When I try to explain what it meant to return to my native Guyana for the first time in 18 years, I struggle to put feelings into words. I always feel like my descriptions are never doing it justice.
But there’s one image that always seems to work: it’s of an isolation room in the pediatric ward of the hospital that bears a strong resemblance to a jail cell. From the paint chipped walls, to paper thin mattress, and the caged tank of a toilet without a seat.
Every time I think of the room, I think “this is the room where children in the worst condition are forced to stay.”
After the Ticat season ended last November, I began an informal internship at McMaster Children’s Hospital. As a pre-med biology grad, medicine is definitely my post football goal (though I think “goal” is an understatement).
During that internship, I was approached by my supervisor Julia Pemberton and Dr. Brian Cameron (who has done extensive work in Guyana) about a project that would aim to raise capital for the pediatric ward of the country’s main hospital, Georgetown Public Hospital Corporation (GPHC).
Source: YouTube video posted by rrrhind1
With my interest in medicine, and having been born in Guyana, the project struck a chord. I agreed to participate. We paired with Guyana Help The Kids (GHTK), a charity that aims to improve the health of children, the most vulnerable sector of the Guyanese population. In mid-March, I, my father and Dr. Narendra Singh (founder of GHTK and chief of pediatrics at Humber River Regional Hospital) left for Guyana.
How strong is the need?
Guyana has a population of 750,000 and has only two certified pediatricians, both of whom work in the private sector (in contrast, there are six pediatricians of Guyanese descent practising in Toronto alone).
A third-world country, Guyana ranks 130th in the world in infant mortality (48 deaths per 1,000 births) and the main hospital, GPHC, accounts for one third of the births in the country. Canada ranks 25th in the world at 5.22 deaths per 1,000 births.
Though some private hospitals are fairly modern, the public hospitals (what the majority in this developing country must use) are about 30 years behind North America.
The main purpose of the trip was to officially open the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and to gather the information needed to fuel the fundraising efforts back in Canada. But a large part of the trip was personal — this would be my first trip back. I was happy to bring my father with me.
The personal part of the journey took hold the moment we landed and my dad and I stepped on the runway. I walked the same footsteps I’d walked in my mind when I dreamt of returning. I left the country when I was eight years old, so few memories were vivid, but it’s amazing the memories the mind stores that you never access until something triggers them.
On the hour drive to the hotel, the smells also triggered memories and welcomed me back. The smell of Demerara River when we left the airport, the pungent odour of the factories, and the Stabroek Market (a market I frequented with my dad) that let me know we were finally in Georgetown.
The next morning, Dr. Singh received a phone call notifying us that the president of the country had heard of our project and had the time to meet with us.
I settled my nerves, put on the Ivor Wynne game-face, and went to meet the president of my native country, Donald Ramotar. After the third checkpoint past the 15-foot front gates, we entered his office and were greeted by a man with a warm face.
After discussing the project and lending his support, President Ramotar mentioned, “Before you leave we’ll have to teach you about ‘real football’ (soccer)”, to which I assured him “Don’t worry my football is very real.” He is now the proud owner of a Hamilton Tiger-Cats hat.
The next day, I got a chance to see the pediatric ward at the hospital. This was the most moving part of the trip. We went to the NICU, a unit that GHTK has spent the last two years improving, and it shows — the infant mortality rate has already dropped 35 per cent, through equipment and staff training. Aside from the size, we can proudly say the NICU is now comparable to those in North America.
We then made our way to the current pediatric ward — the real focus of the trip for me. About 30 seconds after arriving, Dr. Singh told me “Ryan you can close your mouth now.” There’s a reason I don’t play poker — lack of a poker face. I just couldn’t help it. I saw what looked like 50 scrap cribs and beds, sardined together, making infection control problematic, to say the least.
I then got a chance to see the isolation rooms — I made a conscious effort at that poker face this time. But the feeling was much the same. Sick children will always get a reaction, but the condition of the ward and feeling I got won’t be leaving me anytime soon. Comparing the NICU with this ward, I saw first-hand how much help is needed and more importantly, possible.
After the hospital, I visited my old elementary school, where I savoured the feeling of towering over water fountains that used to be too high, a see-saw that was way too big, and ducked under doorways that I could never have reached as a child.
The following day, we officially opened the new NICU, accompanied by an array of ministers, doctors, nurses and the first lady, Deolatchmee Ramotar.
We then established a future location for the pediatric ward, and visited the current ward where I got to give out some Ticat donated hats to the kids — as rewarding and as motivating a feeling as you can imagine. Though I’m certain that none of the kids in the ward knew who this guy was talking to them and handing out hats, I’m just as certain that it didn’t matter to them one bit.
The motivating part is that with the smile that a conversation and hat can bring, I can only imagine what kind of smile a moderately comfortable bed will bring. That, and the promise I made to Brittney, a peds patient in a wheelchair, that I’d be back with another hat — though hopefully she won’t still be there when I do get back.
I then got a chance to do something I’d been anticipating since I knew I was returning: going with my dad to visit the house where I grew up. It was the place I remember the most, every inch of the yard held its own memory. The stairs that I fell down on. The tree that I fell off. The gutter that I fell into. (I wasn’t necessarily the most athletic kid.) This part meant so much, as many of the memories I created with my father I was able to share and relive with him now.
He had never been back either. I know returning to the country where he was born, raised and married, and seeing the house where he started his family, meant the world to him.
It’s tough to encompass the whole trip with one word but I guess I’d go with ‘complete.’ I got to meet the president, help open a life-saving ward, gather the necessary information about the project, revisit my school, home, family and friends, and reconnect with my roots. I’m blessed to be a part of this project.
Special to The Hamilton Spectator
But there’s one image that always seems to work: it’s of an isolation room in the pediatric ward of the hospital that bears a strong resemblance to a jail cell. From the paint chipped walls, to paper thin mattress, and the caged tank of a toilet without a seat.
Every time I think of the room, I think “this is the room where children in the worst condition are forced to stay.”
After the Ticat season ended last November, I began an informal internship at McMaster Children’s Hospital. As a pre-med biology grad, medicine is definitely my post football goal (though I think “goal” is an understatement).
During that internship, I was approached by my supervisor Julia Pemberton and Dr. Brian Cameron (who has done extensive work in Guyana) about a project that would aim to raise capital for the pediatric ward of the country’s main hospital, Georgetown Public Hospital Corporation (GPHC).
Source: YouTube video posted by rrrhind1
With my interest in medicine, and having been born in Guyana, the project struck a chord. I agreed to participate. We paired with Guyana Help The Kids (GHTK), a charity that aims to improve the health of children, the most vulnerable sector of the Guyanese population. In mid-March, I, my father and Dr. Narendra Singh (founder of GHTK and chief of pediatrics at Humber River Regional Hospital) left for Guyana.
How strong is the need?
Guyana has a population of 750,000 and has only two certified pediatricians, both of whom work in the private sector (in contrast, there are six pediatricians of Guyanese descent practising in Toronto alone).
A third-world country, Guyana ranks 130th in the world in infant mortality (48 deaths per 1,000 births) and the main hospital, GPHC, accounts for one third of the births in the country. Canada ranks 25th in the world at 5.22 deaths per 1,000 births.
Though some private hospitals are fairly modern, the public hospitals (what the majority in this developing country must use) are about 30 years behind North America.
The main purpose of the trip was to officially open the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and to gather the information needed to fuel the fundraising efforts back in Canada. But a large part of the trip was personal — this would be my first trip back. I was happy to bring my father with me.
The personal part of the journey took hold the moment we landed and my dad and I stepped on the runway. I walked the same footsteps I’d walked in my mind when I dreamt of returning. I left the country when I was eight years old, so few memories were vivid, but it’s amazing the memories the mind stores that you never access until something triggers them.
On the hour drive to the hotel, the smells also triggered memories and welcomed me back. The smell of Demerara River when we left the airport, the pungent odour of the factories, and the Stabroek Market (a market I frequented with my dad) that let me know we were finally in Georgetown.
The next morning, Dr. Singh received a phone call notifying us that the president of the country had heard of our project and had the time to meet with us.
I settled my nerves, put on the Ivor Wynne game-face, and went to meet the president of my native country, Donald Ramotar. After the third checkpoint past the 15-foot front gates, we entered his office and were greeted by a man with a warm face.
After discussing the project and lending his support, President Ramotar mentioned, “Before you leave we’ll have to teach you about ‘real football’ (soccer)”, to which I assured him “Don’t worry my football is very real.” He is now the proud owner of a Hamilton Tiger-Cats hat.
The next day, I got a chance to see the pediatric ward at the hospital. This was the most moving part of the trip. We went to the NICU, a unit that GHTK has spent the last two years improving, and it shows — the infant mortality rate has already dropped 35 per cent, through equipment and staff training. Aside from the size, we can proudly say the NICU is now comparable to those in North America.
We then made our way to the current pediatric ward — the real focus of the trip for me. About 30 seconds after arriving, Dr. Singh told me “Ryan you can close your mouth now.” There’s a reason I don’t play poker — lack of a poker face. I just couldn’t help it. I saw what looked like 50 scrap cribs and beds, sardined together, making infection control problematic, to say the least.
I then got a chance to see the isolation rooms — I made a conscious effort at that poker face this time. But the feeling was much the same. Sick children will always get a reaction, but the condition of the ward and feeling I got won’t be leaving me anytime soon. Comparing the NICU with this ward, I saw first-hand how much help is needed and more importantly, possible.
After the hospital, I visited my old elementary school, where I savoured the feeling of towering over water fountains that used to be too high, a see-saw that was way too big, and ducked under doorways that I could never have reached as a child.
The following day, we officially opened the new NICU, accompanied by an array of ministers, doctors, nurses and the first lady, Deolatchmee Ramotar.
We then established a future location for the pediatric ward, and visited the current ward where I got to give out some Ticat donated hats to the kids — as rewarding and as motivating a feeling as you can imagine. Though I’m certain that none of the kids in the ward knew who this guy was talking to them and handing out hats, I’m just as certain that it didn’t matter to them one bit.
The motivating part is that with the smile that a conversation and hat can bring, I can only imagine what kind of smile a moderately comfortable bed will bring. That, and the promise I made to Brittney, a peds patient in a wheelchair, that I’d be back with another hat — though hopefully she won’t still be there when I do get back.
I then got a chance to do something I’d been anticipating since I knew I was returning: going with my dad to visit the house where I grew up. It was the place I remember the most, every inch of the yard held its own memory. The stairs that I fell down on. The tree that I fell off. The gutter that I fell into. (I wasn’t necessarily the most athletic kid.) This part meant so much, as many of the memories I created with my father I was able to share and relive with him now.
He had never been back either. I know returning to the country where he was born, raised and married, and seeing the house where he started his family, meant the world to him.
It’s tough to encompass the whole trip with one word but I guess I’d go with ‘complete.’ I got to meet the president, help open a life-saving ward, gather the necessary information about the project, revisit my school, home, family and friends, and reconnect with my roots. I’m blessed to be a part of this project.
Special to The Hamilton Spectator