Creighton University students, staff, and faculty have been bringing health-care expertise to the Dominican Republic since 1976. And they do it with a lot of love.
It's been a hands-on experience for thousands of members of the Creighton University community who have participated in the Institute for Latin American Concern program, which started there in 1976. Students and faculty from the medical, dental, nursing, and other related programs at the university spend summers in the Dominican Republic, working at clinics, serving the rural poor. |
ILAC's teams immerse themselves in the Dominican Republic's culture by living with families in campos, rural villages. Not long ago we lived in La Sierrecita, high in the mountains, working with a team at a makeshift clinic that was always short of medications and supplies. Each day we would treat patients as best we could and educate the community on the basics of sanitation and disease prevention, including hand washing, teeth brushing, and wearing shoes to prevent parasitic infestation. We lived with Antonio and Ramona and their eight children. Each morning we awoke to the melodic sound of parents and kids reciting the rosary. The day started not with alarm clocks or mad rushing about, only prayer and the rising of the sun.
Our day ended with a return to our "family." Javier, one of the eight children, was handicapped. He'd always hold my hand and lead us from the clinic to his house so we wouldn't lose our way. After dinner the children gathered around a small table and listened to the tinny crackle of a small battery-powered radio. With broken pencils, by candlelight, they were taking a science course by radio. School in the area only takes them to fourth grade, but they were determined to continue their education.
One evening, we were exhausted and had gone to bed early, about 8:30. A half hour later we were awakened by a voice. Someone was coming up the trail to the house; his voice was getting louder as it got closer: Doctor José! Doctor José! Someone needed my husband. An eight-year-old village boy, kicked in the face by a burro, was bleeding profusely.
Joe quickly dressed and hiked to the clinic. Having spent seven years in an ER he knew what to do, but here he had to stitch the boy up by flashlight. Back in the States a board-certified plastic surgeon would handle a wound like this, but in this small village on top of a mountain, the boy's family was grateful for a physician of any type.
Each day the little boy came to the clinic for follow-ups. Kristi Kluge, a Creighton nursing student from Missouri, and I would re-dress his wound, and the doctors would check for any infection. Each day, by the grace of God, the wound healed, his smile came back. Each day we were grateful.
Creighton teams go on tours, activities, and field trips away from the clinics where they work to learn about Dominican culture. One weekend in spring 2002 we took seventeen physical therapy students to Crossroads, a mission near Puerto Plata run by Jana and Bob, an American couple. Jana had invited us to join them in one of their many ministries to the poor, serving lunch to Haitians who live in a garbage dump.
But first she talked about dignity and respect. She told the students not to hold their noses because, yes, it will really smell bad, but you will be in their home. She said not to make faces of shock, of horror. All they have is their dignity; please don't take it away from them. They will want to sing for you to honor and thank you, and they would like it if you sing for them.
 Creighton's dental teams work in less-than-ideal conditions. No fluoridated water and poor tooth-brushing habits lead to decay and gum disease; the result is a high rate of tooth loss, even among Dominicans in their 20s. |
So off we went on roads that dump trucks traveled and then on paths meandering through piles of trash. The Haitians gathered around us with drums made of old rusty five-gallon cooking oil cans. Broken metal spoons served as drumsticks. Other unrecognizable objects suddenly became musical instruments. They sang a traditional Haitian song, a joyful sound in a most dismal environment.
We came prepared when it was our turn to sing. One student, John, pulled out his shiny guitar, and we sang "How Great Thou Art." For a moment we entered a sacred space in another culture, with another people living in the most horrendous conditions, and connected and exchanged gifts of our humanity through song.
ILAC teams teach the basics of preventive health care, relying on cooperadores de la salud, Dominicans who have trained at the ILAC Center in Santiago. |
It was one thing for Joe, my husband, and me to run off to a Third World country, using two weeks' vacation to live without running water or electricity, but quite another to go for a longer period. We had our Down's child to consider. David, now 30, functions at the level of a three-year-old except that he doesn't talk, feed himself, or do any self-care. We'd once thought he had autism because he is generally withdrawn and especially reserved with strangers and in strange places. He is sweet and loving and happiest when there are no changes in his daily routine: getting up at the same time, eating the same thing, waiting for the bus to go to the workshop, home for dinner with Mom and Dad, then TV and a bedtime routine.
Boy, were we going to change David's routine. Instead of working at ILAC for two weeks, Joe and I were trying to figure out how to go for eight months to work with the students, travel the country, and visit new programs.
"What about David?" was a question we both pondered for three years.
Then one day, a peace came over me. I announced to my husband with certainty, "We'll just take him!"
Our time in the Dominican Republic proved to be an awakening for David, much the same way ILAC has been changing the hearts of students for so many years. He began to smile more, be more independent, and he began to dance! In the Dominican Republic, dance is an integral part of the culture, and David loved the music. David's dance was definitely unique—he'd wiggle and shake and grin from ear to ear—but it did resemble the merengue.
David no habla nada, he doesn't talk at all, I'd tell the Dominicans, but that didn't bother them; they would talk nonstop Spanish to him with their arms around him. One day, Maria, a neighborhood woman, explained it: David entiende mucho; el habla de corazon, David understands a lot; he speaks from his heart. I choked back tears and said, Estoy de acuerdo, I agree. He'd hug his Dominican friends and communicate love with special rhythmic pat-pat-pats on their shoulders, pats usually reserved for mom and dad.
David's adjustment was our biggest fear; it turned out to be our greatest joy. He was transformed in a most amazing way that brought to my memory words of Ignatius: "Love consists in sharing what one has and what one is with those one loves. Love ought to show itself in deeds more than words."
 ILAC teams frequently rely on plain old foot power to reach their rural destinations, hiking in with belongings and donated health-care supplies and staying with Dominican host families. Far out of their comfort zones, participants nonetheless consider the experience to be life changing. |
La Guamita de Hatillo, a mountain village, was one of the six places where students lived and set up clinics this year. La Guamita was the most remote, requiring students to hike down a valley with their supplies after they were dropped off where the road ended.
In this village they discovered a number of children with significant eye problems ranging from nystigmus to blindness and referred many of the kids to Santiago for follow-up and treatment.
Sara Huegli, a medical student from Ann Arbor, had to leave mid summer because of a severe rash that was getting dangerously close to her eyes. Sara resisted going home; she cried when we drove her to the airport. She left her camera so other students could take pictures of everything she was going to miss; she wanted more memories.
The whole community felt the loss of Sara, but it hit her Dominican "dad," Marino, the hardest. He spoke during mass about how much Sara meant to them. Marino's family left her bedroom untouched the rest of the summer so it would be ready if she was able to return. It was one of two bedrooms for a family of eight. Marino explained that they only wanted to be prepared if Sara got better and came back.
Terri Lynch, RN, here with her husband, Joe, and their son, David, has been director of ILAC for two years. She and Joe, a cardiologist at Creighton who is ILAC's medical director, previously spent many summer vacations volunteering with ILAC. |
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Photographer Don Doll, SJ, teaches photography at Creighton. His photos have appeared frequently in Company and many other publications, including National Geographic. He has photographed extensively for ILAC. |
ILAC, the vision of Jesuits Ernesto Travieso and Narciso Sanchez 30 years ago, continues to change lives of the people who serve as well as those they serve. ILAC is now evolving programs in agriculture, vocational education, and community building in addition to health care, which has been expanding as well: ILAC is close to completing a large outpatient ambulatory and surgical clinic in Santiago next to the ILAC Center.
And much of the program has shifted from Omaha to Santiago: a total of fourteen ILAC programs are directed on-site by Dominicans and overseen by executive director Radalme Peña. Cofounder Ernesto Travieso, SJ, who lives at the ILAC Center, continues as spiritual director and president of the ILAC Foundation.
The ILAC Center in Santiago is called CESI, the Centro de Educacion para la Salud Integral, Center for Education of Integrated Health. This title reflects the Jesuit tradition of educating the whole person, spiritually, physically, and emotionally to create men and women for others. ILAC/CESI continues to provide an opportunity for service and transformation to North Americans and Dominicans alike. 