FROM THE EXAM-ROOM DOOR, I looked past the waiting room, across a dirt road toward shacks baking in the desert heat. It was noon in Baja, Mexico, and we needed to finish up soon to get back to California before sundown. Our small group of doctors, nurses, translators, and pilots had flown to this little fishing village the day before to run our monthly two-day clinic. Some of the folks we treated had struggled over dusty roads for four hours to get to us.
We had one last patient. A volunteer brought in a woman who, I was told, was in her early thirties. She looked much older. In this part of the world, that is not uncommon. Conservatively dressed, she seemed unfamiliar with the clinic, a bit shy, unsure…