Eyes
Almost two weeks ago now, on a Sunday morning, I woke up and could barely see. The vision in my right eye was blurry. There was pain in the inner corner, almost as though something had become stuck. I spent forty-five minutes trying to rinse my eyes, but to no avail. Finally, I called my mentor to seek her medical advice. She told me to go to the Urgent Care Center. I put on a pair of green plastic sunglasses and my best friend drove me there.
The facility in West Hamilton is pristine. Although I had to wait a considerable time to see a physician, the experience was otherwise just fine. The nurses and people at the registration desk promptly took my information and were very kind to me. I was treated with respect and able to joke around with the staff. I was able to go into a private room where I was seen by a very friendly physician who determined that I had somehow acquired a 1cm scratch on my cornea. All I needed was to pick up some antibiotics and continue to wear my sunglasses due the light sensitivity.
The entire time, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a story someone had told me about their experience with a similar health issue in Malawi. If I had been in Malawi, I would have been taken to an under-resourced health facility crowded with people with health concerns likely much more serious than my own. Because I am white, I might’ve been moved ahead in the line. I would’ve had to pay for the health care services I used, and there would be others unable to pay for the services they needed.
It is not very often that I am so acutely aware of the disparities between health care in Canada and the kind of care (or lack thereof) that other people experience elsewhere. I am a Global Health MSc. student, so I certainly have knowledge of the difficulties in accessing care, unequal distribution of global health human resources and the inadequate supply of medical equipment at health facilities. Though I understand these things “intellectually,” they do not always register emotionally. Two weeks ago I was in a vulnerable situation and other people in my society took care of me. I realized that if I had been in the same position abroad, or a person with a different identity and of a lower socioeconomic status, this would have been a very scary experience. I may not have been treated like a human being. The level of care I received would not compare. Would my human dignity be infringed upon?
It is not acceptable that a person’s quality and access to health care differs depending on where they live. It is not acceptable that your susceptibility to diseases depends on your socioeconomic and geographic location. It is not acceptable that the health needs and priorities of the Global South are marginalized and that so-called “developed” countries are able to set the global health agenda according to their needs.
I saw through different eyes two weeks ago. These kinds of experiences are ones that I hope will enter into my consciousness more frequently. This will only happen if I open myself up to these experiences.
That’s what this blog is about. Beginning to be cognizant of the privileges and rights we enjoy in the “Global North” and to understand the experiences of those in the “Global South.” Through this process, we can begin to recognize our role as global citizens.