I was sitting in a daze on the airport floor with my head against the wall. Despite buying a ten dollar watch in the airport, I had set my phone alarm just in case I dozed off and missed the call to board. The last leg of our journey was ahead, and I couldn’t be more tired.
“Are you with Samaritan’s Purse?” Dr. Pat, the Pediatrician, stood over me and looked down at my one, thrown-together backpack.
“Yes!” I looked up, recognizing her from the DART training in the fall.
Somehow Dr. Pat, the Pediatrician, managed to toss in more baggage than me in the 24-hour notice given. I wasn’t disappointed. The bags of candy and granola bars would pick us up after the eighth bowl of rice on the field. It wasn’t Nutella, but the Laffy Taffy, Nature Valleys, Sweet Tarts and Nerds were more than appreciated. Therefore, she was a friendly face in multiple ways, when she spotted me out at the airport in Panama City.
It was nice to have a companion before arriving at Quayaquil airport. We passed through customs together, retrieved her bag, and headed towards the taxi Driver holding the sign “Samaritan’s Purse x 2”. A wave of hot, humid air hit us like a wall, as we stepped outside.
Our driver placed our luggage in the back, and handed us both cool water bottles as we climbed into the back of the van. I downed the liquid. It was after midnight when we got to the hotel. We would be driving out to the Emergency Field Hospital in the morning. An email in our Samaritan’s Purse inbox said we were leaving at 6:30AM. Five hours of sleep sounded welcoming.