The Throw Away Kid

Some say that there is an unspoken code among the Indigenous poor that sick incurable children like Sinthia are sometimes given less food and care then other children. If the child dies then it is the will of God, and that is that.

By Rodger Harrison
It's one of many cool rain drenched nights in Honduras, and I am sitting on the darkened front porch of the Hacienda wondering when the electricity will come back on. Lately we have been losing electric about four times per day and it has been off now for 22 hours. Sinthia our adopted child is sitting next to me in her wheel chair cooing and babbling as I hold her hand and wonder what the future holds for her. Now she sits beside me listening to the rain as she serenely looks into my face with her large brown almond eyes. With an all knowing expression she seems as if ready to tell me something very important only to sigh and turn her attention once more to the pounding rain. We are still holding hands.

A flash of lighting and the low rumbling of thunder and the skies of Honduras open up. The roar of the rain is now coming down in solid sheets of water while the wind increases into a howl and all the dogs run into the house for cover. I jump up worried, only to see Sinthia laugh as the mist from the pounding rain soaks her little face. How amazing that the sound of a storm cannot set off a seizure when the simple opening of a door can. I can only surmise that when Sinthia was young living in a mud hut high in the mountains the crashing of the thunder does not bother her. Watching the lightning bolts dash across the surrounding mountains, I am reminded of when I was once caught in a powerful thunderstorm in the mountains on my horse. That was when I learned that mountains are not the best place to be during a thunder storm.

When Sinthia was only two months old she developed "West Syndrome a rare epileptic disorder. Most children with this condition do not live past the age of 10. Sinthia will be 9 years old in March of 2012.

Sinthia is the real deal, a genuine 100 percent "throw away kid". We took her into our home in July of 2010 after we found her abandoned in a local daycare.

As I listen to the falling rain, I close my eyes recalling the first day I set eyes on her. I can still see the cockroaches scurrying around her sleeping form, and recall the sickening odor of urine that later took weeks to get out of her skin. She had no idea as she lay on the floor in a drug induced sleep, that her life was about to change. She looked hopelessly small, pale, and sick, and later we found that at 7 years old she only weighed 17 pounds.

We were told that Sinthia's 22-year old mother had left her there for safe keeping, while she went in search of work in Guatemala, promising that she would send money for the child's care when she found work. This was the typical story, and nobody believed her. Sinthia's fate was sealed.

The women who worked at the daycare were doubling her dosage of seizure medication so that she would sleep and they would not have to listen to her cries for food. Clearly she was not getting enough to eat. At first it was hard for me to comprehend that in third world countries like Honduras there is seldom room for children who are not strong.

Some say that there is an unspoken code among the Indigenous poor that sick incurable children like Sinthia are sometimes given less food and care then other children. If the child dies then it is the will of God, and that is that. Because life is so hard for the poor they are forced to face the fact that if a child cannot contribute to the family through work then they have no value. It seems unfair but unless you have spent years in this culture it is difficult if not impossible to understand and even harder not to judge. It is the way of the indigenous Mayan Chorti Indians who's descendants still live here in the Copan Valley of Copán Ruinas, Honduras.

Knowing that the day care center would not turn her over to us without a money hustling fist fight, we went in search of the mother and were lucky enough to find her waiting on her bus to go to Guatemala. We were able to convince the mother to sign over the rights for us to take her away from the terrible conditions where she was staying. The mother was more than happy to sign the child's care over to us, and the daycare begrudgingly handed her over. She came to us with only the clothes on her back and she was filthy.

At 8 years old Sinthia has neither the ability to walk or talk, and she has no control of her bodily functions. Diagnosed with "West Syndrome" at two months she has been in state of reoccurring seizures almost every day of her life. There is no cure for West Syndrome. Because of this, her mind and body have never fully developed. She lives in a state of grace, growing older in years, but not growing up. The first thing you will notice about Sinthia is her incredible beauty. She is truly a lovely child with perfectly formed features, and an engaging smile. Added to this is her boundless and joyful love of life, and strong desire to survive. God has a plan for Sinthia and it includes all of us.

As the throw away kid and I watch the rain I think of all the people who have helped her. I think of a man who we met in the airport in a wheel chair as we waited on our mutual delayed flight to Atlanta. His name was Brian and him, and his wife and child were sitting next to us, so we struck up a conversation. We told himall about Sinthia and how she had just come to live with us, and about how we were returning to the states to try to get some of the things she needed. One of which was a child's wheel chair. Brian who had spent much of his life in a wheel chair himself cheerfully agreed to give us some advice and guide us to find the right chair for Sinthia.

I smile out into the night as I recall that within a week of our return Brian called to tell us exactly what we needed and where to find it. On the same day we found out that Brian and his family had arranged for Paramedics For Children to get a check for US$1,000 to purchase her chair. On top of that Brian had the chair delivered to his home in Atlanta where he assembled it with his own hands and then arranged for us to pick it up.

And Brian was not the only one to help. There were many others as well. It was humbling to watch the people from our church come forward with donations of clothing, and shoes, and the funds to purchase a very expensive stroller that would allow us to take Sinthia out for her daily walks. Then there was my good friend Hank Lee an engineer from Madison, Alabama, who to this day still pays for all of Sinthia's medicine every month. "So shines such good deeds in a weary world".

The throw away kid now turns her pretty face towards mine and smiles as if she can read my thoughts. As if on cue, the rain tapers off to a slow drizzle and the lights come back on. It's almost 8 pm so it is time to put out the candles, give kid her bottle, and tuck her into bed. I put on her favorite music and we say our prayers together, and I tuck her in for the night. As I give her a goodnight kiss, she returns the favor with that lovely smile of hers, then gives me that look as if to say "Don't worry Daddy I am fine and everything will work out". (1/20/12)

Note: The author lives in the town of Copán Ruinas. He is the founder and president of Paramedics For Children, providing educational and healthcare services to the people of Honduras since 1997.