with what I have in my life and that is what I need to accept. But when I see the suffering on television it is hard, and though I feel guilty doing it, I often just change the channel.

Walking around Jesu Ashram yesterday was like walking into a World Vision commercial, only the majority of the patients were adults, and to me the suffering was palpable and extremely difficult to bear witness to.

Jesu Ashram is another Jesuit initiative (for someone who had never really heard of the Jesuits before this trip I sure am discovering they do a lot of amazing work around the world). It is a hospice that has beds for over 350 sick people, including general illness, mothers and their children, a TB section, a Leprosy section, and a growing section of people living with HIV and AIDS. There are several Jesuits, a few nuns or nuns in training, nursing students who do a large part of their studies there and volunteers. There are doctors who come in to check patients, but the day to day work is done by these incredible people who ensure the sick have a bed (they rarely turn anyone away, unless the person needs a hospital, which they try to ensure they get to), food and their prescribed medicine. These people work with the ill and the suffering every day, day after day, in some cases for years, and I don't know how they do it.

I do know that it was too much for me. We began by walking through the "general" ward, and as we got to the room where the doorpost read "serious" I had to laugh because I didn't know what we had seen until then.

As we walked through the wards I felt so uncomfortable and sad on so many levels. I felt like a tourist to suffering walking down those aisles, trying to smile at the sometimes hopeful and sometimes dead eyes I saw before me, but I couldn't. I couldn't pretend to smile and I couldn't not smile; I didn't know what to do with myself. It was just too hard.

Before we went into the wards the Jesuit explained that the patients know that people like us, tourists, come through here, and that we are their benefactors; they are able to be where they are because of people like us. While I know this is true, this too made me sad.

Later in the day, when talking with another colleague, she said part of what gave her comfort while walking through the wards, was that we were likely the only faces (outside of those on the wards) they would see that day (or really in who knows how long). I know that is too is true, but for me this made it even harder, even sadder for me.

As we walked through the first wards all I could think of was the suffering; having spent hours staying with family in hospitals at various times in my life (though thankfully not a lot, and most recently there was a speedy recovery) I couldn't help but think about how slowly the time passes and how the hours drag on, and this was often with a TV, or at least books, crossword puzzles and conversation....I couldn't help thinking about the suffering....the people lying on their beds hour after hour, day after day, with nothing to do, in some cases no hope of recovery, and that this was so much better than their fates would have been without this place......

And this combined with the visible physical illnesses (which I don't deal well with, and why I never wanted to become a doctor and also why I don't teach science) was too much for me. While I walked with the group around the campus I couldn't go into the wards. I couldn't smile and I couldn't not smile; I just couldn't....

This was the first time in this country where I felt truly overwhelmed, with sadness, helplessness, guilt and grief. Equally important to me was the knowledge that though I was feeling all of these things (which are real and count) this visit was not about me. And so while I wanted to cry and it was hard not to, I also didn't want to draw attention to myself. I had to pull away to take care of myself and that was all I could do. When the tour was finally over I was most grateful.

At the end of the tour, we had tea, which is the custom. While I am pretty certain I am not the only one who just wanted to get out of there, it would have been rude, and a cup of tea really was the very, very, very least I could do to show my respect for these incredible people and the work that they do.

It was at the very end of this visit that the Father and I had the conversation of the remote control that is this trip, and that is life, and when we got in the jeep I have never been more grateful to be able to change the channel. Once again I recognized how very lucky I am to be me in this lifetime, and not have to endure the suffering (or really even bear witness to it) of so many people in this world.

It seemed quite ironic to me that the next channel we landed on was a five star hotel (though the service wasn't) for dinner before we found the rest of our crew to get on the train. Despite some stressful moments, finding each other, Dave not feeling great, schlepping everyone's luggage and getting our seats organized, everything was good as we departed for our next destination.

And before we knew it....click.....we woke up in Calcutta (of course the heavy medication on the train didn't hurt).

We already breakfasted with the amazing Sr. Cyrill and meet some of her rainbow children at Loretto School (different than the Rainbow community I used to hang with in Israel) which has gone along way to reaffirm the hope I have found here, but that blog will have to wait for another day as I have been writing for a while and the Golden Arches are calling my name.....8)