Why?

Today is Wednesday, July 22nd and we just arrived in Poiana, the remote mountain village where we will be living for the next four days. It is only the first “official” day of our trip, and already it is difficult to comprehend all of the miles we have traveled and the things we have experienced that brought us to this point. Together, we have journeyed through heartbreak, wonder, laughter and exhaustion.

Our day started with a trip to the main hospital in Oradea. Sylvia, the hospital’s Chief Administrator and Adi, our Host in Poiana, had arranged for us to hand out Give a Gallon bags in the Gypsy, Pediatric Oncology and Abandoned Children units of the facility. Going into it, I knew the experience would be challenging, and we did our best to prepare the girls (and ourselves) for what was in store. Looking back on it now, I realize there is no way to prepare anyone for this type of experience.

Before going any further, I wanted to share a little bit about the Romanian healthcare system. Socialized medicine welcomes a mother to live with her sick newborn/toddler (in a private room) at ZERO expense up until the child turns three years of age. Once that child turns three, that mother can continue living alongside her child for as long as she chooses, but the state does begin charging the equivalent of $3.00 a day for room and board.

If this sounds like a system designed to be taken advantage of, in Oradea I can assure you that is exactly what is happening! As we walked the halls of the Gypsy wing of the hospital it was overly apparent that they operated more like a daycare or live-in shelter than they did a healthcare provider. We struggled differentiating between patients and visitors. Women lined the halls socializing with one another while their kids ran up and down playing. It was dorm life meets playgroup... absolutely craziness!

I asked Sylvia about the situation and she shook her head with disgust. She explained how the Gypsy families grossly abuse the system. Some come up with excuses as to why their children should be admitted: a runny nose, a small cough, diarrhea… then they either move in with the kids, or drop them off, go out for coffee and disappear for indefinite periods of time. We were all shocked to see that this is a way of life for a lot of families in Romania. Briana kept saying, “And I thought people in America abused welfare!”

I share this experience not to be political, but to point out the difference between the two cultures. So many of the parents I know dream of giving their children a better life. These women were strategically abusing the system; they are trapped in the cycle of poverty. It breaks my heart to think about their children's future... I don't know how they will ever learn how to break free.

Down the hall and blocked off from the Gypsy wing of the hospital is the Pediatric Oncology unit. Fortunately, I have not spent much time in American Oncology units, but the little bit I have experienced has been hopeful… doctors and patients optimistically evaluating ways to fight the horrible disease. The mood in the Oncology unit of the Oradea hospital is much bleaker. Some of our girls tried to give one of the patients a Give a Gallon bag and the nurse sitting beside the child's bed shrugged off the gesture. She mumbled something along the lines of, “Don’t waste your bag on this child, she is going to die.”

If you think this is gut-wrenching, go up another 2 flights of stairs to the floor for Abandoned Children. You know you are somewhere different the second you arrive. While no place in the hospital is in quality condition, here the floors are missing tiles, paint is peeling off the walls and the air is still and eerily silent. Sylvia introduced us to the ONE nurse who works in this unit, and together they walked my group in and out of rooms on the hall.

The first room we visited was divided into two halves; there were three children one side and two on the other. Thankfully one of the five kids living in this dismal space appeared healthy. She rested quietly in a carrier on the floor. Just above her head were two cribs, one with a young boy who has Down Syndrome and another with a 5-month old little girl who is paralyzed from the waist down. The little girl with the spinal injury was positioned on a pillow such that her legs looked hyper extended. When I went over to pick her up I quickly realized how long it had been since anyone had cradled this child in their arms – much less exercised her legs. Her legs were unbelievably stiff and there was a white fungus-looking substance growing in the creases above her knees.

On the other side of the room we met a young boy who was born with a disease that causes his head to grow at a disproportionate rate than the rest of his body. His name is Istavan and Sylvia told us he has very little brain function. It bothered all of us to see how quickly Sylvia dismissed him because of his condition – again it was the “he won’t notice, so do not bother” attitude.

The child that stole my heart was lying in the crib next to Istavan. Her name is Evaleen and she is three years old. Evaleen has a terrible clef pallet, obvious developmental disabilities, seven fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot. When we first approached her crib, she was lying on her side with her back to us. She would move her legs if I rubbed her feet and rock slightly as I stroked her back. I do not know if Evaleen was capable of sitting up, but she eventually rolled over onto her other side, allowing us to stare back into her deep and lonely brown eyes.

This is the point where I lost it emotionally. I stepped out into the hall to get a breath of fresh air and fell to the floor in tears. These kids have no one yet need everyone. Their physical disabilities are one thing, the absence of love and care is another. Why God, Why??????? Life is not passing children like Evaleen by; life never came to Evaleen and Istavan in the first place.

I could not bring myself to take pictures while we were in the hospital. In many ways, I did not need to because the experience will forever be engrained in my mind. Please say a prayer for these children, and for these families. It will not be the last time you hear me speak of them. While I do not know what we can/should do, I know we have to do something.

We are now three hours outside of the buzz of city life. You could describe the place where we are staying as a cute little house in a big, beautiful wood. (There are actually two houses here – a main house where 11 girls are sharing 5 rooms and 1 bathroom, and a river house where 10 girls are sharing 3 rooms, a pullout couch and 1 bathroom.) We keep the windows open at night so that we can marvel at the stars and enjoy the melody of the river. If ever there was a place where you could try to make sense of the craziness in this world, perhaps it is here.