Personal Essay Example
MORGAN
The infant’s hand looked tiny as it rested in mine, the brown skin contrasting my pink palm. Gripping his forefinger, I reached for the lancet I would use to pierce the skin and draw a drop of blood. But as I moved the needle toward the target, the hand pulled back. I raised my gaze and looked at the baby’s mother. Her eyes wide with worry, the woman cradled her child, making it impossible for me to do my job.
As a medical volunteer for a non-profit called Blue-Med Africa, I spent six weeks traveling the bumpy back roads of eastern Ghana. Every morning, I boarded a van loaded with local medical professionals and set up clinics for people with no health care. Seated at an outdoor table in a village near the border with Togo, I was spending the day testing for malaria.
Testing the baby started when I took his temperature. Registering a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, I went straight for a test kit. If detected early, malaria could be treated with a simple round of medicine. But a test couldn’t happen until the nervous mother allowed me to prick her child’s finger. For that, I needed to earn her trust. But how?
Words weren’t an option. The mother didn’t speak English and I didn’t understand Ewe, the dialect spoken in eastern Ghana. Even if we could communicate, what would I say? Malaria can kill your baby or I’m here to help. Aware that logic was probably useless in the face of maternal instinct, I tried another approach.
I spoke with my actions and placed the lancet on the table. The choice now belonged to the mother. All I could do was wait and be patient.
Patience was essential to my role as a volunteer coach at Ignite Adaptive Sports, where I teach snow sports to kids with disabilities. Assigned to spend the day skiing with an eight-year-old boy who had anxiety disorder and ADHD, I noticed a pattern: whenever he saw a steep section of the hill, he panicked and sat down in the snow. When he didn’t get up, I sensed that words wouldn’t work. So I got down on his level, popping off my skis and sitting beside him.
As we watched other skiers, I listened to him talk about his fears. About ten minutes later, I sensed his calm. My intuition told me what to do. I stood up and held out my hand. He looked into my eyes and saw my confidence in him. The boy grabbed my mitten and let me lift him from the snow.
Roughly 6,700 miles from that mountain, I watched the mother scan my face. I wanted her to see how much I cared, how my only agenda was the health of her baby. I sat still as the seconds ticked by. A full minute passed. Eventually, the mother’s muscles relaxed and she loosened her grip on her baby. Sensing the arrival of trust, I held out my hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said with my eyes.
She lifted the baby's hand and placed it in mine.
I gently held the tiny finger and picked up the lancet. I pricked the baby’s finger and squeezed the flesh until a droplet of blood appeared. After placing the drop onto the test strip, I waited two minutes and read the test.
Two bold lines. The baby had tested positive for malaria.
I pointed to the pharmacy table. Without hesitation, the mother turned to get the medicine that would cure the parasite.
“That baby could have died,” said Aikens, the doctor in charge.
Giving credit to the power of the unspoken, I turned my attention to the next patient.