Many years ago, Dr. James Boyce, a American minister & missionary physician, and his family were living & working in Ometepec, Guerrero, Mexico. Noticing a high incidence of cataracts, Dr. Boyce invited Dr. and Mrs. Jerre Freeman to Ometepec to see if they could help. During that first visit in 1970, Dr. Freeman performed four cataract surgeries and several pterygiums. The need was so overwhelming that Dr. Freeman vowed to return each year. He has never wavered from that commitment. For a span of 40 years Dr. Freeman has led hundreds of physicians, nurses and support personnel to Ometepec each November. In an effort to meet the seemingly never ending need, in 2002, WCF began sending a spring team.

During a typical mission, the 30 – 35 member team will screen 1,200 - 1,500 people. The teams will provide sight restoring surgery on about 200 people. In addition to the surgical procedures, hundreds of prescription, reading and sunglasses are distributed.

It is a classic norm the world over that for each blind, disabled person, two other people are required to care for him or her. That means three people are lost from being productive and contributing to society. Not only do we free the adults with the restoration of sight, but we also free their families, especially the children. This is all about freeing individuals and allowing them to once again live life abundantly and enjoy the simple pleasures in life we so often take for granted.

Government officials recognized the ophthalmologists in the state of Guerrero in February 2004 for being # 1 in treating more blind poor than any other state in Mexico. WCF's work in Ometepec helped them reach the numbers necessary to receive this award. Guerrero government officials, Mexican ophthalmologists, and WCF are working together to eliminate cataract blindness in the state of Guerrero.

The first thing you notice are the people. Hundreds of them line the courtyard of the hospital, waiting in the stifling tropical heat. The government has issued 1500 numbered chances and it seems that all of them are there that day.

Some have traveled for days on foot. Others have sold their livestock or valued belongings to finance the trip. Most of them have waited a year to make the trip and are all there for the same thing – the gift of sight.

The people are poor, humble, simple folk; old and young and all ages in between. They are infinitely patient, seemingly unfazed by the hours to takes to get examined, diagnosed and possibly helped. Men with dusty feet and crumpled straw hats; women wearing the traditional lace ribbonned dress; barefoot children with shy smiles; a 10-year old with his blind grandparents.

Thirty-six volunteers have come together to take one step closer to the seemingly impossible – a cataract free state in Guerrero, Mexico. Most are ophthalmic surgeons, nurses, opticians, assistants and interns. Some, like me, are translators or government workers. All have given up time with their families and businesses and personally funded the trip to touch hundreds of lives.

Every morning, dozens of patients crowd the hospital veranda, waiting to be examined, evaluated, hoping for the miracle. The doctors walk among them, looking and diagnosing on the spot. In some cases their cataracts and strabismus (crossed eyes) are advanced - some to the point of no return. But many can be helped.

Most of those that need surgery do not get general anesthesia; their local anesthetic is given in the hospital hallway as they wait to be called. The few that do get it walk themselves into the OR holding their IV, clutching the pieces of paper that give a diagnosis. Because they have to be examined post surgery, those that have come a long way sleep overnight on the floor of the same porch where they were evaluated. No mats, no pillows, no complaints.

There is no air conditioning in the operating room or anyplace else for that matter and no one frets - not the gowned patients, nor the surgical staff with sweat-soaked scrubs. We pause only for lunch and return to face the afternoon list. Every day we have to turn away people who beg to be seen but cannot be scheduled. Their sadness and desperation break our hearts every time we do so.

We'll remember all of them but there are some that stand out for me: The young mother who is able to see her child for the first time after surgery. The teenager who has quit going to school because his eyes were disfigured, but now can go. The beautiful young woman who says she is "broken" and no one will marry her unless we help her. The elderly couple that walked for days to be there. The sweet 4-year old with the beaming smile and severely crossed eyes.

In return, we get gifts of gratitude. Not just words and handshakes and hugs but also coconuts, baked bread, beautifully embroidered clothing in the region's traditional style and handmade jewelry, decorative pens. Almost always the recipient was humbled by the gestures of gratitude. I know I was.

A week later we had run out of time and supplies and we packed up knowing that even though we couldn't help everyone, we had made a significant impact. Our thirty-six member team screened an estimated 1,540 people and performed 452 surgical procedures. Our optical team dispensed 1,350 reading, prescription, and sunglasses. The experience had been life-changing and emotionally draining for both patient and healer, but the value of our work was immeasurable.

So we returned to the States and our much-missed air conditioning, hot showers, families and jobs but I knew I would never be the same again. Now I am more grateful, more patient, more sympathetic and more accepting. It was a challenge for me not just linguistically but physically and emotionally, but I wouldn't change it for anything.

No mats, no pillows, no complaints. I'm going to remember that.