I just returned from my second trip to the hospital this week.
It isn’t my favorite spot in Mae Sot. It does the job, and I would be admitted there if need be; but it’s a little scary. It could definitely be used as a set for a horror movie.
Either way, the first trip was for my sweet friend, Mary. She is now limping with a broken, casted foot.
And this evening, just as Stephen had left to go pick up the visiting volunteers for a prayer night, the neighbors ran up to the door. At first I thought they were saying “cold water,” so I grabbed a bowl and filled it from our water cooler. It was about then that I realized they were saying “hot water.” I turned as they pulled the little screaming toddler into the light. I saw his little chest was burned, and the skin was coming off in sheets. He had grabbed a cup of water for a drink, but it was boiling; he poured in down his chin and onto his chest.
I called Stephen to come back quickly, and the team jumped out of the car. I jumped in with the little boy’s two sisters and our dear friend, Mong Ey; she is our connection to the community who speaks Karen.
And thus began the chaos of languages. The nurses kept asking if I know Thai, while Mong Ey used Burmese to talk to the girls, and the girls used a little bit of Thai to speak to the nurses. I used Karen with Mong Ey and some English with the nurses and staff.
I wish I knew more languages. But I’m thankful I did know enough Karen for us to get by, however choppy it may have been.
The little boy was bandaged up and treated quickly, but it took another hour or so to sort out paperwork, again between Burmese, Thai, Karen and English; manage to get our hands on some antibiotics and pain medicine; and pay $9 for all the services.
If I wasn’t tired enough today, I am now.
But the little boy is doing better and sleeping, and I received an animated Karen lesson for the day.