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Let It Be - Chapter 2
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The muggy, tropical air smothered Callie as she deplaned. The thick troposphere filled her nostrils with the putrid fumes of engine fuel as she traipsed down the mobile stairway to the tarmac into the dense humidity. Greeting the passengers as they crossed the runway was a colorful 'Welcome to Equatorial New Guinea' sign hanging by the passenger entrance.
Being an American and a doctor, her paperwork allowed her to pass through customs without hassles. Walking toward baggage claim, however, she felt a bit vulnerable. No longer having the security of her documents to shield her, where to the general populace she was merely a female visitor to the African country.
She sensed anonymous eyes peering at her as she ventured through the quiet airport. Her Mediterranean features announced she was a foreigner. The absence of a male escort advertised she was traveling solo. She noticed many of the men seemed to dress with European flair. The women around her dressed less chic by American standards. Their conservative garb consisted of either dated, western styles or airy, vibrant, traditional, African dress. Regardless, either attire left everything to the imagination - as intended. Callie wore slacks that were fashionable, yet conservatively classic. Her form fitting top revealed very little skin. However, her outfit accentuated her unmistakable curves. The men passing by gawked at her unabashedly, making her feel scantily clothed.
Her entrance to this unfamiliar environment soon became even more uncomfortable as it became apparent that her definition of personal space differed from what had been her norm. The smell of a spicy, fish lunch mixed with the stink, stale odor of garlic was thrust at her with every word spoken. She only had a couple of conversations, attempting to get her bearings, when she quickly realized that her individual comfort zone would need to shrink. She was reminded that here, in Africa, people were used to living in smaller quarters and with extended family. Creating a bubble that was too large would be construed as being aloof. She made a mental note to refrain from instinctively stepping back when having conversations. She needed to make this new life work and giving the appearance of seeming standoffish to co-workers or acquaintances because she was not in tune with local mores could lead to a poor first impression.
Anxious to have all her possessions in hand, she walked toward baggage claim in order to retrieve her belongings. She would then determine how to locate her hotel, her home for the next month. The communication from the hospital was sketchy, only her flight and hotel information had been emailed. Supposedly, an assistant was being assigned to help her with the balance of the relocation and the setting up her new department, but when that would happen she hadn't a clue. Truly, she didn't really care. She was here and she would figure it out. As for now, there were so few hotels, it should not be too difficult to locate to hers.
Approaching the carousel, she was about to pull her first piece of luggage off, when the distinct smell of body odor caught her attention as an arm reached over her, swiftly yanking her bag from the conveyor belt. Taken back, she turned hastily around to see a man smile at her. He held up a sign: Dr. Torres. His gaze asked for confirmation.
"I'm Dr. Torres," she said, nodding with shaky confidence. She stepped aside in order to give the man additional room to grab her other suitcase as it was about to pass by a second time. She raised her guard when it suddenly occurred to her that this nameless person seemed to know more about her than she about him.
She was initially unsettled that the man identified her so readily. Obviously, the hospital arranged for him to meet her. It dawned on her that identifying her was a no-brainer as she looked around. She was the only western female in the area, and her Gucci carry-on was clearly a relative to her checked luggage, part of a set. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Letting out a relieved breath, she relaxed, as the man grabbed her other bag. Her designer luggage was yet another not so subtle sign of her foreignness.
"Madam, I am your driver, Alvaro," the man declared in Spanish after removing the bags from the carousel.
'Hmm, my driver,' she thought, 'Nice.' She stared at him a moment. He was her age, maybe slightly older, taller, thin, worn. His skin was chocolate brown, shiny with sweat. He had a full head of wavy hair, trimmed short. His dark eyes were warm, but lacked sparkle. His beard and mustache were cropped close, styled a bit like Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow, though without the braids. He dressed in a short sleeve, button-up dress shirt and dark, lightweight slacks. Dirty feet were supported by sandals.
"Nice to me you, Alvaro. I'm guessing you're here to bring me to the hotel," she said eagerly. She was about to extend her hand to offer a handshake, but before she could, she realized Alvaro had already gripped her luggage, one in each hand. He clearly was not expecting the gesture, so she refrained.
"Yes Madam, and tomorrow I will bring you to work," he stated in a matter of fact manner.
Alvaro took both suitcases and escorted Callie to the car. He rested the luggage on the sidewalk in order to open the door to the backseat for Callie. Once she was seated, he shut the car door and he placed the bags in the trunk of the vehicle.
Callie lowered her reservations about this man. If he had devious plans for her, he would not have had her sit in the back seat, plus he had a considerate manner about him. So far, so good. She hoped this start was a good omen, the first step in changing her life to a more positive outcome, because really what she left was not much.
Driving out of the airport, she was grateful she had a driver. She tugged on her seatbelt, making sure it was securely fastened as the car entered a roundabout. The trip to the hotel resembled a few laps around the track at the Grand Prix and it scared the hell out of her. Cars were weaving in and out, oblivious pedestrians walking haphazardly about the roads and the animals! Alvaro honked his horn every few moments, yelling at the craziness around him as he jerked the car left and right, avoiding obstacles. The cars in the vicinity returned the gesture. "What the hell were animals doing wandering about the busy roads?" she wondered.
Gripping her purse tightly, she looked out the side window. "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," was all that came to mind.
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In no time they arrived at the nicest hotel in the area, rather modest by American standards; there were so few choices. Her room included a queen size bed with air conditioning, thank goodness. The thick humidity was suffocating. She really needed to sleep, but her internal body clock was so confused. She had been awake, and traveling well over a day at this point. Her nerves were on edge after more than thirty hours of travel. Sleep would be elusive with the anxiety inspired by the abrupt shift in her lifestyle. Knowing she should eat something, Callie found the hotel restaurant, but she realized that she was somewhat of a distraction, a foreign female dining alone. The distinct possibility of being stared at for the duration of her meal made her even more unsettled. Rather than risk exacerbating her indigestion any further, she ordered her food and requested it be delivered to her room. The last thing she needed to add to her list of concerns was even more gastric distress.
As promised, the next morning Alvaro was waiting for her. She spied him off to the side, leaning against the sedan as she approached the lobby doors. He was smoking a cigarette while conversing with a group of idle taxi drivers, who lingered about waiting to secure a fare from traveling businessmen. As soon as Alvaro spotted her emerging from the hotel lobby, he deftly flicked his cigarette butt and swiftly hopped into the car, speeding to the hotel entrance. She was struck by how nonchalant yet perceptive he was. Before she could reach the door handle, he had already exited the vehicle and had the passenger door open for her. "Good morning, Madam," he greeted.
"Alvaro, good morning. Please, call me Callie. It sure does get hot early here." She tried to make small talk, but she soon realized he was uncomfortable with her attempts. Instead, Callie decided to silently peer out the window, absorbing her new surroundings.
As he pulled the car up to the hospital entrance, again he opened her door. This time he handed her a wrinkled paper with directions and numbers scrawled in what looked more like chicken scratch: 'take elevator to 3 floor go left room 312.'
He added, "Go through the front door, the elevator is to the right. My phone number is on the paper. Call when you are ready to leave. Have a nice day, Madam Callie."
"Thank you," she responded while thinking, 'Really?' she silently questioned. She stood alone, in front of her new place of employment, slightly overwhelmed. 'That's it? Alvaro is my sole meet and greet?'
She exited the third floor elevator and walked down the hall, perusing the office numbers. Callie immediately noticed the sign with her name, declaring her presence in the hospital. It hung on a placard adjacent to the office door numbered 312: Dr. Cal Torres, MD.
Yes, she was clearly a female, the hospital would not deny that, but apparently they not anxious to tout that fact either. In a country where twenty-five percent of the women were not literate, females in the workplace were neither necessarily common nor respected, especially in a professional capacity. Thus, the nonspecific gender name of 'Cal'. "I guess it could be worse," she lamented. "I would rather be called Cal than Calliope." The latter only served to remind her of her father. She would rather escape from that memory.
Women here were not often found outside the home, of course, most women were lucky if they got more than seven years in the educational system, barely enough time to learn to read and write. There were very few women able to hold professional positions. Very few had the education to do so. A brief wave of panic briefly washed over her as she stood in the hall. She wondered silently, "What am I doing here?"
So caught up in her momentary second-guessing of her current career move, she failed to notice the woman sitting at the desk outside her office door. "Dr. Torres?" an older woman asked as she stood and walked toward Callie, extending her hand.
Startled, she answered, "Yes, I'm Dr. Torres. Please call me Callie." She shook the woman's hand.
The woman smiled, "I am more comfortable with Dr. Torres, if you wouldn't mind. My name is Maria Rosa. I am your secretary. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you would be here so early this morning. I erroneously assumed you would need time to recover from your long trip. But, you know what they say about never assuming. Anyhow, disregard the email I sent you offering to meet you at the hotel."
Callie realized that as the women apologized, Alvaro had figured out she was unexpected this morning as well and he thoughtfully wrote out those directions for her.
Maria was an older woman, perhaps sixty years old or so. She was fluent in English, Spanish and French as well as the local dialect. Callie's first impression was the woman had a wise deportment about her. Over the day, she realized Maria spoke sparingly. Though her words were few, it did not take long to learn that it was important to listen to what Maria shared, she was unassumingly smart. It occurred to Callie that she was still on probation in this woman's eyes. The two would undoubtedly spend the first weeks sizing each other up. Callie was worried about how much information to share with her assistant. Was she really 'her' assistant? The older woman was obviously just as unwilling to unconditionally trust this foreign newcomer. Both women managed to tactfully dance around each other during their initial time together.
The first weeks at the hospital were slow, learning the routine, completing paperwork, ordering equipment and meeting an occasional colleague. Callie was one of the few female physicians on staff, actually one of the few females employed by the hospital. It was a nice bonus to learn she did, as promised, get an administrative assistant all to herself. Paperwork was so tedious, Maria helped Callie plod through it timelier, hopefully expediting her presence to the inside of an operating room, which she missed terribly. Maria was efficient, completing everything asked of her without hesitation. She wasn't warm and fuzzy, barely breaking a smile. Callie reminded herself that this is what she wanted, space and objective relationships. Maria gave her that and Callie needed to get over the fact that Maria was her secretary, not her friend.
The hours spent getting the orthopedic department up and running were longer than she anticipated. Getting the right equipment and staffing for this department in a third world country was infinitely harder than she expected, not that she needed many staff members, essentially only a few. But finding a nurse she sensed some professional chemistry with was a challenge. The first two weeks Callie had not left the hospital before 10:00pm, and then dragged herself back in before 8:00am. Navigating the paperwork was daunting, and then there were phone calls and interviews, too. But, she was close to completion.
As she was leaving one night, she passed by a woman entering the hospital with an injured youngster screaming in her arms. The woman was met with indifference by the ER staff, which made no sense to the American doctor. Callie stopped a moment to observe the scene unfold as she walked toward the exit. The young boy was held by whom she assumed was his mother. He drifted in and out of consciousness, sporadically yelping in pain as the woman inadvertently jarred the arm in her zeal to get him care. His arm appeared to have been ripped open, as if mauled by an animal. If he wasn't treated soon, he would surely lose it, she deduced as she resumed walking.
It was late. Callie could barely keep her eyes open as she laboriously hiked to the parking lot. Her sleep had been fitful since her arrival, leaving her perpetually tired. Thankful when she spotted Alvaro waiting for her, she made her way to his vehicle. As she trudged on, she could still faintly hear the young boy's wails, leaving Callie unsettled. As she approached the car, she guiltily wondered, 'Will that boy be one of the ones who doesn't live to see another birthday?' She reminded herself why she was here. Turning around, she followed the trail of hysterics.
As she entered the Emergency Room, Callie was shocked to see the woman still in the waiting area, trying to console the injured youth. Surely an injury so grave needed be managed immediately. Walking to the desk, the admittance staff brusquely dismissed her inquiries regarding the youngster, disbelieving she was a physician. Annoyed at being so easily cast-off, Callie demanded to speak with the person in charge. Her demands in Spanish made everyone aware in no uncertain terms that she was angry. "What the hell kind of hospital is this?" she challenged loudly.
Alvaro, seeing his employer do an about-face, followed her inside. "Madam Callie," he called out after her.
She turned to her driver and barked in frustration, "He needs help, now!"
"They are indigents, illegal immigrants. They have no money or insurance. They are not a priority," Alvaro explained.
"So he gets care when it's convenient? I'm sorry, that does not cut it with me." Her frustration, paired with fatigue, was almost out of control. First, she that was so easily disregarded and second that the she felt the hospital's oath to patient care was being so blatantly ignored. A woman's word held very little value here she realized. Most people had never even seen a female doctor. No one would give her the time of day.
Seeing her rage, Alvaro cautioned, "Hold on, Madam. Please." Her first reaction was that she could fight her own battles, but then she remembered that what was best for the little boy, was best for her. Callie reluctantly deferred to Alvaro.
He returned a couple minutes later, a doctor was following him, "Dr. Torres?"
She nodded at the doctor, "That is correct."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you …" the man apologetically explained.
Irate, she snapped, "You didn't realize I was a woman, I gathered that. It still doesn't explain you not treating this boy."
"We have clinics for the poor. He is in this country illegally. Who will pay the bill?" he challenged. Seeing the anger seep from her, he added in consolation, "We'll get to him eventually."
Undeterred, she lashed out, "If he dies, will it matter to you? This boy needs help NOW. I'm going to help him. I will cause a scene that you won't believe unless you get me what I need. Now!"
The male doctor, though perturbed at being put in his place by a woman, was more worried about the potential clout this new physician may have, a department head no less. He decided to refrain from arguing with her, unsure of how much power she actually wielded. He backed off. He had heard about the new orthopedic department with the famous American doctor. He just didn't realize he was a she.
"Fine. I'll give you one bay, that's it. It's all being billed to your department," he pompously retaliated as he dismissed her.
The boy needed her more than this argument. She asked a nurse to direct her to the bed allocated to her, and motioned for the boy's mother to follow. A young female medical assistant, who observed all this unfold, took pity on her and offered to help.
Callie took the boy from the mother and placed him on the bed she was given. An OR would have been preferable, but she could work with the space she was given. Scrounging up a gown, gloves and tools, she went to work. "What happened? This injury is hours old," Callie asked the woman, as she cleaned out the wounds.
"It happened yesterday, a fishing accident. His arm got tangled and he was bitten viciously by an eel trapped in the nets. It took time for him to be brought home," the mother said.
Callie angrily looked up, "How old is he? Six? Seven? Why is he fishing with nets? That means he is on a boat. Doesn't he go to school?" She fiercely interrogated the mother.
The mother merely responded, "Do you think I want this for Manny? I need to feed five other people. We are just trying to survive."
Callie shot the mother an angry glance and went back to her task. She was livid, but she could not let herself focus on the reason. She needed all her concentration to be on the problem. Ignoring the mother, she plugged away.
Hours later the boy's arm was repaired, and he was on the long road to recovery.
As Callie finally emerged from the room, she noticed Alvaro patiently sitting on the waiting room couch. Normally, he waited in the car, but tonight she understood he was more than her driver, he had her back. Alvaro stayed close should the need arise for his assistance. She was grateful. She was more ignorant of the local lifestyle than she anticipated. Today, she was challenging authority. In America, that would not have fazed her, perhaps she would have welcomed it. Yet, it was uncharted territory for her in Africa. "Oh, Alvaro, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here. I'm supposed to be here in another couple hours anyway. Go home, sleep. I'll just stay. Really. I need to keep an eye on this little guy anyhow."
Callie made sure the boy was admitted. Of course, his charges would be billed to her department, which she would need to sort out later with hospital administration. She left strict orders with the nursing staff to contact her if his condition changed.
Making her way back to her office, she thought how desperately she needed sleep, even for just for a couple hours. She curled up in the only comfortable chair in her office, knowing she made a difference today. No throw or blanket was available, but cloaked in the sense of fulfillment, she was lulled to sleep. The whole reason she was here, in this country, was to make a difference in someone's life. She did that today, albeit a minuscule difference. Though, she was still annoyed that she had to fight so hard to treat the youngster. As she closed her eyes, she felt a peace that had previously seemed elusive.
Hours later Callie woke up, pulling the blanket tightly around her. It took her a minute to figure out where she was. Seeing her desk, she remembered. She looked at her watch and realized the time was after 10:00am. Panicking, she threw the blanket off her and jumped out of the chair. She paused a second, a blanket? She didn't remember having a blanket. She overslept, in her office no less. Opening the door, she saw Maria quietly working away at her desk. "Maria, I'm so sorry. I missed the meeting this morning and I promised to get you paperwork. I'm so, so sorry. I…."
"Dr. Torres, it is okay," the older woman reassured, offering a warm smile. "I rescheduled your meeting until this afternoon. The papers have been submitted," Maria said as stood up. "The nurses said little Manny is doing fine."
Reaching to her side table, Maria picked up a tray, and walked over to Callie, offering it to the doctor, "Here, you need to eat. I'm thinking you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday." The assistant handed her a bowl of porridge with a few slices of sweet bread. "I only have tea, let me get you a cup of coffee."
"Thank you. Coffee would be great," Callie graciously replied as she accepted the tray. She wouldn't refuse Maria's offer for coffee either, it would be her lifeline today. Looking at Maria, "You knew I was in my office, asleep?" Maria nodded.
"You gave me the blanket. You know about last night." Maria simply shared a slight grin. But Callie understood in no uncertain terms that their relationship, in this moment in time, now changed. Callie knew she passed a test and the food being offered was an olive branch of sorts. Maria decided Callie was worthy of more than just clerical support. The understanding was unspoken, confirmed by knowing glances exchanged between the two women.
Callie was grateful for the extra attention now bestowed on her by Maria, an ally of sorts. Her assistant still kept her at an arm's length, but they had moved beyond acquaintances, though their camaraderie remained solely in the workplace. Maria had this uncanny ability to organize Callie's day better than Callie could do herself, often anticipating the orthopedic surgeon's needs before the request could even be made. Her efforts included looking out for the younger woman's wellbeing, like ensuring Callie remembered to eat. Despite Callie's request to call her by her first name, Maria remained steadfast in her salutation, 'Dr. Torres' always. The mutual respect between the two was clear.
By the end of the week Callie was finally having her surgical début, supposedly for an amputation. She had not seen the inside of an OR in almost a month and she was excited to be called in on her first emergency. Though, the thought of removing a limb as her first official surgical procedure was a bit depressing.
One look at the injury and she was smiling. Her colleagues found her delight in the pending procedure not just unsettling, but even creepy. Callie, needing to disperse the tension in the OR, turned on some upbeat music and announced, "Alright people, ready?" Callie awed the confused OR staff, unsurprisingly saving the teen's limb. Historically, an injury like this required removal in this hospital, but certainly not for Dr. Torres. With the motivating music playing in the background, Dr. Torres was making a name for herself.
A few more times in the OR and it did not take long for Callie to become a topic of water cooler conversation. She was the hotshot Ortho doc, badass once more. The talk was good.
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Quote: Movie , The Wizard of Oz: "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,"