via CAAI
Monday, September 27, 2010
BY SACHI FUJIMORI
The Record
STAFF WRITER
In a makeshift dental clinic in Cambodia, set up in a school next to a monastery, where chickens ran free and a six-foot-long pig slept all day, a monk sat down in Dr. Harry Harcsztark's operating chair — actually a folding chair. The crimson-robed holy man refused any anesthesia, as Harcsztark, a dentist from Teaneck with a practice in Kearny, went to work extracting his broken and rotted teeth. "This guy had to be in a lot of pain," said Harcsztark. "He was very stoic and sat there, typical of a monk."
Dr. Harry Harcsztark, in Cambodia during a five-month humanitarian medical mission, with one of the young children, who 'were our best patients.'
Harcsztark, who has a gentle manner and looks like the trimmer brother of the actor Danny DeVito, wanted to make this monk smile, the way he can with most of the patients he's seen over his more than three decades in practice. "We couldn't get him to smile or laugh. I told my translators to tell a joke," said the dentist.
At the end of the procedure, Harcsztark, sweating through his uniform in the 100-degree heat, posed for a picture with the monk, who let out a half-smile. "He was very appreciative," said Harcsztark.
Many poor and rural Cambodians have never seen a dentist. The Southeast Asian nation is still struggling to build its basic medical infrastructure, after the Khmer Rouge's genocidal regime from 1975 to 1979 wiped out 20 percent of the population, targeting doctors, intellectuals and the professional class.
In June, Harcsztark volunteered with a medical mission aboard the USNS Mercy, a Navy hospital ship that anchored for 12 days outside Cambodia to bring U.S.-quality medical care to some 30,000 locals. Powder white and emblazoned with red crosses, the 1,000-bed ship is constructed from a gutted supertanker and is the fifth-largest hospital in the world.
Stopover
The stopover in Cambodia was part of Pacific Partnership 2010, a five-month floating humanitarian mission, in which the USNS Mercy traveled to several Southeast Asian nations, bringing medical care and initiating engineering projects in the host countries. Harcsztark was invited to participate in the military-civilian partnership through the University of California, San Diego Pre-Dental Society, a volunteer organization that coordinated many of the civilian doctors, dentists, nurses and other professionals aboard the ship.
Harcsztark, who has five grown children between the ages of 25 and 31, was looking for adventure and a chance to give back when he signed up for the Cambodian trip. "It's very rewarding to help others, as I get older. And I get to see cultures I never otherwise do see," said Harcsztark, who was an active-duty Navy officer from 1974 to 1976.
The USNS Mercy was brought out of retirement in 2004 to bring disaster assistance to victims of the Asian tsunami. Its subsequent missions have distributed thousands of eyeglasses, surgically corrected cleft lips and palates, removed tumors, and helped bring updated medical equipment to poor areas, but ultimately it's also about building relationships with host countries, said Dr. Irvin Silverstein director of the UCSD Pre-Dental Society. "We're changing people's lives one person at a time, and we're also changing the ways nations and people look at each other. It has become a good diplomatic building block."
These trips, however, are not designed for those seeking a relaxing cruise vacation.
Harcsztark said he worked close to three weeks with only a half-day off. He slept in bunks, stacked three beds high, sharing a room with over 100 men, some of whom snored. Lights went out at 10 p.m. sharp.
Everyone aboard the ship had to wear a uniform at all times. As an Orthodox Jew, Harcsztark had to apply for permission to wear his tallit — prayer shawl — and teffilin — small prayer boxes containing parts of the Torah — for daily prayers. He also had to obtain permission to do his morning prayers on the stern of the ship, careful to stay clear of the helicopter landing pad.
On Saturday, the Shabbat, the day of rest, he had his work assignment switched to the ship's emergency section, which is permissible work under Jewish law because it involves life-saving activities.
Sticking to his kosher diet wasn't a problem while on the ship, he said, and when on land in the communities he subsisted on MRE's (the military acronym for meal, ready-to-eat).
He rose each day at 4:30 a.m. in order to meet a 6 a.m. "bandaid boat," a smaller craft that shuttled crew members and equipment ashore. With about 25 in all working on the dental team, the crew brought along their own generators, sterilization equipment and cell towers to enter all patient information into a computer network.
Harcsztark was assigned to two sites, a hospital and a school, converted into a dental clinic. Upon arriving each morning, he saw hundreds of people lined up waiting to be seen by a dentist. Once checked in, the more complicated cases, such as those needing tumor biopsies or multiple extractions, were sent to the ship to be tended to at the state-of-the-art dental clinic.
Living with pain
Many of the people he treated had been living with pain and abnormal dental conditions for months, if not years. "Some type of cases we treated you rarely see outside of college textbooks," he said. The tooth decay he saw was minimal, however, which he attributes to the Cambodian's diet that is low in processed sugars and candy.
A translator stood by his side at all times to help communicate. And the children were willing patients, opening their mouths wide for his peering flashlight. "They didn't know what a dentist is. They were our best patients," he said.
Though he couldn't get the expressionless monk to laugh, Harcsztark knew exactly what to say to a nervous little girl who took a seat in his dental chair. "You look pretty, are you married yet?" She giggled, he said.
E-mail: fujimori@northjersey.com
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