I knew before I ever moved to Ajijic that my retirement life would have to include some volunteer work. Both my personal ethics and my means of self-fulfillment do not allow me to sit idle for too long. I discovered several possibilities that intrigued me, but with a background as a pediatric nurse practitioner, the Ninos Incapacitados (officially PPNI) stood high on my list.
When we ar-rived on Hallo-ween of 2005 to start a new life, it took awhile to acclimate. Coping with basics-like food, money, water, language, and health care-consumed our energies. But within a couple of
months, I found myself at the charming Nueva Posada Hotel attending my first Ninos Incapacitados meeting, always held the first Thursday of each month at 10 a.m.
I was impressed by the group of perhaps 25 people, all warm, friendly, and welcoming, with nothing sloppy about the meeting. They had an agenda, minutes, treasurer's report, committees, an e-mail list, and an opportunity to meet one of the children assisted by the group. And yet an air of informality made the gathering feel like family. I quickly learned that they held periodic "clinics," so when I met the clinic coordinator, Rich Peterson, I boldly asked if I might attend one. "Of course," he said, and that response started my love affair with Ninos. Since then, every two weeks I drive to a health center in Chapala to help out in the clinic at the local Centro de Salud. I confess the experience to be the highlight of my week.
The health center is a no-frills place. We even bring our own toilet paper. Many activities seem in progress as we enter, greeted by smiles. Babies are getting immunized, and a doctor attends to the sick. Ninos borrows a small meeting room in the back, and Marguerita, the long-time volunteer and self-appointed service coordinator, is there to help. From what I gather, she has recycled wheelchairs stored in her own home for needy kids, advances money for medications to working mothers who can't make it to the clinic, and generally facilitates things for families who can't quite cope on their own.
The government-supported health clinic is where the essential mission of Ninos can be observed firsthand. The families and children who benefit directly from the generosity of Ninos donors come to receive reimbursement for their medical expenses. They present receipts for medical visits, medication, diagnostic tests, and transportation. They contribute a portion as their budget allows. Sometimes these expenses might represent the entire month's income for the family. I am once again impressed by this organization since the families are not treated as "charity cases." The interactions are conducted in a warm, sociable, and professional manner. We chat about the child's progress. Sometimes we learn of a family's tragedies. For example, the sibling of a deceased patient with kidney failure has just been diagnosed with the same condition. We share tears. But usually there is much smiling and handshaking, and I feel lucky indeed to be a small part of what seems to these families a godsend.
An illustration: we had a pre-teen boy (pictured) whose foot had been run over by a bus some years previously, amputating his toes. He couldn't wear a proper shoe and couldn't walk normally. The first time I met him, he presented a shy child with a somewhat depressed manner. I pictured him in school, with his peers, unable to run or participate in sports. I met him again later, as he had come to show us his new prosthetic shoe. And he had been transformed. He was grinning walking gleefully around the room, actually showing off just a bit.
I carry such moments, the high points, with me now and probably always will...thanks to Ninos.
