Just A Matter of Time

Philadelphia

Forty years ago ( can that be true? ) I was accepted in the Peace Corps.

It was a huge deal. Those were the glory days when Sarge Shriver recruited some of the best and the brightest to spend two years in faraway lands. It was 1968. John Kennedy was dead. Robert Kennedy was dead. Martin was dead. The war was raging. In retrospect, it was the most tumultuous period I have experienced in my lifetime, save 9/11.

I had a brand new degree in nursing, at that time rather rare, from a college affiliated with Mayo Clinic where I did all my clinical training in Rochester, Minnesota.

I guess Sarge et al were impressed because they assigned me to teach nursing to young women in Micronesia. Not a bad gig for a kid from Iowa! I was both excited and concerned. Did I know enough to teach these young women when I had just graduated myself, was short on clinical experience and close to their age?

But there was really no time to worry about competencies because life loomed large, and in an instant everything changed.

I found out I was pregnant. And that changed everything. In those days, the Peace Corps, like the military, didn't want pregnant women who would deliver during their tour of duty. And, of course, why should they? They had hundreds of women right behind me who were clammering to get an assignment, particularly such a plum as exotic Micronesia.

That baby is grown and has his own babies now. I have never had one regret about carrying him, mothering him. Babies change everything, isn't that what they say?

But I didn't give up my dream of living in another culture, and in some way having an impact on those I touched. I believe passionately in the notion of the advantaged giving back to those who have fewer advantages.

For the past twenty years, I have considered creating my own little peace corps. I would go to various Central American countries such as Belize, or to some of the smaller and less wealthy Caribbean islands, and check out the healthcare needs.
My idea was that I would find somewhere that needed a storefront health clinic and I would procure grants and gifts to fund it, coming back to the U.S. periodically to recruit my friends who were doctors and nurses to come staff the clinic for a few weeks every year.

When I inquired about the possibility of such a project, I found that these little islands or nations, wanted their OWN people staffing clinics, not a foreigner.

Then I pursued working with the UN but by that time, I wa a little long in the tooth to do a project in Zimbabwe. And probably too cranky at this point to deal well with the bureaucracy.

But I didn't give up. I talked to Project Hope, the Smile group that fixes cleft palate, and everyone I knew who had done medical or educational work with some organization or another. None of the options were for me--the timeframe was too long, the project too technical. The fit just wasn't right. And the Peace Corps, ala Miss Lilian ( the 70 year old mother of former president Jimmy Carter who joined and got tons of press ) wanted two whole years. Not for me. I've got other irons in the fire.

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This week, August, 2008, I received the following email.

"Mary Catherine--Congratulations.

The office in Bangkok has accepted your application. You will be assigned to a temple in Bangkok where you will engage in dialogue with Buddhist monks, many of whom are refugees from Myanmar. That will be your morning assignment. Then, in the afternoon, you will attend to the Mon boys who are immigrants from Myanmar. We want to be sure they are healthy and if not that we can get them the medical attention that they need.
We look forward to you coming on January 19 or 20, and understand that you will stay for 6 weeks or so.
Again, welcome to Bangkok."
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And so, my dream has come true. I expect this is the beginning of several journeys to Southeast Asia. It's a very different region than during the days of my youth when I heard the horrors of the Tet offensive, the Ho Chi Min Trail and Agent Orange.

Today I am filled with gratitude. And, yes, a little pride for not giving up, for honoring my desire to fulfill this dream no matter how long it took.

There is a time...turn, turn, turn...and a season ...

You know the rest.
M.C.