Ruth Marina

I am busy moving around the hospital when one of the women from UNIMA, Marta, calls out to me.

"Lauren," she says, and that is it, because that's the end of her English. Marta and I have been hanging together for five days, laughing as tortured Spanish spouts from my mouth.

Marta points to a smiling girl who pulls up to us in a wheelchair. This girl, 11 years old, shines with beauty and light. I see arms and legs covered with scarring from burns.


"Hola, bonita," I say, and smile big at her. Marta, unsure if I get it, takes off one of the girl's slippers. There is a a badly mangled foot.


"Hola," I say again, and give her tummy a tickle. She laughs and laughs. She tells me her name is Ruth Marina.












The translator from UNIMA, Michele, comes over to us.

"Her father set the house on fire," she whispers to me. "Do you want to get her mother's story?"

I move with Michele and Ruth Marina's mother to a quiet hallway.










Ruth Marina's father had been a FARC--the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia -- People's Army (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia -- Ejercito del Pueblo). Established in the 60's as the military unit of the Colombian Communist Party, it is known as a guerilla unit. Later, they started to finance themselves through the cocaine trade.

One day, Ruth Marina's mother comes home from her job at a sewing factory and finds her husband in bed with another woman. She tells him they cannot live together anymore. Her husband does not take this lightly. He proceeds to tie her wrists and knees together so tightly he breaks her bones. He then pours gasoline around the room, where their 3 babies also happen to be. He goes outside and pours gasoline around the house before lighting a match and running off.

Ten minutes later, neighbors come to help. One-and-a-half-year-old Ruth Marina and her twin sister--who is alive but I do not meet today--are immediately rushed to the hospital with the mother. Their one-month-old baby brother or sister--I do not get the gender--does not survive.

At this point in the story, tears form in the small woman's eyes, and she shakes her head. She does not go on. A profound heaviness surrounds us as we stand in the stark hallway.

A burn surgeon was scheduled to come on this trip with us, but at the last minute he was not able to come. After a moment of collecting myself, I go find the Healing the Children administrator for this trip, Steve Nargiso.


Steve meets Ruth Marina and takes some photos and information. Healing the Children is trying to set up a burn mission this upcoming October. Because finances are still uncertain, he doesn't tell the mother so as not to get her hopes up.





I give Ruth Marina all the toys I have left: sunglasses, crayons, stickers. Together, we play and giggle.

Horror stories like this are not particular to Colombia. According to the National Child Abuse and Neglect Data System, there was an estimated 3.3 million referrals of child abuse in the US in 2005---and that's just what was reported.

Gandhi said: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”

I agree, but even moreso, I feel the moral progress of humanity can be judged by the way we treat our children.





Ruth Marina, you are not alone. There are people who care. Today, we say a prayer for you.

Henry, Mi Amor

Well, it's happened: I've fallen deeply in love. His name is Henry.

At three years old, Henry's eyes are filled with a heavy understanding and lots of mischief.

According to Henry's mother, Henry was born with no tongue and a cleft palate. His mother prayed and prayed for Henry to get a tongue. Three months later, she says, Jesus answered her call and Henry got his tongue.

I ask our pediatrician, Dr. David Fenner, about tongues and Jesus. Dr. Fenner says that Henry probably had a tight frenulum (that fold of membrane that attaches the tongue to the floor of the mouth) and eventually grew out of it. But it might have been the work of Jesus. The more I see, the less I know for sure.

Last year, Henry's cleft palate was operated on. Children here often receive operations in less than optimal conditions. If the surgeries are not done very carefully, the palates can re-open.

At some point, Henry's palate re-opened and has a large hole. This hole gives Henry a speech impediment, earaches, and affects his hearing. When he has a cold, he has trouble breathing.
Henry's father works part-time as a woodcutter, and his mother works as a maid.

Henry and his mother travel six hours to be here...part of the time by canoe. For three days, Henry and his momma live on the sixth floor while waiting for his surgery. The sixth floor is an unused, downtrodden area that the hospital lends to us in order to house the children before and after their operations.










Henry's operation is scheduled for 3 o'clock. Usually filled with great spunk, by 2 o'clock Henry is barely moving because he hasn't eaten due to upcoming anesthesia.

You're getting sleepy...........Sleepier.........I go get Dr. Fenner









Henry becomes so dehydrated the doctors and nurses give him an IV before operating. Everyone else begins to fall in love with him, but I make sure to let them know he is mine.
















I follow Mi Amor's palate surgery very carefully. Thank god Dr. Abraham knows his stuff.


















In a few hours, Henry is asleep in the recovery room and I leave for the night.









First thing in the morning, I visit Henry on the sixth floor. I find him sitting on a little plastic chair outside the bathroom his mother is cleaning....the toilets have leaked and the floor is covered in water and urine. My boy is still very groggy from his surgery and flashes me those pensive eyes.....sigh.


Ah, Henry, how will I leave this place without you? You won't remember me, but I cannot forget you.

First Day of Surgery

Yesterday was the first day of surgery, and it was truly a fascinating experience for me.
If asked to draw a picture of the healthcare system in the US, I'd sketch a group of medical personnel held hostage by a prickly fortress of insurance companies, special interest groups and the ubiquitous pharmaceutical industry.
When dealing with the healthcare system, I have often felt disappointed, frustrated and lonely. Feeling this way led me to write a monthly feature on alternative healing modalities for the past two years.
Experiencing the atmosphere here brings me back to the bare bones of healing...to the truth in the work of a doctor, a surgeon, a nurse, a medical technician.
There are no walls here between the patients and the healers. They are souls coming together to heal each other. It is humbling to witness, and I am deeply grateful.

Information about some of these photos:
First Photo: When under anesthesia, the children get protection on their eyes so they won't dry out.
Second Photo: A cleft palate about to be operated on.
Third Photo: Nervous parents and little patients in the waiting room.
Fourth Photo: Dr. Bruce Chipkin administers anesthesia.
Fifth Photo: Dr. Manoj Abraham and Dr. Andrew Jacono get ready to operate.
Sixth Photo: Dr. Art Menken examines Alejandra's ears.

Mis Amigos and Me

Today, I am a very lucky girl.

The Waiting Room

Here in the waiting room, I get to play with all my new friends while the doctors take turns screening each one. It is a long day....but the children still manage to smile.
Luckily, I brought stickers, coloring books, yo-yos. I am immediately swarmed by adorable, hopeful faces.

We Arrive at the Hospital

When we arrive at the hospital at 7 am Sunday morning, we are greeted by a number of families waiting outside. A non-profit organization in Santa Marta, UNIMA (short for Unidos Por Un Manana Sananda Los Ninos Hoy -- United for Tomorrow, Healing the Children Today), is the contact organization with Healing the Children in the US. They have notified families throughout Colombia that a medical team from the US will be arriving.
We don't know how long they have been waiting, but some have traveled over 8 hours to be here. Many of them live in the rural areas of Colombia, where they have to walk to the nearest small town in order to catch a bus and then another bus and so on....
We are happy to see each other.

To the Hospital We Go...

Well, here we are in Santa Marta finally hooked up to the internet. My experiences so far have been incredibly moving. Our first friends were the military personnel who protected all our medical equipment brought from New York.

The Journey Begins....

I am setting up this blog for an upcoming trip to Santa Marta, Colombia, with the non-profit organization Healing the Children. I hope to collect as many stories as possible, as well as to take photos and videos. Travel with us through this blog and meet all our new friends!