Prem Dan

Awake again at 4:30 am. Brushing teeth outside in our bathroom in the dark. Black crows watching from the railing. Hurried downstairs and into the alley to the door of the mother house for morning prayers. Listened as the sister unlocked the five heavy locks that keep the door secure during the night.

The priest visiting from Ireland keeps falling aleep during the message and Krista and I nudge eachother and giggle. Many of the sister and volunteers are coughing. Hopefully not from TB or some airborn infection- more likely from the horrible sooty quality of the air here. I kept my scarf wrapped around my face this morning- seemed to help.

Breakfast again of bread, chai and bananas. Then onto bus 202 which would f\deliver us two block from our destination of Prem Dan, the second and larger of the two hospice centers, Kalighat being the first. We walked through the narrow, dark alleys of the slum that surrounds the compound. Surprising that this place looks, smells, and sounds so dangerous but it apparently is one of the safest places (as far as violent crime rates go ) to travel for foreigners in all of India. Entered through a solid metal door inset in the heavy walls and was surprised at the beauty of this house. Grey spackled concrete walls with green shutters, palm trees and flowers- more closely like a florida development than a home for the destitute and dying. What a relief. the first two hours we washed clothes and linens by hand under a partially covered portico. The volunteers stood in a long line against a counter that ran the length of the building in which deep concrete sinks had been cut. Pleasant work. Krista was on my right and Anna, a 20 year old civil engineer from Spain on my right. anna said that in the months of July and August over 80% of the volunteers are from Spain. Krista nodded toward the end of the line and Iglanced over to see a patient- the first one I laid eyes on. This was a test.

The woman was sitting in the sun, motionless, like a statue. a thin cotton blanket wrapped around her body. Such a small frame she didnt even look real. She was missing both eyes, and her right eye socket had an infection, her skin was discolored in certain places and was stretched tight over her face. A possible bacterial infection or injury of some kind had torn at her face on the left side so that you could see all of her teeth and her tounge flicked in and out of her mouth.  I couldnt help but shudder. I watched her out of the corner of my eye for a few minutes and then saw one of the sisters, dressed all in white- a sturdy, deliberate woman- the kind that you obey the first time she asks you to- lead the woman by the hand into the center. I may not ever forget that picture. Krista and I finished and followed them inside- I was trembling a little, honestly.

This place is home to 130 men and 130 women all dying of anything you can imagine. TB, organ failure, burn victims...it is what it says- the home for the sick, the destitute and the dying. the first floor of the womens ward is for the patients who have only a few days left. The second floor for younger stronger women who maybe have a matter of months. Prem Dan is beautiful in its simplicity- making US nursing homes look like prisons really. Wall ceilings, white walls, large windows with green shutters....little iron beds with tiny Indian bodies. Rows after rows of them. I walked around timidly at first until I made eye contact with a little lady sitting ubright against the wall- she looked like she could have been in an animated movie. She was wrapped in a plaid blanket and had a mop of white hair, all of her probably weighing no more than 60 pounds. but she wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look huge and she smiled toothless smile and patted the bench beside her. I sat down and she held my hand and spoke to me in Bengali as though I understood every word. She introduced me to her friends, asked me questions, and showed me the bracelets around each of her tiny wrists. Every four seconds she would pause...blink three times...and grin.

I met a woman who appeared to be in her eighties- she was 49. She was missing her right ear, her left eye and her left leg had been mangled in a car accident but she was full of joy and laughed easily. She chanted "Twinkle twinkle little star" to me in broken english. Beside her a young, healthy looking woman appearing to be my age -I took by mistake as a volunteer. She hugged me and kissed my face calling me friend over and over again in Bengali. Ghita, a patient of Prem Dahn is dying of TB at the age of 11 or 12- she doesnt know for sure how old she is- her baby is dying in Shanti Dan- another house on the other side of town of TB as well.

We fed the women lunch. Washed dishes. Rubbed aching backs and sore legs and painting fingernails (which the patients INSIST that you do- they love this! some of them have red fingernails on one hand, blue on the other, and pink toenails).  Then back to bed for afternoon nap.

We grabbed our things and left the compound at 12:30. Krista and I are new and timid about getting around in this crazy place. We followed three girls through the maze of shacks in the slum- which was an experience I will record a video of in the days to follow- over two busy railways and out into the main street where we caught an auto rickshaw- a cross between a dirtbike and a clown car. sets four people total- often accomodates eight. There were six in ours. Our driver cut across four lanes of a busy highway-perpendicular to traffic-and we came within inches of a head-on collision with a full sized taxi and a massive pile up. That is the last time I ride one of those. Two weeks ago apparently three italian guys were riding in an auto rickshaw and were involved in a wreck. They broke their arms and legs and caught the next flight back to Italy- which is 10 hours- only to avoid being seen by doctors in this city. It is apparenty that bad.

Pray for us. Krista and I have to laugh about the crazy things that happen here. Volunteers are getting sick. Terms like Typohid and Cholera are being thrown around- maybe, hopefully, probably an exaggeration on the truth. Doctors here enter people apartments and draw blood without permission and without steralized instruments- totally weird. Krista and I are not down with that and will follow the Italians lead and jump on a plane home if anything requiring medical attention occurs. Dont worry. But do pray. I would love to get out of here unscathed.

Love to you all. The third day is done.

Ev