Hola. Me llamo Flash. (or Duke, or Sue, or Nancy, or Grace)
Our final day of work. Tomorrow we leave this island. Tomorrow our return to reality begins. So we have one last day to revel in Republica Dominicana and the dichotomy of beauty and poor. Today's stop? Batey Mena. We're plenty tired. Late nights plus early mornings plus hard work are starting to take their toll. But today's our final day in the Dominican, so those thoughts are pushed aside. This time, the "streets" of the batey are winding and twisting, instead of a large "thoroughfare" to drive directly up to whatever school/church/clinic into which we set up shop, we have to navigate a circuitous path to Mena's school. Once there, we again work our magic and put in a good day; although it ended early as Duke called it an "outbreak of wellness".
So our work in Mena is done. But for the pharmacy team there is yet one more chore to accomplish. So we split up and the docs and non-pharmacists hop onto The Big Red Truck to go back to Playazul. We on the other hand throw all of our pharmacy duffel bags into the bed of Jorge's (our local physician and contact person) pickup. We're on our way back to Batey #7 to incorporate our pharmacy leftover inventory into what they already have there.
Medical relief trips come down to Barahona throughout the year, with at least 3 of them from North Carolina. No matter who bought or donated the meds, they go to treat the same folks. So if there are leftovers, we leave them. Conversely if we're running low on something, we manage to find a way to make a withdrawal from the supply at Batey #7. So, we hop in the truck (some in the cab, some in the bed) and we take the bumpy roads to Batey #7.
So we inventory our stuff, leave a note for the next group that comes down, and finish our final chores. Notice the startling "before and after" of the drug inventory.
Work's done. We've showered. We've eaten dinner. Time to REALLY party. And there's one way this group really lets its collective hair down and parties: KARAOKE!
And there are few songs that can cause me to go all spastic and such, and the mere fact that the computer included Stone Temple Pilots' "Interstate Love Song" apparently made me do so. Who needs the monitor? I decidedly worked the crowd and sang it to them with quite the sweaty gusto:
Finally, the time has come for the karaoke man to leave our fair paradise of Playazul, and the demand for just the final three songs is made. We end the evening with a flourish: Bon Jovi's appropriately titled "Bad Medicine".
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