The following narrative by Kim Oppenheimer describes the Abancay Mission just as I would have written it myself—except she mentions 19 volunteers during the first week she attended; I think there were more than double that, each week, on the mission I attended in 2006.

Although it's called a "mission," this project is not a religious or missionary endeavor. It's just people getting together to care for the less fortunate.

Volunteers (physicians, nurses and others, medically trained or not) contribute their time as well as their own transportation, hotel and evening meal expenses. My friend David Wong, MD, of California, generously donated frequent flier miles to get me as far as Lima, which helped make my 2-week participation possible.

—Larry Hallock


Medical Mission to Abancay, Peru

by Kim Oppenheimer


The hallways cast shadows since the only light available was from open windows and doorways. The lights are kept off to save money on the electricity bill. This gave the hospital a calmer feeling though, not one as frenetic as in the states when fluorescent screams overhead and half the reason you want to leave is to remove yourself from the glare.

The rooms, borrowed rooms, did not emit any personality from the regulars who staff it on a regular basis. There were no colors on the walls, or catalog bought framed pictures to distract while one waited. There were no magazines to look at, or pens to snatch. There were no plants, or matching chairs, or paper spread over the examining tables.

By the second day of a medical mission hosted by PAMS (Peruvian American Medical Society) in Abancay, Peru, it was easy to start adapting and taking advantage of what we did have inside the hospital. I learned to reuse a brown paper bag in order to transport items the entire week. I hid my mask, hat and shoe covers whenever I needed to leave the surgery floor to be sure they were available again. The one towel in gynecology was creatively folded so that we could keep using it. (There was none to cover for privacy). By the third day, I cringed at how wasteful I was the first day. I had thrown out a rubber band that had held a stack of envelopes, a used water bottle, and worst of all: we had used two gloves instead of one. The patients didn’t seem to notice any of this. Not only did the Ketchuan Indians wear their good clothes and hats to symbolize their tribe, they wore shoes in the hospital. The free medical care they were receiving today was a new experience for many of the people.

The director of the mission, Dr. Julio Sotelo, grew up in Abancay Peru and graduated from San Marcos University Medical School in Lima, Peru. He trained in Minneapolis and than at Mercy Hospital in Chicago where he met his wife, Celeste, and decided to stay in the United States of America.
They moved to Teaneck, New Jersey when he joined the faculty of Columbia University as an internist. As their family grew with four children, Julio joined PAMS to help give to a country who needs the medical help badly. PAMS is a nationwide non-profit organization that helps bring Peruvian and American doctors together to offer medical and education to towns in Peru. Several other towns include Cusco, Lima, Huanuco and Trujillo also benefit from these medical missions. All the volunteers donate their own time and services and some expenses are tax deductible. The mission is organized for two weeks, once or twice a year. Volunteers are encouraged to stay as long as possible.

Abancay, the capital of Peru, is a beautiful town 7000 feet above sea level with a population of 80,000 people. To find it, one must fly to Lima, Peru and then on to Cusco, which is famous for its location to travel to the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. Then, a bus is hired to take the volunteers on one of the most beautiful, breathtaking, curviest, four hour rides to the town of Abancay. The drive is a windy switchback along a mountain pass that descends from the ten thousand foot altitude in Cusco. It is believed that drinking coca tea, or chewing on the bitter coca leaves, can help adjust to the altitude.

This first week, there are 19 other people who volunteered to help those less fortunate. Many of the volunteers stayed in the same hotel together and many were paired up to have a roommate. On the first night, the Mayor welcomed everyone as the high school children performed a dance of local custom. Pisco sours, a tart liquor, were passed out to taste and say thanks.

Work started at 8AM the next morning. Scrubs were lent to the volunteers that didn’t have any, and anticipation of the memories that would form was imagined in the ten minute walk to the hospital. Every morning we awoke to rain cleaning the streets [not in 2006], and every day as we stepped outside after our breakfast, the last drop of condensation was being evaporated into the air.

The first task to accomplish was setting up a room to be used as an office and pharmacy. Everything that was donated, and that made it past customs in Lima [seems something always gets held up, meaning we're always short on certain supplies], was set up on portable shelves that were assembled for the occasion. Each volunteer was asked to carry one suitcase for themselves and one for the mission. Many of the oversized duffels were kept in Lima. Some were to be searched thoroughly and some to be confiscated for their own personal property. On the trip that I attended, the bags that were held back for five days contained all the dermatologic medication. Unfortunately, they were the same days that the two dermatologists were volunteering.

Not being in the medical field or being able to translate from Spanish or Ketchuan, my job became to be a run-around between all the doctors. Every half hour of so, I would freely open doors and check in with them. My scrubs gave me leeway to be able to walk anywhere in the hospital. I also realized that my blond hair and blue eyes seemed to be an enjoyment for the people waiting in the hallways on the benches. Little children either stared or reached out to touch my hair. On the days that I strapped on my camera, children, who are never bashful, would start jumping into the frame and end up leading an entourage of people who wanted portraits taken. The copies I have made for them will be brought back next year since they explained that they have never received mail before to their houses.

The mission was able to teach so much to so many people. Not only did the local people receive the care that we could provide, but high school students came to help us translate, medical students and residents from both countries were able to practice medicine, and I was able to stick my nose in wherever I could.

I became an assistant to the gynecologist hoping that I would see a baby be born. Instead, I learned about prolapses, PID, IUD’s, to read sonograms, and cultural differences. Even though free birth control is offered, unmarried girls are scared for their reputations to be seen standing in line even if they need it for medical reasons. One woman lost her IUD. In America there is a small instrument called a hysteroscopy that quickly removes it. Since this instrument was not available, she needed to come back the next day, [when] three doctors tried to find it. It was so painful that is was decided to have her come back the following day to try under general anesthesia. If this didn’t work, a hysterectomy would need to be performed.

We used hairspray as the fixative for the pap smear slides. We sprayed, waited for them to dry, wrapped the slides into a torn off piece newsprint paper, stapled a name to them, and then sent them off to be returned three months later. And this was when the slide was available to us. After we used up the box of slides we had brought, we would receive a slide one at a time. Each day we needed to turn away about 30 patients just for gynecology because we didn’t have the time.

On the day I volunteered in pediatrics, a special education school happened to come in. I was excited to have my very own “patient” since this is my specialty as a teacher at home. When the first boy with cerebral palsy was carried in on a straw chair without wheels, my mind had to adjust fast. He was 16 years old and had never had a day of physical therapy. He was very loved by the 5 people that carried him in. His limbs were contracted into stiff positions; he only drank liquids and wore a diaper. I demonstrated some stretches and suggested a belt on the chair to hold his chest up. I tried to explain this would only make him feel slightly better but not get better. Most of all I tried to have the translator explain to them that here in Peru they did a wonderful job for him.

The word “bittersweet” played over and over in my mind because it was the simple things that I take for granted, that I would have supplied, had I realized it was special in someone else’s eyes. Pens. The stack of mismatched pens in my house. The bags of pens at Staples. I did not know they wanted pens. People, children, nurses. Pens. Just pens. Pencils made them happy too. And sheets. And toilet paper. And soap.

Bittersweet also applies to the sweet hope that we could help, to the hope that made people come, and to the bitter feeling when we just were not able to help. Sometimes the supplies weren’t available. Sometimes it was too late to apply treatment, and sometimes it was just because, here in Peru, it just wasn’t possible.

Out of the thousand people we did see the first week, at least 100 people received surgery who never would have been able to have it otherwise. Cleft palates were repaired on babies, hernias sewn, hysterectomies performed, deadly varicose veins removed. Hundreds of other patients received their first toothbrush, vitamins, and deworming medicine. Some patients received reassurance that they were not sick. Hopefully some received motivation to study and become a doctor. I learned that little things can help in a big way. Next year I am definitely flying down with boxes of pens. And the printed pictures.

-Kim Oppenheimer, NYC

To make donations or to volunteer, please contact:
PAMSEF
c/o Ana May Salgado
6488 Tamer Lane Drive
West Bloomfield Drive
West Bloomfield, MI
48322-2379
(201) 836-1540