3_anonymous

Anonymous

Hispanic Center of Excellence

Two Worlds Apart

I've seen it on television, in newspapers, and to some extent in my own community, but I've never been so exposed to the contrasting options of the affluent and underprivileged as I was during my visit to the Houston Medical Center. During a summer program developed by my high school and Baylor College of Medicine, called DocPrep, I was exposed to a number of aspects of the health care field. However, one significant event didn't involve a discussion of a disease or a lecture given by a neurosurgeon, but the two environments that seemed like different worlds only a block apart. If anything in my entire life has pushed and tugged at my way of thinking, it was this experience.

Every day of our trip involved a morning stop at Methodist Hospital. We entered, not through automatic doors, but through a hotel entrance, which was conveniently attached to the hospital. In fact, you wouldn't know where the hotel ended and the hospital began if it weren't for the signs indicating, "No Unattended patients Beyond This Point." The tile and glass banisters with gold trim shined from the polishing they received regularly. The color of peaches and cream greeted you with matching plush sofas and loveseats. The portraits of founders and benefactors hung in ornate gold frames, and stained-glass windows ran across the walls for all to admire and appreciate. I thought to myself, "This is the kind of place I want to work." It seemed as if only wonderful miracles and happy endings could occur here. That is, if you could afford them.

On one day, all the admiration and awe I had for Methodist stopped when we visited another hospital, Ben Taub. When a medical student asked me where our group was headed that day, I replied, "Ben Taub Hospital." Her expression changed to a smile and nod of knowing which I didn't know how to read. I asked her about it, and all she could say is what a "change" I was about to see. I knew it was the county hospital, and a majority of the lower class was seen there. However, the difference could not be explained until I saw it for myself. As we approached the entrance, patients stood outside on the sidewalk, smoking, waiting for family members, or a bus. In their eyes was a look of fatigue and apprehension. I tried not to stare, but they grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. We entered the hospital, and the first thing to hit me was the dullness of the place. The walls were white or pale green, and so was the tile. No portraits hung on the walls, but only small pictures of grassy meadows and rolling hills in an ill attempt at decoration. We weren't free to enter the hospital as we had been at Methodist; we had to go through a metal detector. Plain, straight-backed chairs held the sick and those who were waiting. Suddenly, the unfairness of it all hit me, and I realized if they could see and experience the atmosphere of Methodist, they would never go back to Ben Taub. Why shouldn't they have the same options as others, despite their economic status? This may not seem like the most comfortable place to work, but the real medicine happened here, and for many it was a miracle.

After the short visit to Ben Taub, I realized I wanted to make a difference. Not just in the way people are treated, but in the way health care is provided - I want the chance to help those who really need it.

When I returned home the experience at Houston medical center kept replaying in my mind, and when the opportunity arose for me to express my feelings, I could not contain myself. I wanted to explain it to everyone at home and at school. The other students who had attended the same trip did not seem interested in my observation. I began to doubt that maybe it had been my imagination in overdrive, and it had created these memories in my head. However, one thing is for sure - it changed my life. Maybe some day I will be able to wage a war against the system, but first I need the education, and then I can go out and change the world.









			Anonymous Hispanic Center of Excellence Two Worlds Apart I've seen it on television, in newspapers, and to some extent in my own community, but I've never been so exposed to the contrasting options of the affluent and underprivileged as I was during my visit to the Houston Medical Center. During a summer program developed by my high school and Baylor College of Medicine, called DocPrep, I was exposed to a number of aspects of the health care field. However, one significant event didn't involve a discussion of a disease or a lecture given by a neurosurgeon, but the two environments that seemed like different worlds only a block apart. If anything in my entire life has pushed and tugged at my way of thinking, it was this experience. Every day of our trip involved a morning stop at Methodist Hospital. We entered, not through automatic doors, but through a hotel entrance, which was conveniently attached to the hospital. In fact, you wouldn't know where the hotel ended and the hospital began if it weren't for the signs indicating, "No Unattended patients Beyond This Point." The tile and glass banisters with gold trim shined from the polishing they received regularly. The color of peaches and cream greeted you with matching plush sofas and loveseats. The portraits of founders and benefactors hung in ornate gold frames, and stained-glass windows ran across the walls for all to admire and appreciate. I thought to myself, "This is the kind of place I want to work." It seemed as if only wonderful miracles and happy endings could occur here. That is, if you could afford them. On one day, all the admiration and awe I had for Methodist stopped when we visited another hospital, Ben Taub. When a medical student asked me where our group was headed that day, I replied, "Ben Taub Hospital." Her expression changed to a smile and nod of knowing which I didn't know how to read. I asked her about it, and all she could say is what a "change" I was about to see. I knew it was the county hospital, and a majority of the lower class was seen there. However, the difference could not be explained until I saw it for myself. As we approached the entrance, patients stood outside on the sidewalk, smoking, waiting for family members, or a bus. In their eyes was a look of fatigue and apprehension. I tried not to stare, but they grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. We entered the hospital, and the first thing to hit me was the dullness of the place. The walls were white or pale green, and so was the tile. No portraits hung on the walls, but only small pictures of grassy meadows and rolling hills in an ill attempt at decoration. We weren't free to enter the hospital as we had been at Methodist; we had to go through a metal detector. Plain, straight-backed chairs held the sick and those who were waiting. Suddenly, the unfairness of it all hit me, and I realized if they could see and experience the atmosphere of Methodist, they would never go back to Ben Taub. Why shouldn't they have the same options as others, despite their economic status? This may not seem like the most comfortable place to work, but the real medicine happened here, and for many it was a miracle. After the short visit to Ben Taub, I realized I wanted to make a difference. Not just in the way people are treated, but in the way health care is provided - I want the chance to help those who really need it. When I returned home the experience at Houston medical center kept replaying in my mind, and when the opportunity arose for me to express my feelings, I could not contain myself. I wanted to explain it to everyone at home and at school. The other students who had attended the same trip did not seem interested in my observation. I began to doubt that maybe it had been my imagination in overdrive, and it had created these memories in my head. However, one thing is for sure - it changed my life. Maybe some day I will be able to wage a war against the system, but first I need the education, and then I can go out and change the world.