SEA BREEZES A Sketch of the Presbyterian Hospital at San Juan By KATHARINE R. CROWELL WOMAN’S BOARD OF HOME MISSIONS OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH. IN THE U. S. A., 156 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from Columbia University Libraries https://archive.org/details/seabreezessketchOOcrow N this valley though, shut in by the mountains, where our story begins, there are no salty, life-giving breezes ! Even if there were they could not reach little Carmita, who, ill with a fever, is lying in the back room of the poor little hovel which she calls her home. The room is dark and close enough at any time, but when one has a fever not a ray of light or breath of air is permitted to enter. Carmita grows worse and worse, and the hearts of her father and mother are heavy and sad. What can they do? Nothing — just nothing. The moans of the little girl are pitiful. It is hard to hear them and to be unable to soothe the pain. The day passes slowly. There cannot be many days for Car- mita if the fever burn much longer. A sudden thought comes to the father, “Antonio had the fever,” he says, “and he got well.” “Yes,” says the mother, “the American doctors cured him.” “Perhaps they could cure Carmita too.” “But how? Their house is far, far away by the sea.” The moans of the suffering little girl wring the hearts now of father and mother, the more because of the thought of the possible help which yet is impossible, for truly they are far away from the doctor’s house. “Antonio walked all the way,” says the mother, slowly. “We might walk and carry Carmita in the hammock.” “But the long journey — it would kill her.” “She will surely die here,” the mother says. “We will carry her to the doctor’s house, you and I, and per- haps there she may get well.” So in this hospital ambulance^ — as the hammock is called at San Juan — they carried her all the long miles. Porto Rico roads are not like our roads; the way up and down the mountain sides, even without their burden, would not be easy; but love keeps cour- age in their hearts and brings them at length — a pathetic little group — to their journey’s end,— the Presbyterian Hospital at San Juan. Here blow the sea breezes! Here joyous life comes back! Here in this beautiful house by the sea little Carmita will get well. So think the father and mother. The doctor comes, — and the pleasant-faced superintendent: how kind they are! How gentle their voices! How astounding then their words — no ha^ camas , — “there is no bed.” We are so sorry for you, we would gladly take your little girl but — • no ha^ camas. Poor little Carmita! Do we pity her the most — or the heart- broken father and mother — or the doctors who must turn them away? But this case is urgent. Can fifty-one beds be made to hold fifty-two patients? No, they cannot; but in some magic way room is made for Carmita; in plain English, the gentle nurse from America gave up her bed, and before many days, under the doctor’s skill, the nurse’s care and the strength-bringing sea breezes, the fever leaves the little girl. What a lovely time she has — getting well ! There are so many new things to learn — how to dress, for instance, for never before had Carmita so many clothes to put on — all these things, especially the little red shoes, are delightful, but the crowning pleasure is her beautiful doll, sent to her, so she is told, by some unknown little friends in “The States.” Everything about the hospital buildings is an unending wonder to Carmita: The dispensary — which contains the drug room, steril- izing and operating room— has also the waiting room for patients in which Carmita stayed with her father and mother while prepara- The Utile country bouses or shacks* tions were made to receive her. This room is generally filled with patients awaiting their turn, and it is here that they learn a great deal of the Gospel, to which they owe the kindness and care which the hospital supplies. Every morning the Bible is read and prayers are offered in the dispensary. In the administration building there are rooms for the staff and for private patients. As Carmita becomes stronger this building in- terests her greatly, for the patients are mostly Americans and every- thing American fascinates the little girl; a third building contains the wards — the men’s ward accommodates twelve patients, and the wo- men’s ward the same number; as you will see later there is also a children’s ward holding twelve beds. Besides these buildings there are the Superintendent’s home, and the kitchen. The last is surely a necessity, for each day four sets of meals must be prepared — for the staff, the patients, the nurses and the servants, though the latter generally prefer to cook their own meals over charcoal braziers. But Carmita is only one patient. Many others there are who have traveled as far as she — perhaps farther — to reach it. There are two women now in the ward who came from a town seventy miles away. “Seventy miles,” you say, “that is not very far.” “No, not far at all for us, but when one is very ill indeed and must travel over Porto Rican roads on horse-or donkey-back, or be carried in a hammock or a chair — or must walk, as many do, seventy miles stretch out almost endlessly. Yet the people willingly undertake the journey and by one or another of these methods — or by trolley from nearby places — more than six thousand patients come to the hos- pital and dispensary each year. It seems a large number for so small an island — about ninety-five miles from east to west, thirty-five from north to south — but think of the pictures you have seen of Porto Rico — of the closely built-up cities and villages and little country houses or “shacks” — how many, many there are, and how close to- gether- — for Porto Rico is a very densely populated place, and when we see the kind of houses the poorer people live in we cease to wonder at the number of sick people. In those houses the little fresh air that might come in is generally shut out; the ground is very damp, — for much rain falls in Porto Rico. Another danger lurks in the floor or on the damp ground: a little parasite, that when one sets down an unwary foot imbeds itself under the skin and causes the dreaded “Porto Rican anemia” — a terrible disease that was generally fatal until our American doctors during the Spanish war discovered how to cure it. Then again the wisdom, to say nothing of the pleasure, of clean- liness is not even in the thoughts of the people; the food is not nourishing and meals at regular times are unheard of. What can they be but sick? So though this tropical island might and per- haps some day will be really healthy, yet at the present time sick- ness abounds and while the people remain so poor and so ignorant there will continue to be great need for our hospital, and so long as there is need for the hospital there is need for money to support it. The of houses the poorer people live in Not only to support the hospital itself — but also the Training School for Nurses. Until lately there hi.ve been no trained nurses in Porto Rico — for that matter until Porto Rico became a part of our country surgery was almost unknown. It is a great work to take girls from habits of living which have prevailed for hundreds of years and train them to habits in every way just the reverse. This though is what the Training School at San Juan Hospital aims to do. And after years of patient teaching, our medical missionaries are having the satisfaction of seeing some result of their labors. The skilful, gentle, thoroughly trained American nurses at our hospital are a great inspiration to these Porto Rican young women. Some of them may remain as a part of the staff of the hospital; others will minister to the sick in the homes. So there are all these needs to be supplied: general expenses, resident physician’s and surgeon’s and nurses’ salaries, and the yearly cost of beds in the men’s and wo- men s wards; a part of these are pledged but some are not yet pro- The journey's end — San Juan vided for. Any one who so desires may help to pay for these: but the children’s ward is the privilege of the Junior Societies, to whom it has been assigned as their “special object.” $120.00 will sup- port a bed for a year; or if the payment of $120.00 is beyond their power, they may help to cure some little Carmita by the gift of ten dollars, which will pay the cost of a bed for one month. So far we have spoken chiefly of taking away sickness and suffering. But this is not all that the hospital means to do. Think a moment of the work of the first medical missionary whom our mis- sionaries strive to follow. His work did not end with the taking away of suffering, but added to it was the giving of a great happiness. So it is in the hospital at San Juan. The salty breezes from the sea invigorate the bodily life, but over the sea there comes also a fresh zest in living, for, as has been said, Bible truths are taught at San Juan, and the patients receive them gladly. Every day they hear the Bible read, every day there are services of prayer and song, and The hospital buildings are connected by bridges to many men and women their stay at the hospital has meant new life for body and spirit too. Very few of these men and women can read; but thanks to the schools, which they owe to “America,” many of the children are now able to read aloud to their admiring parents. And it is when they are doing so that we catch the last sight of our convalescents at San Juan. The hospital buildings are connected by bridges, and are surrounded by wide piazzas. On these piazzas they sit and while the sea breezes bring to them new life and strength, they are en- tranced by words from the wonderful Book, which perhaps they hear for the first time. A little boy has been reading to his father, and we hear, as the doctor passes by, the father say to him: “This hospital makes me think of what my little son has read to me about the way the crippled and sick came to Jesus and how the poor had the Gospel preached to them.” HIS hospital is under the care of the Wom- an’s Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church, U. S. A., 1 56 Fifth Avenue, New Y ork City, to whom all contributions should be sent. The following are SOME WAYS OF HELPING THE HOSPITAL $200 will provide for training a native Porto Rican in the Training School for one year. The course requires three years for graduation. $120 per year supports a bed in the hospital. $10 provides supplies for the dispensary for one day. No. 381.— 1st Ed.-5, 1907 Price, 5 cents per copy; |4.50 per lOtl THE WILLcTT PRESS, N, Y.