Meet the Ly Chan Family

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I first heard of this family through Giao, a volunteer and translator I had previously met with Karen. Giao grabbed me while walking home from Tam’s house, and immediately proceeded into the story about Ly Chan Hung.

Hung is the father of 6 children, ages 3, 7, 8, 9, 12, and 17. The 8 year old has Tuburculosis. I remember Karen telling me that most of the serious medical problems here could be prevented with proper vaccinations, or cured with simple antibiotics, but since it is not available or affordable the cases become so chronic that either amputation or death occurs. And so is the case with Hung. He and his family are extremely poor. Hung works at the market for a very low and unsteady income, so he has been begging in the streets to help pay for his son’s medical costs. Since it is in an advanced stage, his son’s health is not only going downhill fast, but the costs are unaffordable.

Giao and some others have already donated what they could and now she is telling me with the hopes I can offer something. Without Karen this feels out of my league, yet I agree to go with Giao to Hoi An Hospital and meet with the doctor and father, understand more of the details, and experience what will be the most unsettling part of this trip.

In a small and cluttered hospital room there are 2 doctors, 1 French nurse, 1 father of a dying son, and 1 Vietnamese translator looking at me, asking ME what I want to do about the situation. ME - just a scruffy little backpacker with a sketchbook but now I have somehow found myself sitting in Hoi An Hospital being told that I’M the one to decide if this boy should live? And why am I being treated with more respect than the boy’s own father? “Yes, YOU need to tell us what to do, because you have the money and you can pay for it.”I begin to feel dizzy, as if I had stood up and spun around a dozen times, but I was only sitting there, staring at my notebook, waiting for my brain to stop spinning in place. OK, stay focused. Let’s map out what needs to be done, what are the levels of priority, and how much money is needed. My French nurse friend Dorothy whispers to me that in reality there is very little hope for the boy, he has already hit the stage of a coma, and they are certain the mother is also infected, so we can just choose to focus on the others. But I can't “choose.” I tell the doctors to outline every need and how much it will cost:

Testing and X-Rays for other 5 children and father for possible infection:
$25 for all 6

Vaccinations if not infected:
$25 total for all 6

To keep Hung’s son alive in the hospital, including feeding tubes and medicine:
$100 per month
(Necessary for app. 9-12 months)

To keep Hung’s wife on the proper medicine/ food:
$20 per month
(Necessary for app. 6 months)

I buy the whole package. Trying to remember Karen’s methods; ask lots of detailed questions, get everything in writing and insist on a receipt, so it is done right (I’m hoping it’s good practice for Tam as well). I pay for this month and Giao thinks that the connections she has with another humanitarian aid will hopefully take over for the next month once I’m gone. But what if she doesn’t. HOPEFULLY take over doesn’t mean WILL take over. And what about all the other people in this hospital, and what about all the kids not getting proper vaccinations? This is only one case out of thousands.

I look over at the father and give him a soft smile and a nod, he nods back and stares blankly. He is 41 years old but looks 65. What can that be like, not being able to save your own dying child and wife but to know others so easily could? Does he walk by fancy tourist restaurants and hotels, watching the foreigners eat a meal that costs the same amount of money to keep his son alive for one month?

Every person, every situation I have encountered in Hoi An, I have the same thought - that we are so very fortunate.


HOW TO HELP:

http://lifestartfoundation.org.au/

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