Cambodia, Thailand, and Uganda

In the midst of a little casino town known as Poipet, Cambodia, thousands of people live in squalor in an area called the “slum village.”

The slum lacks running water and electricity. The stench in the air is fierce, a combination of burning trash and the smell of makeshift toilets fill the air. This is where we would set up our medical clinic.

Within minutes hundreds of people were in line, as this would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the villagers to be seen by western physicians and nurses.

The mother of this baby waited hours in the hot sun to be seen first. She was born with an enlarging frontal tumor that I feared had an intracranial connection. Our group paid for her transportation to and surgery at a regional children’s hospital, hours away.

I returned a year later and found she was growing and developing normally but, unfortunately, the tumor had returned and was threatening her eyesight. Although I was not able to offer any help to many of these patients, these were extremely grateful people.

More than a thousand miles away from Poipet, we traveled to the rugged mountains of northern Thailand and held medical clinics at a remote hilltribe village near the Myanmar border.

We would live with the members of the Lahu Tribe and provide them with medical attention for nearly a week.

The villagers said we were the first group of Westerners to visit them. Many of the patients suffered from advanced disease because of their inability to see a physician.

We were blessed to have several tens of thousands of dollars worth of first-quality medicines and supplies that had been donated to us to offer the villagers.

Our clinic was held in a one-room schoolhouse with a dirt floor. As is typically the case in the developing world, there was no electricity or water, and animals roamed in and out freely.

The Lahu Tribe pride itself on hunting and trapping animals. They live off the land and maximize all of their natural resources. The villagers showed their gratitude to us by slaughtering one of their precious pigs. They used every bit of the animal in preparing dinner and picked fresh herbs and vegetables, which grew naturally.

I ate as much as I could, which was difficult because of the blood, hair, and organs that had been included in the meal.

In 2006 and 2007, I traveled to Uganda, spending time in Mukono, Gulu, Lugazi, and Jinja. This little girl was seeking treatment at Kawolo Hospital. The facility has limited resources and lacks consistent electricity. People come here to get better, but most end up dying. She presented with a hematocrit of three due to advanced malaria. When I stepped into the hospital room, her eyes were fixed ahead and she was unresponsive. Her grandmother, who brought her, is clutching her hand.

Someone in our group gave the grandmother several dollars, which was enough for her to receive anti-malarial therapy. Without this medicine, the transfusion would have only been temporarily helpful.

I returned to this village the next year and heard from people there that she had survived.

This infant is near death, too weak to cry or feed, suffering from HIV and malaria. About 80 percent of the inpatients at this hospital had either or both of these diagnoses.

Death is seemingly everywhere in Africa. About one in seven children dies from malaria before age five. HIV is rampant and still carries a significant social stigma.

Poor children such as these girls are happy despite having no toys; they enjoy simply being with one another.

I have always been touched by how grateful and humble poor people are. These are lessons I am reminded of each time I look into the eyes of the children in my photographs.

This is why I practice medicine.