By Maggie Hassel Health and sanitation in India are deplorable. With less than 50% of the population having access to clean water and only 52 doctors for every 100,000 people, diseases and epidemics run high. Despite the fact that, based on statistics, India has a rapidly growing healthcare sector, most of it is privately owned, which means that the poor cannot afford to have healthcare. In addition, most doctors and hospitals are in large cities, whereas those in small villages, which make up most of India's population, have almost no access to these services. In addition, there is a constant clash of traditional and modern medicine. Many citizens are reluctant to accept help from modern technology, even when it is truly needed. Change the World I had been born to change the world. At least, that’s what I tell myself as the rusty white van bumps over unfinished roads, the windows open, cool breeze combatting the beating sun. I don’t look like a doctor, like someone who had spent six years slaving away in medical school. I wore a loose ribbed tank top and jean cutoffs. My hair was slung up in a ponytail. I look like a college student on summer vacation.
My friends from school anticipate only a life in one place, maybe moving to another city, a bigger house when their income fills with space of the current one. But I will never make an income, will never be successful in a traditional sense. I will never work with pristine, clean instruments in a white room in a multi-billion dollar hospital in a big city. I will do my best with what is provided by the meager government program. I will save lives. I will change lives. This is not a mistake. I am not throwing away all I have worked for.
There is no lead up to the town, if it can be called that. No imposing skyline or buzz of population. Only when we draw near can we begin to hear the sounds of life. As we drive our out-of-place van between the carefully assembled houses of mud and thatch, children congregate around it, close enough that the driver had to slow to a crawl to avoid running over small feet. These children are smaller than any I have seen in the U.S. Their heads seem too big for their bodies, their knees knobby and bowed. We pull into a space between two houses, followed by a river of people, curiously reaching out to touch the chipped white paint of our ancient vehicle.
We jump out onto dusty ground and are immediately swarmed with grateful hands, patting our backs, offering help in carrying our bags. The people eagerly lead us to a building which has been constructed near to center of the town. It is the only vaguely modern construction in the town, a one story stucco building, shiny white and new.
I step inside, expecting the familiarity of a doctor’s office. Instead, I see rickety tables and a tub for water. And I realize it will be a lot harder to save the world than I had expected. Orphan to the Killing Disease
If the sun pounds outside Why does it feel so cold in here? Why does she shiver? What have I to fear?
The sickness of sickness The killing disease That made her crumble Us, fall to our knees.
My father is gone To the dusty earth I'm to lost the last thing That to me, has any worth.
There are twelve of us Ranging from infant to man We each try to manage But none of us can.
How did my mother The strong and the brave Let the sickness freeze her On this hot summer day?
Health and sanitation in India are deplorable. With less than 50% of the population having access to clean water and only 52 doctors for every 100,000 people, diseases and epidemics run high. Despite the fact that, based on statistics, India has a rapidly growing healthcare sector, most of it is privately owned, which means that the poor cannot afford to have healthcare. In addition, most doctors and hospitals are in large cities, whereas those in small villages, which make up most of India's population, have almost no access to these services. In addition, there is a constant clash of traditional and modern medicine. Many citizens are reluctant to accept help from modern technology, even when it is truly needed.
Change the World
I had been born to change the world. At least, that’s what I tell myself as the rusty white van bumps over unfinished roads, the windows open, cool breeze combatting the beating sun. I don’t look like a doctor, like someone who had spent six years slaving away in medical school. I wore a loose ribbed tank top and jean cutoffs. My hair was slung up in a ponytail. I look like a college student on summer vacation.
My friends from school anticipate only a life in one place, maybe moving to another city, a bigger house when their income fills with space of the current one. But I will never make an income, will never be successful in a traditional sense. I will never work with pristine, clean instruments in a white room in a multi-billion dollar hospital in a big city.
I will do my best with what is provided by the meager government program. I will save lives. I will change lives. This is not a mistake. I am not throwing away all I have worked for.
There is no lead up to the town, if it can be called that. No imposing skyline or buzz of population. Only when we draw near can we begin to hear the sounds of life. As we drive our out-of-place van between the carefully assembled houses of mud and thatch, children congregate around it, close enough that the driver had to slow to a crawl to avoid running over small feet. These children are smaller than any I have seen in the U.S. Their heads seem too big for their bodies, their knees knobby and bowed. We pull into a space between two houses, followed by a river of people, curiously reaching out to touch the chipped white paint of our ancient vehicle.
We jump out onto dusty ground and are immediately swarmed with grateful hands, patting our backs, offering help in carrying our bags. The people eagerly lead us to a building which has been constructed near to center of the town. It is the only vaguely modern construction in the town, a one story stucco building, shiny white and new.
I step inside, expecting the familiarity of a doctor’s office. Instead, I see rickety tables and a tub for water. And I realize it will be a lot harder to save the world than I had expected.
Orphan to the Killing Disease
If the sun pounds outside
Why does it feel so cold in here?
Why does she shiver?
What have I to fear?
The sickness of sickness
The killing disease
That made her crumble
Us, fall to our knees.
My father is gone
To the dusty earth
I'm to lost the last thing
That to me, has any worth.
There are twelve of us
Ranging from infant to man
We each try to manage
But none of us can.
How did my mother
The strong and the brave
Let the sickness freeze her
On this hot summer day?