DukeEngage | Duke Center for Civic Engagement

It is hard to really define what I have learned. I feel like I’ve learned nothing, and yet that I’ve also learned everything. I’ve learned that there are many types of doctors in this world, and the best are those who care about their patients and the worst are those who do it for the money or to please their parents (this being a big problem here where a person’s entire life is likely planned out by their parents, and the concept of independence is foreign and frowned upon). I’ve seen doctors take one glance at their patents and will start writing the prescription; and if the patient has concerns about the treatment, I’ve seen doctors respond by yelling and pushing in order to get the patients out, just so that he can go home earlier. 

So I’ve learned that I want to care. I don’t ever want to lose my compassion for others, nor my passion for helping others. When I become a doctor, I want my patients to be physically healthy, but to also feel healthy. I think the best way to do that when I get home (Since I’m not yet a doctor) is to volunteer at a clinic or hospital somewhere. We all know that even in our own health care system, patients don’t always get the amount of personal time and attention that they deserve from a health care provider. So I would like to help bridge that gap by donating my time, to work with patients, and make up in part for the personal attention that they might need.
 

In the first few weeks of my stay in the hospital, the doctor who was supposed to be my main mentor kept trying to tell me inappropriate sexual jokes. The first time, he told such a joke, my brain didn’t even register what had happened, and I needed a few seconds to get my bearings. I was so shocked all I could do was smile at him, and when he asked me if it was funny, I said yes because I didn’t want to offend him on my first week. But the same thing happened again a few days later, and again I smiled for fear of offending him. When he did it a third time, I still didn’t have the courage to confront him, but simply looked at him blankly, and when he asked if I understood the joke, I politely said that I did, but tried to us my body language in every way I could think of to convey that I felt offended by his comments. I don’t know if he got the message from my body language or if he simply ran out of disgusting jokes, but he hasn’t told me any new ones for two weeks, and I’m very grateful for that.

After I got over the initial shock, I became really angry with the doctor. I mean, this was the kind of thing that I wouldn’t even expect from my guy friends, much less the 40-year-old male doctor who was supposed to be my mentor. What’s more, in an extremely conservative society where young ladies can’t even be in the presence of young men without a chaperone, it would have been unthinkable for the doctor to make the same joke in front of a 20-year-old Indian girl; but for some reason he thought it perfectly fine to make the joke to me. I have done nothing to invite this kind of inappropriate behavior. I wear baggy t-shirts and ankle length skirts in 110F weather in order to appear modest, I never curse or used any inappropriate language, I even make sure not to become too friendly with the young men because it might be perceived as improper.

In hindsight, I should have said something to the doctor the first time he made that joke, but to be honest I’m still not sure that I could do it even now, just because I don’t want to offend him for fear that he will stop teaching me and allowing me to do things.
 

This is the story of a “Junior Doctor” at Razak Hospital. He is 21 and has already finished medical school (In India, you go strait from 12th grade…normally at age 16… to medical school). He is currently working at an understaffed government hospital during the day, at night he is the only doctor on duty at Razak Hospital, and all the while he is also studying for his national medical exam (his score on the exam will determine which medical specialties he will be able to apply for). 

Here, people tend to marry younger then back home (almost everyone I meet has asked me if I’m married, and how many children I have), and they almost always have an arranged marriage. This is to ensure that the bride and groom are well matched in educational, religious, economic and social status. However, the Junior doctor has fallen in love with a nurse while studying at the university. She is not the same faith as him, is not in the same caste, nor does she have the same educational level as him. They both knew that their respective families will disapprove of the marriage, but he asked her to marry him anyway. She has said that she will think about it, and I wish the best for both of them.
 

Before I came to India, I thought that the whole culture shock thing would be a piece of cake for me. Sure, it would be difficult, but surly it wouldn’t affect me in the same way that it affected other people, after all I grew up with culture shock. By the time I was in 9-years-old, I’d already attended four different elementary schools on three different continents. I’d lived in China, England, and America, and had traveled in France, Germany, Austria and Italy. 

As it so happens, on my second day at the Hospital, I’d had enough. I wanted to go home. There was NO way that I was going to put up with any more of this for another second. Not only was I forced to wear hot stifling t-shirts and ankle length skirts in the 110F weather, there was no AC even at the hospital, the food I was served in my home stay was so sweet I couldn’t even choke down a bite without throwing up, the doctor at the hospital was completely rude and twice in one day forced me wait in his office for two hours before he showed up.

But I talked to my friend who was here with me. I talked with my parents over the phone. And slowly but surely I got used to the heat, managed to asked for different food, and learned to work with the nurses to do other things while the doctor was gone. This transition was an extremely challenging, and yet rewarding experience for me, because it gave me the opportunity to learn more about my own limitations and about myself.
 

It might seem like a little thing, but the common bicycle has officially become my most unexpected and challenging experience. Once I arrived at my home stay, a representative of my partner organization handed me a shinny little silver key. What did this key unlock I wondered…some ancient Indian treasure? The key to the city perhaps? But alas that was not to be. Instead I discovered the key was to operate that nice little red bike sitting in the doorway, and that I was supposed to RIDE said bike to work. This little detail was unfortunately left out of the extensive information packet that my partner program had sent me. 

Riding a bike to work might not seem like a problem for your average American college student, but I assure you that I am by no means average. You see I can’t ride bikes. The last time that I’d even touched a bike was 12 years ago, and even then I was terrible at it. What’s more the streets of India are just a wee bit more hectic then your average American street. There are buses, taxies, rickshaws, bikes, and people all sharing this narrow one-lane road. And traffic laws seem to be more suggestions then actual laws. For example, people seem to stay on the left side of the road only 50% of the time, during the other 50% of the time, driving head-on into oncoming traffic is completely acceptable and common place. It’s a chaotic system, but it seems to work well for those who have navigated these streets since birth. But it’s not exactly the ideal bike learning environment.

However, since my host family lives 1.5 miles away from the hospital where I work, and I have to make the trip 4 times a day, I resolved to give the bike a try. On my first day, I almost died about 3 times, and almost ran over so many people I’ve lost count. At night it was so dark that it was hard to see where the road ended. When there was light, it was the blinding sort that came from the head lights of a Jurassic park sized bus coming at you at full speed. Needless to say, I stopped biking, and have been walking to and from the hospital ever since. Though it does take a LOT longer to get anywhere, it is also kind of nice. The children will come up to me and say hi, and I get to see, enjoy, and appreciate the town and the culture a lot more on foot.