Bursting with stories to relay to my family from the group’s weekend trip to Ica, my excitement was abruptly stunted by the sombre atmosphere I’d stepped into; the house was almost in darkness and there was a lady hovering over my casa mum Liz, who was lying in bed clearly in a lot of pain. She was red, tears rolling down her face and almost inconsolable. Evidence of homemade remedies was strewn about the room and in the corner on the floor a little candle provided the only light in the room. It turned out the lady was Liz’s mum, my casa grandmother and that’s when I thought, this is bad…

In the preceding weeks Liz was suffering from headaches. Here in Pachacutec, because of their circumstances people often leave their health on the back burner if they can cope, in order to avoid the hospital costs. Healthcare is not free and even with insurance the costs tally up and up. Her headaches were growing both in frequency and intensity, and I guess while we were away things finally reached boiling point.

I felt absolutely helpless and tried my best to hold back tears since I knew this wouldn’t help the situation. I got some cold water and a couple flannel towels and placed these on her head and the side of her face. I fanned her with my little souvenir fan in between changing the flannels.

"...the solution is an operation that costs just over 3000 Nuevo Sol (which is about £600)... a staggering amount for a poor family that currently just about survives on what they make."

Eventually she nodded off and I was grateful for that as her steady flow of tears had ceased. Shattered from the journey, I laid in bed trying to think of ways we could help but in the end I drifted off with a helpless, heavy heart. Visits to doctors in the local area shed no light on the problem. Each visit costs money, money the family did not have. Each prescription filled was another cost. Buying the tablets had now equated to throwing money away, since they no longer relieved her pain. She took them anyway.

One day later down the line I returned home from work to find Liz sitting outside. I could see she was trying to hide her pain. By the afternoon it had become excruciating, so our casa dad, Macario, decided to take her by bus to a hospital in another city called Callao. She could barely walk. I asked how much a taxi would cost and my room mate and I pooled our funds for a cab.

By bus? Crazy. It’s a two hour bumpy journey that always left me feeling nauseated. By bus, in her condition? No way. They were gone for a few days, and we were on edge.

She had been seen by a neurologist. Automatically, a feeling of dread swarmed around me, it took all my concentration and energy to try and block it out. However, it lingered at the back of my mind. Results revealed there wasn’t a problem in the brain department - good news. The bad news? The pain was being caused by a problem with the nerves in her jaw; the solution is an operation that costs just over 3000 Nuevo Sol (which is about £600). It may not seem like that much but this is a staggering amount for a poor family that currently just about survives on what they make.

When the end of our ten weeks came, although we (me and my fellow Platform2 volunteers) were all proud of our achievements, a feeling of inadequacy tailed me. That feeling is now a lingering urge to provoke some sort of change in the Peruvian healthcare system, to help my family and the numerous other families in similar positions.

Words and photos: Pier Garcia