Eight Month: July 21st, 2013

That day was different. It was cloudy Sunday morning. I woke up at 6 a.m. as usual. The house was a mess, due to our scattered bags and unpacked stuffs and the residue from farewell dinner we had the night before. I had planned to go biking for the last time before I went back to town, so I did.

That day was different. I opened the garage's door, brought my bike out and started pedaling through my usual biking track. I decided not to bring along my earphones as usual. This time, I pedaled more slowly, breathed more deeply, and stared more to the view on my left and right rather than to the road I'm going through. I tried to sharpen all my senses, tried to absorb all the components of the village I was about to leave. The view of yellowish rice fields and green hills, the smell of morning grass and smoke from last night's fireplace, the sound of chickens and horses and some local people's greetings, and the chilly humid wind going through my face. I thought, I might or might not have the same experience in the future, so I wanted to save the memory of this place in my mind as much as I could.

That day was different. When I came back to the house, my friends were packing up the rest of our stuffs and cleaning up the house. I joined them in instance. We packed our stuffs in silence, we swept the floor in silence, we took a bath in silence, and we also had breakfast in silence, just as if we had different things going through our mind. Maybe some of us just realized that it was our last day in Madapangga and were in denial that we had to go back to town.

That day was different. A lady knocked on the door. The familiar voice called us. It was Bunda, our supervisor's wife. "This is it," I thought. When we opened the door, we saw the two figures that had been familiar to us for the past four months. We called the middle-aged man with grey hair and funny face "Pak Adi" and the lady with heart-warming smile on her lips all time "Bunda". Unlike any other days, that day we smiled awkwardly at each other. Farewell was getting near.

That day was different. It's been a while since the last time rain fall in Madapangga, but that day the rain chose to put extra melancholic nuance in Pak Adi's car which was taking us back to the city. The trip felt faster than ever, we felt like we arrived in town in just a blink of an eye. We arrived at our new home and we said good bye to Pak Adi and Bunda. Each of us had an odd handshake from Pak Adi and a big warm motherly hug from Bunda. With tears falling down our faces, we waved Pak Adi and Bunda good bye while their car was fading away.

That day was different. At least for me. It might be me who left Madapangga, but it was Madapangga which had left traces in me.

This post is specially dedicated to Pak Adi and Bunda, who have taught me a lot of life lessons during the four months I spent with them. Thank you for taking care of me and my friends as if we were your children, thank you for putting so much trust to five random persons that you barely know at first, and thank you for reminding us that there is so much more to life than just working your ass off days and nights for materials.

"Family isn't always about blood. It is the people in your life who want you in theirs; the ones who accept you for who you are, the ones who would do anything to make you smile, and love you no matter what." - Anonym

I think I just found my new family in Madapangga! :)

Me, Dini, Bunda, and Pak Adi in front of Senggigi Beach, Lombok, July 12th, 2013

.

Bulan Ketujuh: Momen Epik si Ibu Bidan

Suatu pagi yang cerah di PKM Madapangga.
Nia (N): "Bu, ibu menderita tekanan darah tinggi ya. Sebaiknya ibu mengurangi makan makanan asin, olah raga teratur, bla bla bla... "

Pasien (P): "Iyo" (angguk-angguk)

N: "Apa ibu sudah mengerti?"

P: (angguk-angguk dengan muka blank)

N: (curiga) "Kalau begitu silakan ambil obatnya di apotik, Bu."

P: (angguk-angguk tanpa tanda-tanda mau bergerak ke apotik)

N: "Bu, loa bahasa Indonesia?" ("Bu, bisa bahasa Indonesia?")

P: "Wati loa ni anaeee!" ("Tidak bisa nih, nakkk!")

N: (facepalm) "Lao ka apotik ta Ibu, ambil ja obat." ("Pergi ke apotik ya, Bu, ambil obatnya.")
P: (muka berbinar tanda mengerti) "Oo, iyo ta. Terima kasih Bu Bidan!"
N: "..."

***

Di hari  yang lain, seorang ibu datang membawa anaknya yang sudah 2 hari batuk dan demam.
N: "Aku periksa dulu ya anaknya, Bu."
Ibu pasien (IP): "Iya, Bu."
N: "Adek, buka mulutnya, yuk. Bilang 'Aaa..."
P: (tidak membuka mulut)
N: "Ayo buka mulutnya sebentar yuk, sayang."
P: (membekap kedua tangan di mulut)
IP: "AYO DONG BANG BUKA MULUTNYA, IBU BIDAN MAU PERIKSA!"

***

Beberapa minggu setelahnya, seorang ibu datang memeriksakan diri ke balai pengobatan. Setelah anamnesis dan pemeriksaan fisis, saya menyimpulkan ibu tersebut menderita vertigo. Saya memberi penjelasan bahwa ibu tersebut dapat dirawat di rumah, namun nampaknya dia tidak percaya dan  ingin diopname. Dia yakin dia mengalami pusing karena tekanan darah rendah dan harus diinfus. Dia pun menggerutu dalam bahasa Bima sambil berjalan keluar dari balai pengobatan.

Ternyata ibu tersebut tidak putus akal agar dirinya tetap diopname. Dia pun pergi ke IGD. Di sana dia bertemu dengan salah seorang teman sejawat saya. Dia mengatakan bahwa dia baru berobat dari balai pengobatan dan mendapat instruksi untuk segera diopname. Tak lama teman sejawat itu memanggil saya sambil tertawa geli, "NIA, PASIEN LO NIH KATANYA DISURUH DIOPNAME SAMA IBU BIDAN!"

***

Sebetulnya masih banyak momen-momen epik ketika saya dan semua sejawat saya yang berjenis kelamin perempuan mendapat panggilan "Ibu Bidan" dari masyarakat setempat. Setelah dipikir-pikir, wajar saja mereka menganggap kami bidan, karena selama belasan tahun terakhir, hanya ada satu dokter (yang kebetulan laki-laki) yang melayani masyarakat kecamatan Madapangga ini. Sepertinya sosok pria setengah baya dengan julukan "Pak Dokter" sudah terlalu melekat di benak mereka sehingga memanggil perempuan-perempuan usia 20-an seperti kami dengan julukan "Bu Dokter" nampak sangat tidak lazim.

Kali pertama dipanggil Ibu Bidan, saya masih berusaha menjelaskan bahwa saya adalah dokter, begitu pula dengan kali kedua dan ketiga. Mencapai kali kelima, keenam, dan ketujuh, saya mulai pasrah. Dalam benak saya, "Tak apalah masyarakat Madapangga mengingat saya sebagai Ibu Bidan, yang penting mereka mengingat saya sebagai seorang Ibu Bidan yang baik, sama seperti mereka mengingat Pak Dokter yang baik dan setia melayani mereka selama belasan tahun."