Jennie Brennan
August 28, 2009
“This Changes Everything”
I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. I’ve known since I was thirteen that I wanted to be a physical therapist. I also knew that in deciding to attend Arcadia eight years later that I’d be moving more than 3,000 miles from everything I call home. In looking back, I can pinpoint many awestruck, life-changing events that led up to where I am today. They were moving and emotional events, no doubt; however, nothing can compare to the moments, often seemingly insignificant, where you literally find yourself stopping to think, “This. This changes everything.”
One of the first things I heard from Miss Anna was nothing new, but something I will never forget. Simply put, she made a reference to the rain as a blessing. After driving in a downpour for hours and having to navigate around floods and downed trees caused by the same rain, that was the last thing I wanted to call such a cold and wet thing. Yet on that day, her simple words changed everything. I suddenly saw the rain as provision, as cleansing, and as economical. The rain provided needed nourishment for the crops of fresh fruit and food I’d eat for the next two weeks. The landscape remained plentiful and green because of the rain. As rain collected, it provided water for washing the sweat and dirt out of my clothes, off the floor, and likely, water for my shower as well. Yes, our group would have survived without it, but at a further drain on expensive water that would have to be trucked in. For many of those in the region of St. Elizabeth and beyond, the rain was their sole water source. What a blessing.
Surrounded by wasp nests, broken insulin needles, and dirty dishes, Leroy waved us in. In broken patois he told us that all he needed to rely on was his daily bread. At first this didn’t make sense. Leroy was clearly not living in the lap of luxury. This man had nothing but a few dishes and pots, a broken fan, a rumpled bed, and the clothes on his back. He suffers from an unidentified disease, has diabetes and uncontrolled blood pressure, and is dependent on a rusted wheelchair to move around. Yet he has an undaunting faith that insulin will be provided, food will be delivered, and that he’ll physically be able to go up and down the six steep stairs into his house every day. That was enough. These are the things, his “daily bread,” that he sees he needs. In fact, when asked what happened to his fridge, a valued possession, he informed us that he’d given it to his niece when hers recently broke. When was the last time I gave away one of my most expensive, valued possessions to someone in need? He demonstrates simplicity and faith at their greatest. I was humbled. This changes everything. To see a faith so deep, one that fully believes food, water, and the medication you need to survive the day will be provided without knowledge of from whom is truly moving. What may be even more moving, however, is the way his faith is rewarded. He is constant living proof.
Pastor Victor was one of the most challenging cases I was able to work with while in Jamaica. He had been cringing for the last five minutes as Brooke and I attempted to assist him in moving his right arm through a slow, supported series of movements. He had suffered a left CVA months ago and was left without speech and a severely affected right side. What was most pressing on this day was the edema surrounding his joints that had recently been triggered without known cause. It made every movement hurt even more. In his eyes you could see his desire to do better and his frustration and new pain at not being able too. On this particular day, I felt helpless with encouragement and skill as a PT. He seemed to be losing motivation by the minute. It was then that Brooke started to sing. “God is good. God is good. God is good to me. How can I let Him down.” As simple as that, it changed everything. Pastor Victor, a man I’d yet to hear mumble a single sound in two visits, began to hum along. The rest of the room joined in. As the song continued, Pastor Victor’s face became calm, his movements more steady and strong. Thirty minutes later he completed a seated transfer with minimal assist, and most of all, a smile on his face. I wanted to cry with joy. For as much as we study and learn and practice, PT is only one piece of who we are, what we have to offer to others. It certainly shouldn’t be the driving force behind what we do or how we go about our days. Motivation, strength, courage, and healing come from a much bigger source.
There are many other points in time that I’d like to reconstruct from this trip. My journal tells a long tale of possibly even bigger moments where my heart and soul were rocked to the core. In a different time and place these moments may have seemed irrelevant.
It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced the sayings or that song from above. I don’t yet know the full depth of the reason why I walked away changed this time. Much like I didn’t understand, at thirteen, the multiple shoulder injuries that kept me in physical therapy for the entire year. Nor did I understand all of the opportunities Arcadia would have to offer internationally when I signed on to a graduate program almost three years ago. I do believe that there is a reason for all things. I’ve already started to see the changes in my daily life, and with time, hope to understand each fully.
