Testing limits

ULAANBAATAR, Mongolia -- After my first few days at the hospital I realized I would not be single-handedly saving babies every day. Only one woman at the hospital spoke even rudimentary English. Projects Abroad had placed me in the wrong unit, and no one at the hospital really knew what to do with me. So I spent my days wandering between departments, witnessing whatever the nurses would let me. My scrubs acted as an all-access pass, so no one asked questions when I popped up in random wings of the hospital.

Mongolia is known for its floundering health-care system. Very few things were legitimately sterile, and the equipment was considerably outdated. Nurses spent a lot of their time shooing flies from surgical tables and incubators. I witnessed a complex lung operation, and the surgeons did their work as well as they could manage, but I couldn't help but worry about post-surgical infection.

Infections were especially problematic because post-op checkups were rare and vague. I had seen a girl suffering from infection after abdominal surgery, and for that reason I worried about the lung patient. In this case, though, there was no such trouble. I saw the patient the next day, and although her lung was draining fluid into a plastic bag, she seemed stable enough.

Once I realized that I wouldn't be saving the world through this particular hospital, I began looking at the trip in a different light. Often I was more of a hindrance than help for the nurses. In fact, I spent more time trying to survive than volunteering.

Things that would be easy in my own country were considerable tests of fortitude here: miming to cabdrivers, navigating through the city and feeding myself, for example. All the while I tried to stay open to my new surroundings, but often it took a definite effort to fend off the persistent culture shock without melting into tears.

The best way to deal with this was through the other volunteers. Annelie from Holland, Janet from Scotland and I quickly became great friends. With Bryn and Sevil from England, Mattes and Marina from Germany, Adrian from California, Jules from Scotland and several others, we fostered an odd, international sort of camaraderie. We bonded over our cravings for good fresh vegetables and tap water. We ventured into unknown alleyways, bused to Buddhist monasteries, fit 18 people in one yurt overnight and nibbled at goat and fermented mare's milk.

Growing more irritated with the city each day, five of us left work for a week and went camping. We organized it so that we would stay with a different Mongolian family each night. From there we would ride horses or hike to the next yurt.

The difference between Ulaanbaatar and the countryside was incredible. The nomads were curious -- not rude -- and content with what they had. The sweeping hills and open expanses of grassland created a welcomed serenity that offset the intimidation of Ulaanbaatar. Even so, by day five we were all suffering pretty badly from dehydration, sunburn and food poisoning from horse intestine that we ate out of politeness.

It wasn't until the flight back home that I realized just how much the trip had changed me. As I sat in the Beijing airport (which, by the way, was swarming with Olympic athletes) I considered how I had expected it to be compared to how it really was.

I went to Mongolia with a lot of preconceived notions. In fact, I didn't save the world, run away with a European backpacker or turn the country upside down. But I did learn how to survive, which, I've heard, isn't something most people learn to do until they're 30.

Venturing unsupported into a new culture taught me more than I ever expected it could. Little things that were annoying before hardly faze me now, and problems that seemed insurmountable have paled in comparison. But more than just teaching me to maneuver through life, my time in Mongolia has brought up more questions, questions I don't expect to answer without diving into another country.

In a perfect world, we would all learn from experience. From what I can tell, it seems to be the best way to test your limits and let go of some of the things you didn't even realize were holding you back.

Molly Mew is a senior at Eagle River High School.