In November of 1989 in Chajul, when the first HELP's surgical team braved the conditions there, one of the first patients standing in line was Grandma' Kit (Margarita) with her 1 1/2 year old grandson.

 He had a large lipoma tumor on the side of his neck under his jaw that was about half the size of his head.  Grandma' Kit thought for sure it was some kind of cancer and that he would die if the doctors could not remove it.  She had been told all kinds of horror stories about friends and townspeople who had died from cancer.

Calm on the outside, she was all torn up inside, but insistent for constant reassurance that the "gringo" doctors would definitely see her grandson.  Then when they did examine him, they thought quite certainly that it was a benign, fatty lipoma tumor.

Because an empty stomach is required, her grandson was scheduled as the first operation for the next morning.  Grandma' Kit was there with him way before the doors opened.  As his hunger pangs overcame him, he began crying, then screaming, and Grandma' Kit patiently held him, rocked him, bounced him, talked to him, and paced the floor with him....always keeping an eye on the door for the doctor to come and take him in for his operation.

Finally the time came and she gave up her grandson willingly, but cautiously, ritualistic-like.  When the OR door closed behind the doctor, separating Grandma' Kit and little Xhun (John), she sat down on the bench, and bent over putting her face in her hands and sobbed. 

After a while she pulled out a rosary and began praying.  Then she would ask questions about what the results might be....never assuming that he would survive the operation!  As a matter of fact, understandably, that was her greatest fear.    When people of this culture have to go six hours one way by public bus to get to the nearest hospital, most of the time they wait until they are too sick to survive...ending up dying in the hospital.  They then associate a hospital more as a morgue than as a place for recovering health.

It was a very long three hours as the surgical team laboriously pulled apart the fatty tissues of the tumor from around the many facial and neck nerves, blood vessels, and lymph nodes, eventually successfully completing their task.

As the OR door abruptly swung open towards Grandma' Kit, she was startled into a standing position, and instinctively latched on to the first one coming out.  "Kan tala, ma' b'a; n u val?  Tell me, how is he?  Is he alive?  Did you remove the disease?"   "Yes," came the answer.  "He is fine.; he will be out in a little bit."

She paced back and forth, back to the rosary, and then stood on a chair straining to see something of her grandson....anything through that little window and around all the people, cloth, and lights obstructing her view.

 Finally the surgeon came out.  "Your grandson is fine," he said.  "We took the tumor out.  It is gone.  He will be all right.  In a minute you can come in and see him."  An angel could not have brought her more joy than those words!  The surgeon was an angel! 

She clasped her hands as in prayer, opened them kissing the palms, and throwing the kiss to heaven as an offering of praise to God for answering her prayers.  She reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his scrubs and said, "Doctor, thank you!  Thank you so much for saving my grandson.  I have had nine grandchildren.  Eight of them have died in infancy.  This is the only dear one I have.  I was sure that God was angry at us, and would take all of them.  We thought maybe the mother had an evil spell cast on her.   That is why only I brought the child.  But you have saved this one!  I don't have any money to pay you doctor, but let me at least wash your clothes."