Stigma

My journey to Cambodia was a painful one and I'm not talking about the 25 hour flight, the layovers, or the fear of checked baggage being lost. I'm talking about the painstakingly long application process I underwent to become a volunteer.

My first attempt at the Peace Corps application was the summer of 2008 after I graduated from St Olaf, because isn't Peace Corps the obvious next step in life? That's at least what I initially had my heart set on. I didn't get very far in the application; I encountered a page that I was not expecting - The Student Loan page. It was at that moment that I knew I wasn't ready yet. I didn't quite have a grasp on the depth of my loan debt yet and I wanted to push that as far back into my head as possible. The amount of student loan debt that I racked up over just four years was just like the "Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come" from A Christmas Carol. I imagine a dark, caped figure with scary long and wrinkly fingers pointing into a grave...and the grave represents said debt.

And so my summer following the grandeur of graduation was not turning out as awesome as I'd hoped. My new job as a hostess at the Green Mill for a measly 10 hours a week was no match for the debt mess I got myself into. If I was lucky, I was called out to the farm (Nistler Farms, that is. Like it on Facebook) to hoe, water melons (huh, I was literally watering millions of melons), and transplant. You know, the usual farm-type stuff. The little work I had would not sustain me once the loans kicked in.

OASIS IN A DRY SEASON


Along with financial woes, I was having difficulties adjusting to other post-college related issues - i.e. moving back in with the parents and working at a cheesy restaurant (don't get me wrong, I love me some Green Mill now but at the time...it was difficult.) This was not ideal for me. I was in a pretty low place. I cried constantly, fought with my mom a lot, and felt slightly hopeless about my future.

It was at this point that I decided to try anti-depressants. And please pay attention to the fact that I decided to try anti-depressants. I was not diagnosed with anything and I was not told by any medical professionals that I needed to be on any sort of medication. It was my choice. 100% voluntary. And I must say that taking a 5 question survey about very generic feelings with a "never - rarely - occasionally - always" scale is not a good determinant of any mental illness.

Having struggled with bouts of depression, or what I'd like to call "situational depression", many times throughout my life, I thought it was time to try a medical remedy. My usual remedy in the past was to just deal with it and thought it was a fine solution. I've never been very keen on taking medicine because I like to be tough and I dislike the unknown world of potential side effects. And as it turned out, the side effects of the anti-depressants definitely outweighed the benefits. After about a 5 month trial of Citalopram, I decided it wasn't the right remedy for me. And maybe actually the drugs did work their magic because I was reminded that simply taking care of myself might do the trick. I got back into running after an unusually long hiatus and I started eating better.

Not much longer after my change in lifestyle, I got a real adult job! Full time with health insurance, vacation days, and other cool adult things! It's amazing what patience and persistence can bring. As painful as that time was for me, it's now just a distant memory and I'm proud of myself for getting through it without too much drama.

Fast forward about a year later, I was feeling real crappy about myself and couldn't figure out why. I decided to utilize my adulty benefits by trying out free counseling sessions with a licensed psychologist. I had one session with a nice lady that wrote out her notes on flip chart paper (foreshadowing into Pre-service training? I think so.) She helped me realize one thing that I will never forget - for one, I am smart. For most of my life I was convinced that being "smart" meant you were good at math, science, and analyzing feminist theory texts (I can/want to do none of those things.) She pointed out that I am smart particularly in the realm of art, creativity, etc, which a lot of people can't comprehend. I can see and create what others cannot. Just like others can solve difficult equations or understand organic chemistry and I really care not to go there. Hurt me brain don't want to.

PAIN?


During the next session with the nice lady, I was in a completely different mindset - happy and clear headed. Why? Because the day after our first session, the toxic relationship that I was in at the time - ended! So, I told the nice lady that a third session would not be necessary because I figured out the root of my problem and was feeling light again.

And so, the summer of 2010, two years after my first attempt at the Peace Corps application, I gave another stab at it and finished it. The initial application included a quick health history questionnaire in which I figured it would be best to be as honest as possible. So sue me for trying to do the right thing! Little did I know that this would bite me in the ass later.

I turned in my initial application, along with my awesome recommendations, and received an official nomination in November 2010. It was a nice Birthday present. But this was not the end. No-siree-bob. It. was. not. The. End. My. Friend.

Along with the 500 pages (I'm exaggerating only a little) worth of medical evaluation forms, I was expected to dig up additional information regarding my mental health status. I totally understand why. Peace Corps is not a small deal. It's a big deal. It's a two+ year commitment in a foreign country with crazy circumstances and very little resources, and most likely very few or zero mental health resources. Peace Corps needs to assure that a volunteer will be in their most healthy state of mind before accepting them. Peace Corps wants their volunteers to succeed and serve their full two+ years of service. Of course, duh!

just a nice view from my home in cambodia


I jumped through so many hoops that my brain was like over-sauteed vegetables (mmmm...over-sauteed vegetables...) I passed my dental evaluation with flying colors. That gave me false hope. Finally, my medical forms were all turned in around April 2011. I was getting antsy. It can take 3 or more months to go through a single applicants medical forms. Summer hit again and I was still waiting until I received a letter in the mail from PC. It was a request for MORE medical information. Are you kidding me? I can't handle this. Is there no end to this? No. There is not. I acted...probably not as quickly as I should have but this is because I did not want to go to the doctor again. Seriously, before my PC application, I hardly ever went to the doctor. Then all of a sudden it was almost every three months. Not fun and very expensive, even with adulty health insurance.

I finally had everything in by July and was able to enjoy the rest of my summer training for my very first triathlon. I was in the best shape I'd ever been in. I was also high on life (me? impossible.) I was happier than I had even been. Now, if I could just get that damn invitation from Peace Corps. This was becoming an intense waiting game and all of my friends and family were getting anxious with me. This was especially stressful because I received an e-mail from PC stating that there was IMPORTANT MAIL sent to me. WHY ON EARTH DIDN'T YOU JUST TELL ME THIS IMPORTANT INFORMATION IN THIS E-MAIL?!?!?! So I went back in forth in my head "It's a good letter"...."no......it's a bad letter..." "No...it's a good letter." Good. Bad. Good. Bad. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Then one sunny September day, as my mom and I were shopping in Target (oh, how I miss thee - sweet Target) I received a text from one of my roomies, Sean, saying that I had something in the mail from PC. HOLY SHIT! This is it. My mom was NOT driving fast enough to get home. I felt almost sick to my stomach. Maybe someone else should open the letter. I ran into my house and with three of the sweetest roommates (Sean, Ben, and Krish) and my mom waiting in anticipation I opened...a bad letter.

I was medically deferred to ensure my mental stability for 6 more months.

My spirit was crushed. For the longest time, I feared that other red flags within my health forms would be an issue but I didn't expect my mental health to be the issue because I was happy! Don't they see that? Okay, no they don't. BUT THEY SHOULD!

Six months. Six months. Six. Months. I kept counting the number of months left out on my hands. Those six months felt like an eternity. Especially when I kept focusing on how long it felt.

SERENIY WHEN?


At some point in my waiting, something clicked in my head. In order to really prove to Peace Corps that I am "mentally stable" I need to be active, to be productive with this time that they gave me. I contacted the volunteer coordinator at St Joseph's Home for Children which was only about 6 blocks from my house. I wanted to volunteer there for forever and this was probably the best time to get my butt over there. I was approved as a volunteer in the Emergency shelter which was a revolving door of kids ranging in age from 0-18. Volunteering here was one of the most challenging experiences I'd ever had but it was also the most eye-opening. So much so that I am considering social services/child services as a potential future career.

Soon, I took the deferment period as a gift. It was my chance to work with the amazing children and staff at St Joe's. It gave me time to think about what I really wanted with my Peace Corps experience and in my life. Granted, I was still very frustrated with the additional paperwork I had to complete in order to appease the Peace Corps medical staff. In order to fulfill the expectations of the deferment, I was to meet with a licensed psychologist for 2-3 sessions and have this medical professional that did not now me at all fill out paperwork about me. Even the psychologist I met with thought it was a ridiculous situation. Nonetheless, it was filled out and turned in a month before the end of my deferment period.

And the waiting game continued.

Incidentally, because I was deferred, some of my medical tests were now "out of date" and PC wanted fresh ones. So I peed in a cup again, sacrificed more red blood cells, and faxed more confidential paperwork over to Washington DC. I was chronically checking my application status on the Peace Corps website. And I was doing so secretly at work since only a couple people were aware of my situation.

April was nearly over and my patience was growing thinner and thinner. I got together with my dear friend Nicole Novak (whom I mentioned in a previous post) and we talked about my situation. She made a really good point about mental illness being stigmatized in America. In one way, I was being penalized for seeking help. Instead of going to the doctor and trying anti-depressants, or talking to a counselor, I very well could have just drank myself into oblivion or took up heroin. Those, too, are coping mechanisms but they are not the healthy methods for dealing with any level of depression. Seeking help is not a bad thing. It takes a lot of courage and shows strength.

The next day I was feeling energized and motivated so I called the PC medical office to check my medical status. Coincidentally, the lovely nurse I was talking to said "Laura Olson, yes, I just finished looking through your file and you've been medically cleared." I could've cried right there.

The next day, I was e-mailed from the placement office and everything started falling into place so quickly, it was incredible. After all this waiting, it took a mere 5 days to find out I was going to Cambodia in July.

And now I'm here, 7 months in country and 5 months at site. There are times when I'm sitting in a crowded bus with people yelling into their cellphones in Khmer and babies crying, staring out the window at the rice paddies and I am simply amazed that I'm finally here. That I made it. My dream of being a Peace Corps volunteer that I had since I was a wee little second grader was now reality 20 years later. The reality is, without a doubt, full of obstacles every single day but it was absolutely worth the wait.

COW MOUNTAIN PALMS


I wanted to write this blog post for many reasons. But the number one reason is for all the Peace Corps applicants out there that are encountering the same roadblocks that I received. When I opened the letter about my medical deferment, I wanted nothing more than to find hope that I still had a chance. That it was all just part of the Peace Corps protocol and eventually I would get what I wanted. I googled so many different combinations of "Peace + Corps + medical + deferment + mental + health + invitation" in hopes of finding someone else that went through the same experience and received an invitation in the end. And so, my hope is that this blog post will give other applicants hope and strength. Seriously, do not give up. Everything about the medical paperwork sucks and can be one of the most stressful and tedious things you ever have to do, but your persistence will pull you through. If you are truly committed to serving in the Peace Corps and giving your best effort to help another nation, you can make it through a pile of bureaucratic paperwork.

PEACE CORPS IS CALLING...HOW FAR WILL YOU GO?

Chaos Theory: See Children

I have mentioned in previous posts about my amount of "busy-ness" or lack thereof in Cambodia and very little has changed since then. And because of this lack of "busy-ness" and structure, I've pushed myself out of my comfort zone (AKA sitting in the Health Center and feeling awkward with everyone staring at me) and moved next door - to the primary school.

Throughout most of my life, I've surrounded myself with children. For the first, let's say 10 years of my life, I was a child. So it was super easy then. And from what I remember, I was a pretty awesome child. I ran around barefooted, climbed trees, saved stray dogs, and always washed my dirty feet in the bathroom sink before dinnertime.

I began babysitting in middle school, volunteered at my church's nursery, and mentored kids throughout college. I love me some kids. Kids are generally nonjudgemental, silly, and not as awkward as adults. Kids make my experience worth while so far.

How can anyone say no to a face like this? One of my favorite neighbor kids.


It took me a long time to build up the courage to simply walk to the primary school (which is only about 150 meters from my house) and talk to the teachers there. But once the courage was full strength, I had a really confusing conversation with the teachers in mostly Khmer and a little English and accomplished nothing. This was back in December and I ended the conversation stating that I could start something at the school in January. In the end, no one was really sure what that "something" would be...well, actually, the teachers expected that the "something" would be teaching English and I thought it would be teaching health lessons. I returned a couple weeks later with my Khmer tutor and the expectations for me did not change much. We did, however, figure out that I'd come to the school on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays at 10AM. I would teach whatever I wanted in the library for grades 4, 5, and 6.

Finally, after some pussyfooting around, I went to the school to teach the kids about the three food groups. In Cambodia, there are three food groups promoted by the Ministry of Health - Grow, Go, & Glow! I think it's a great campaign. Grow - or "ahaa satabana reeang kai" represents the body building foods. The meats (and other weird things that contain protein - tarantulas, crickets, silkworms, eels, etc.) Go - or "ahaa tomapol" represents the carbs/fats/energy foods. So rice, corn, oils, fats, sugars, potatoes, etc. And then there's my favorite, Glow - or "ahaa gah-peer reeang kai" which represents the body protecting foods with lots of vitamins and minerals, i.e. fruits and veggies. I'm a veggie pusher. Generally, I'm unsuccessful at convincing kids of the wonders and deliciousness of veggies but I guess I don't blame them. It's kind of a written code that all children abide by - "Vegetables are our evil bitter enemy." But it doesn't hurt to try. My new tactic is to tell kids that if they eat vegetables they will be beautiful like me. I know, it's terrible but I'm on a mission to get all the kids in my village glowing! Vegetables are very delicious. Bonlai ch'nang na!

After the first lesson on the food group Grow, everyone learned to draw a fish!


I made it through the food groups and felt pretty good about myself. I had actually prepared (a little) and pulled off three days of health related material. This is my job! Hooray! And then, I started going to the school with nothing prepared. This was both fun and terrible all at the same time. The kids discovered that I can draw and they now demand me to draw monkeys, fruit, elephants, etc, ALL THE TIME.

I drew this monkey at the HC from memory! I know, be amazed.


I drew the line on drawing requests when my health center staff asked me to draw their kids MORE monkeys. No, it's time for your children to learn to draw their own damn monkeys (is what I said in my head.) If Peace Corps encourages anything, it's capacity building. It is completely unsustainable for me to make drawings for everyone in the village. I will teach them to draw and build on the capacity of the people! My heart has already been broken too many times by the words "Khnom aut jeh goo" spilling from a child's lips. It means "I don't know how to draw." And if there's anything a kid should know, it should be to draw (at least in my book.)

Something I learned the hard way is that kids in primary school = chaos (as the title of this post so suggests.) It boggles my mind, the difference between kids in primary school and the kids in secondary school. Or perhaps what boggles my mind the most is the tolerance for chaos displayed by the Khmer teachers.

Let me explain. One day I went to the school, excited to hand out nice white pieces of paper to the kids and have them draw their homes. I wanted them to draw their own houses because the day before they asked me to draw my house in America. There were, suspiciously, many more students than usual in the library - some very small. I suspected that there was more than just 4th, 5th, and 6th grade students stuffed into the already stuffed library. There was no where for the little little ones to sit. I was sweating.

I began passing out the pristine white paper only to realize I definitely did not bring enough for everyone. Grabby (and grubby) hands were surrounding me, kids were begging me for paper, and when I ran out I felt so bad. Why did I even do that? Again, giving the kids paper is not sustainable. I don't have endless funds to provide them with clean white paper every time I meet with them. And when I'm gone, no one will give them paper to draw on. To make the situation even worse, without thinking about what could come of it, I brought out my colored pencils and crayons. I did this because I wanted to do something nice for the kids. I wanted them to make beautiful drawings. But instead of joy and beauty, the library turned into MAYHEM. I don't think I've ever been so shocked by the actions kids. The moment I removed the colored pencils from my bag all chaos erupted. Kids were rioting, falling over each other, trampling the smaller and weaker kids to get their hands on the colors! It felt like an eternity; I was stuck in a tornado of whirling hands and screams. And as the chaos unfolded I looked to the back of the room toward the three khmer teachers sitting and watching the chaos - completely unfazed. What is going on?

I was upset. I told the kids to stop and sit down. I took the coloring pencils away. I told them what happened was not good and that no one could use the colors because of what happened. I felt bad for causing such a craze. It really showed me how seldom the kids receive new school materials and how much they lack in their lives but which I constantly had at my fingertips as a child. I had endless art supplies as a child and took it for granted. It's no wonder I learned how to draw and it's no wonder how so many kids in Cambodia say they don't know how to draw.

The chaos of the day simmered and the kids that didn't have white paper were okay with drawing in their notebooks. Some kids copied my drawing of my house which I drew on the white board and it was even prettier than mine! They were so excited to show me their drawings. The lesson ended on a good note but I will never forget the day that I feared what 40 small children were capable of.

They look more innocent than they really are...........don't be fooled


The next day I went to the primary school turned out to not be an official school day. Most of the kids were already home but the kids that were there dragged me around the school grounds, threw flowers at my face, and shared star fruit with me.

It was nearing lunchtime when I decided to stop drawing elephants and go home. I walked hand in hand with a few kids when suddenly behind me I heard someone crying. I turned to see who was crying and why. It was a young boy, maybe about 8 years old, and it was unusual for a boy of that age to be crying. I was worried. He was standing in the doorway of the classroom with another girl that was equally as worried as myself. It took me a while to realize that the boys eyebrow was cut. It began bleeding pretty badly and was dripping into his eye. I wasn't really sure how he cut his eye, but I surmised that the door was shut on his face. And the girl standing next to him was the one who accidentally shut the door on him because she did not see him.

I got a napkin from a woman selling fruit nearby and wiped the blood away from his eye. We then walked our way across the campus - the boy, myself, and 20 other kids, to the health center. I held the boy close to me and repeated "aut baanyaha" to him which means "not a problem." I didn't want him to worry. I just wanted to scoop the boy up in my arms and run to the health center but it was hot and I didn't want to freak him out any more. I looked closely at his eye once me and my gang of kids made it to the HC. I was hoping he wouldn't need stitches but the nurse looked at it and decided it was a stitch-able cut. I was hoping no more than 4 stitches based on the size of the cut. Luckily, the boy's mom was informed immediately and she made her way to the HC as soon as possible. The nurse had him lay down on the bench and they prepared him for stitches. At that point, the girl that was involved in the accident was crying and all the other kids were crowding around to watch. I told them it was time to go home and that they should not watch. Some kids left with me but a few stayed because Khmer people love to watch disturbing things sometimes. I wanted to stay with him but decided it was better to get the other kids home and have less gawkers at the HC.

And so the stitches concluded my week of chaos with the children.

This experience only reinforces my theory that there is no "happy medium" in Cambodia. I'm either bored to tears and taking too many naps or running on stress induced adrenaline. The moments and amount of stressful events are extremely minimal in comparison to the massive amounts of boredom I endure at times which almost makes the stressful events a gift. I would never wish stitches upon anyone but having been involved in two stitching incidents within one month is maybe a little bit odd. Either way, I'm still hanging out with the kids 3 days a week, sometimes more.

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride. (Nothing is better than this music video right here right now click this link seriously please do it.)

And here's a kiddie with a kitty! The kitty's dead now.

Kitten play