Seize The Day!

Today started at 4:45 AM with a knock at the door. Marco, my best (and only) friend from Chile was there holding his towel.

Yesterday, Marco and I had both agreed that we needed to go swimming in our pool, but I don't think that he realized that I was serious when I told him that I would jump in the pool with him at 5AM the next day.

At this point you are probably thinking, "Why, Karen?" Why bother to get up in the dark and swim in a freezing cold pool with a Chilean man?

Well, why not? The pool's there--why not go swim in it? Will this same opportunity ever arise again?

In a nutshell, this has been my philosophy on life, these days. My time in Africa is quickly coming to a close, and I'm beginning to feel a little pressured. I want to make the most of the time I have left.

On one hand, I'm ready to be done with fieldwork here. Hands just isn't my thing, and the days can be brutally long when we aren't seeing patients. Last week, I found a copy of "The Arthritis Handbook" and read it to keep myself occupied in the afternoons. But, on the flip side, I love living here. I could easily stay in Cape Town for another few months or year... I'm still awed by the beauty of this place, everything is so magnificent. This afternoon, Sarah and I drove to Camps Bay and sat on the beach and ate lunch. It was incredible--the mountains on one side, the ocean on the other, incredibly beautiful people walking around everywhere. I would have been content to just sit and take it all in until the sun went down.

But the sun hasn't gone down on our time in Africa, just yet...

Happy (Belated) Women's Day!

Happy Women's Day, everyone!

(Well, Women's day was actually last week Thursday, but I haven't been able to post for a week.) For all of you South Africa history buffs: Women's Day commemorates August 9, 1956 when some 20,000 women marched to the Union [government] Buildings in Pretoria to protest against a law requiring black women to carry passes. Today, the day is celebrated as a reminder of the contribution women have made to society, for women's rights, and to acknowledge the difficulties and prejudices many women still face. Isn't that great?! It makes me proud to be a woman. Last week I had lots of fun wishing everyone I ran into a happy women's day.

To celebrate Women's Day (and to take advantage of the long weekend...) Sarah and I traveled up to Johannesburg and Pretoria to catch up with some good friends. And, we actually made it to the Union Buildings in Pretoria.




The long weekend was fabulous and a much-needed change of pace. We visited the Apartheid Museum, saw the University of Pretoria, did a little shopping, and on Sunday our very gracious hosts made a braai for us. (A braai, rhymes with dry, is the South African version of a barbecue.) Although it was great to travel a little and spend some time with some time with friends, I was glad to leave Johannesburg on Sunday night.


I know I was only in Johannesburg/Pretoria for 4 days, but during my short stay I think I got a taste of what it must be like to live in fear. Almost everyone we talked to brought up the subject of violent crime. In fact, I'd say we probably spent at least an hour each day hearing stories of people getting attacked. This did not make me feel very good. And then there was the incident at the shopping mall. Sarah and I were pooped from walking around, but our friends wanted to do a little shopping, so we grabbed a bench and chilled out next to a giant cow statue.

While we were sitting next to "Moodonna" (Yes, that's what the thing was called...) a man missing multiple teeth came up to us and asked us if we were from Germany. We told him that in fact we weren't from Germany, but were Americans. This was a mistake. He mumbled for a while, made a few derogatory comments about George Bush, motioned slitting his throat, and walked away. The incident was more than a little creepy. The entire way home we looked over our shoulders to make sure that we weren't being followed.

Sunday dinner also ended up being an interesting experience. The people we we visited on Sunday were relatively well-off South Africans who lived in a nice neighborhood, had a beautiful house and graciously served us an incredible meal, complete with four different kinds of meat. (Yeah, I ate the avocado salad...) After the food was cleared from the table, we sat and chatted about all sorts of things. It felt so good to be in a house enjoying wonderful food with wonderful people. But, as the conversation went on, I was a little shocked when I heard our host use the n-word to refer a well-known African American politician. I think our host picked up on my discomfort and launched into a diatribe, telling me that he is a self proclaimed bigot who hates black (and colored) South Africans.

Now I was really shocked. A big part of me wanted to jump out of my chair over the table and attack the man, but I didn't. I felt helpless. I knew that there was no changing this man's mind. So, for about 30 minutes I listened to some of the most hateful words I had ever heard. It was unreal. Every muscle in my body was tensed as I tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) to ask this man thought-provoking questions and get him to defend his opinions.

After a while my anger melted into sadness. What could make this man hate another group of people so deeply? Fear, maybe? This man was terrified of the society in which he lived. His daughter had had her windshield smashed at a stoplight during the past year. His house had been broken into, and I'm sure there are many more incidences from over the years that I don't know about. The more he talked, the more it became apparent that he hated living in fear of violence, and in his mind, he equated violence with the black and colored segment of the population.

All of the sudden, I pitied the man. Years of living afraid of violence had made him incapable of seeing the hatred he fostered. Obviously, I don't agree at all with the racist views of my host, but the afternoon, as uncomfortable as it was, helped me understand in a new way that fear is the driving force behind hatred.

But, to my mom, and all of you who are still worrying about safety: don't worry, on Sunday night Sarah and I arrived safely back in Cape Town. And I was glad to be home.

Tidbits of Wonderfulness

Man oh man, the past few days have been delightfully random and very enjoyable.



This past week there was a week long missions conference here, on campus. I was privileged to sit in on a few of the sessions. Wow! I met some wonderful people and heard some pretty incredible stories. Tuesday, I head Carl Maderias (that's probably not spelled right, sorry Carl.) give a wonderfully reflective and bitingly humours address on why missions have nothing to do with religion. He had some great points and just kept bring it back to Jesus. If you want to hear more about it send me a comment--it was great. And even if you don't want to hear more, send me a comment anyway. The blog has been really dead recently. Is anybody other than my dad still reading?


Tidbit of wonderful randomness numero dos: Last night Sarah and I ran out of food. (Well, to be honest we didn't completely run out, we still had feta cheese and some peanut butter.) So, we decided to order a pizza. But because someone had stolen the refrigerator magnet with the number to our trusty local pizza delivery chain restaurant, I went hunting around the hostel for the number. I never found the pizza delivery number, but I found something even better: a great guy who gave me a small catalog and told me about Mr. Delivery. Whoa Man!! Life at the hostel will never be the same. Mr. Delivery will bring almost any restaurant-type food straight to your door. (Or mine, rather!) So, Friday night at 10:00 Sarah and I feasted on a delicious dinner of Chinese take out and Chocolate ice cream. Incredible. It is probably good that we didn't discover this amazing public service until now...

Also, it was sunny this weekend! This was especially wonderful because it was rainy and cold and damp all week. For the first time since I've been here, I went and sat out the pool with some good friends and got some reading in along with my daily allotment of vitamin D. (I still can't get over the fact that I live next door to a pool. How cool is that?!) The sunshine felt absolutely delicious on my very pale skin.

I've been re-reading a book I first picked up last summer, God has a Dream, by Desmond Tutu. This is an incredible little book. It's about a lot of things; Tutu talks about his work as the former Archbishop of South Africa and reflects on peace, reconciliation, and living justly. This time around I was particularly struck by the message of hope in the book. Over and over Tutu comes out and says South Africa's history is a testimony that there are no hopeless situations; peace can happen and love can--love will, win.

As I was getting sunburned, I came across a passage that reminded me of something I had previously posted on the blog which someone (anonymously) questioned. A while ago I wrote something to the effect of, "I have a hard time accepting ministry that is without advocacy...."

What I meant by this is that I have a hard time buying into a ministry (especially institutional ministries) when there is no outward focus--no action toward making very real hope a very real reality for people who may not have any connection with the Church. But I think Mr. Tutu says it better than myself:

"What is also interesting is how many times the prophets say that if your
religion does not affect the way you live your life, it is a religion God
rejects...What God wants is that we refrain from cruelty and oppression. What He
wants is that you loose the fetters of injustice and set free those who have
been crushed, that you share your food with the hungry, take the homeless poor
into your house, and clothe the naked. And when the people offer Him
sacrifice and a cacophony music and prayers, He rejects these in
words that must have shocked the worshipers..."

And on a completely different note, I'm in the middle of a small crisis: my pants keep shrinking in the wash. I guess this isn't that big of a deal, but I only have four pairs of pants and two are quickly becoming, well, let's just say I look like I'm waiting for a flood. Is there any way to prevent shrinkage other than cold water and no drying? Help! I guess I could just stop washing them, but then I might have bigger problems...

An Update from Hands

Happy August, everyone!!

I hope the eighth month of the year is finding you well.

I haven't written much about OT life recently, so this one goes out to all of you Wash-Uers who want to hear about things like dynamic wrist extension splints.

Last week, I started my second chunk of fieldwork in the outpatient hands clinic here. Technically, I'm supposed to have a rheumatology placement, but the majority of the people who come in have hand issues, so I'm pretty much immersed in hand therapy all day.

I definitely feel a lot more comfortable this time around. I understand the hospital culture and I know how to write notes and fill out paperwork. These two skills have helped me immensely! I like the therapists I am working with; they are very kind people and have been intentional about speaking English when I am around. (I can't tell you how thankful I am for people who speak English. It is so frustrating to be around people who can speak English but still choose Afrikaans, even when they know that I only speak English. Grrrr!)

While I have had many opportunities to do splinting (and let me tell you, I make one mean resting hand splint) and other treatments, I am finding that work in hands is either feast of famine. I hate the fact that I often have down time in the afternoons and have to occupy myself by reading the hand therapy protocol manual or cutting Velcro.

Even though I am working in outpatient, clients don't really have appointments--the hand clinic just has "clinic days." This means that people come on a certain day and wait to see a therapist. As a student, this set-up is slightly frustrating. I never know who is going to come in and I can't prepare by reading clients' medical charts ahead of time. (But hey, even if I had the chart I probably wouldn't be able to read it anyway because most of them are in Afrikaans...) The thing is, outpatient kind of has to work this way, though, because the majority of the people we see don't have reliable transportation or the means to come in at a set time. Also, being "on time" isn't a really a priority for a lot of people here. Things are just generally more laid back. It's quite a switch from the productivity-focused therapy departments back home.

The clientele in hands is also different from burn. The hand clinic sees a much broader variety of people and there are also more people who speak English. This too is good. When I can independently communicate with someone, I find I have a much higher probability of being able to independently treat him or her. I like the variety of hands. It is interesting to see people with different diagnoses and treatments; it's like a new puzzle every time someone walks in the door.

Even though hands is interesting, I don't see myself becoming a hand therapist anytime soon. As hard as I try, I still don't get very excited about flexor tendon repairs or Duran splints. But hey, I've only got four more weeks.