My apologies for going so long without a new blog post. I have been wonderfully distracted as my children begin their Spring Break from school.
So I’m back in the saddle and ready for the rest of Spring Break. All of which makes me think again of our trip to Guatemala just a few weeks ago. I know, I know – but in my brain the dots don’t have to connect in a straight line 
Along with souvenirs, I also brought back some sort of intestinal thing from our trip to Central America. Doug told me to use bottled water for everything, but I think I may have forgotten a time or three when I was brushing my teeth, or was singing in the shower. Anyway, it didn’t seem like any big deal – mild fever, couple of trips to the bathroom (per hour that is), then I felt fine. Fine that is until a few days later my joints started swelling and aching. Then it was off to the doctor for testing and treatment. So it goes.
It’s not that easy in Guatemala – especially for the part of the population we were working with back in January. They don’t have doctors readily available, nor could they afford 
to go even if they did. Sickness and the related side effects are just part of their everyday life. Sure, their bodies build up resistances to various bacterial and viral ailments, but at what cost? Maybe when their joints swell up, the aching never stops. And diarrhea is the third leading cause of death in Guatemala – the primary cause of death in children under five.
Can you imagine here in America, 
seeing your pre-school age child die in your arms from the effects of diarrhea? It just never would happen! We’d be at the clinic, with the doctor, giving medications, and if that didn’t work, we’d go to the hospital of our choice.
Guatemala doesn’t have many choices.
There’s another connection between Guatemala and Spring Break. You see, each day when we would travel to a different site to set up a clinic for the local citizens, we would use these abandoned buildings. Or at least that’s what I thought they were.
Much of the construction in Guatemala is basic concrete block, with corrugated tin roofing, open spaces where we might think doors or windows should be. It’s a tropical climate, so these materials and techniques work just fine.
But these places we used for clinics seemed bad off to my American eye. Few lights or electrical outlets, if they even worked. Everything made of metal was rusting badly. No running water. Outhouses were the only toilets. Very little furniture, other than old looking tables, school type desks and plastic chairs. Nothing else. What had these buildings been used for at one time, my American mind wondered.
One place where we set up a clinic had an asphalt paved area within the “L” shape of the single story building. 
It looked vaguely like a playground – beat up basketball goals, steel pipe to form a soccer goal – mostly just lots of asphalt. The top of the surrounding concrete block wall was embedded with pieces of broken glass – an inexpensive security system. A rusty, padlocked chain held together two rusty gates at the entryway, which in like fashion hung crookedly from rusty hinges. The outhouses sat within five feet of the building, conspicuous puddles in front of each. The locals didn’t seem to notice these as they went in and out. Barefoot children splashed right on through.
Only at the very end of our stay in Guatemala, did I learn that our being able to use these nondescript buildings had been a miracle of sorts. You see, the mayor of the town was so appreciative of our being there to offer free medical care to the citizens, that he had shut down the public school system for the whole week, so we would have places to set up our clinics.
Only then did it dawn on me what those buildings were used for on an everyday basis …
