Our Crazy, Local Gringo: 3D-Printing Prosthetics in Guatemala

Article Written By: Hiba Khan Glia Project Management Mechanical Engineer

 

This article includes excerpts from a podcast episode in which Glia interviews Eric Lamoray—check out the full episode for more (coming soon)!

Imagine retirement on a boat, somewhere off a beautiful coast in Central America. You might picture days spent relaxing to the sound of waves, with a book in one hand and a coconut in the other. For American retirees Eric Lamoray and his wife, this is definitely not the case! 

While sailing towards Vanuatu, they had planned to transport medical professionals to some of the remote stretches of the South Pacific. Surprisingly, the COVID pandemic shut everything down, and they ended up in Guatemala. Having spent much of their free time throughout their lives doing humanitarian work, they decided to pitch into a few projects while they were there:

“We met a young man who was missing a hand and I knew nothing about 3D-printing except that it existed, and I knew somebody had designed 3D-printed prosthetics. I did some research, and lo and behold, about 6 months later we had our first printer and I made him an arm, and everything went nuts from there.”

Three years and over a hundred prosthetics later, their efforts in Guatemala are still ramping up. In addition to building and freely distributing prosthetics, they now also build other medical devices, such as Glia’s open-source stethoscopes.

“And then we got into the medical needs, which here are… It’ll blow your mind, it’s sad… If you’re a poor, rural farmer, you’ve got nothing. We started discovering there are rural health clinics, which are just used gurneys on the front porch of a nurse’s house and she has a few bandages… And regional health clinics, where the doctor doesn’t even have a stethoscope - which is mind-blowing to me, how you can be a doctor and not even have a stethoscope.”

For one of their latest projects, they provided packages that included a stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter, and otoscope. 

“None of this stuff has ever been seen in these places… We’re giving 5 this first batch. I could probably give away 1,500 of them, but we don’t have that kind of money… We have maybe 5 or 6 small supporters, and that’s what we do all of this with.”

The small size of their operation isn’t a complaint, though; instead they see it as one of their greatest advantages. 

“I am firmly of the belief after all these years that smaller humanitarian efforts are always better. They are in touch with what’s going on the ground, there’s no management that’s remotely removed from things making decisions, they’re adaptable, they’re versatile, you can switch directions really fast… Big groups do some horrendous screw-ups and then try to cover them up, whereas little guys on the ground are like ‘this isn’t working we’re switching to this right now.’ BANG, suddenly you’re helping people in a better way.”

One of the greatest challenges they face now is gaining the trust of their community. Against a backdrop of recent genocide, coups, racial issues, inter-tribal warfare, and the kidnapping of children to “adopt them,” he recalled: “We’ll sometimes go to a village, and the kids will scream and run away.” Parents are often apprehensive when they come in for an arm, worried about how Eric and his wife might try to steal their money or hurt their child.

The distrust extends beyond themselves and to the products as well. In the case of stethoscopes, the plastic material gave people the impression that it was leftover junk that probably wouldn’t work well. Some clinics even refused their offer to make free tourniquets for them, partially due to a lack of education regarding their use. 

However, after several years of consistent work, delivering on their promises, and meeting real needs, Eric and his wife have slowly built a reputation as being honest and dependable members of their community. As a testament to this, people used to call Eric the “crazy, local gringo.” Recently, he asked a friend if he was still the local gringo, and he was given the greatest compliment: “Si, yes, but now, now you are our local gringo.” Moreover, the community continues to gain confidence in the products themselves. A nurse commented on the plastic stethoscope: “I was really impressed with its ability to hear lungs… That’s what it’s going to be used for the most,” which, in turn, can help identify diseases such as pneumonia.  

The impact of open-source technology, and particularly the work of Eric and his wife, can be understood through the personal stories of their beneficiaries. For example, they once provided a prosthetic arm to a man on the fringe of the narco trade, which opened his eyes to the possibility of a better life—he eventually left the narco trade. In Guatemala, where there is no public safety net for those who lose their livelihoods, providing someone with an arm can even be life-saving:

“I had a welder who lost his arm on a construction site and he was going to kill himself. And one of the doctors who heard about us was trying to get him to come see us, and he finally did, and he’s like ‘Look I have a wife and I have two little girls, and I can’t work anymore, and so there’s no point in living.’ And I was like ‘Well, you’re a welder. Which hand did you hold your electrode in?’ ‘Right hand.’ That’s the one he lost. ’You’re going to learn to hold your electrode with your left hand, and I’m going to build you an arm with some extra special materials (we used some carbon fiber material with some polycarbonate filaments) and you’re going to brace with your right hand.’ And now, he’s a welding fool.”

Now that the world has “re-opened” after COVID, Eric and his wife have the opportunity to pack up and resume their original plans of relaxing in the South Pacific. But what does that mean for the kids they’ve helped, who anxiously ask Eric what they will do when they outgrow their current prosthetic? Eric reassures them that:

“You call me, and I’ll give you the next one free. I’ll keep making these as long as I’m alive. Because we can’t leave at this point. I mean we thought we could still head to the South Pacific when COVID was over, but I’ve got kids that I’ve started—what do I do, abandon them? That’s the truth, you’re going to abandon them. And what about the adults, when they break an arm or when it wears out… I can’t abandon these people. This is the other thing about humanitarian work, sometimes it’s short and sweet, sometimes it's a long-term commitment…And if you’re not willing to make those commitments, you don’t start.” 

They hope to find a Guatemalan who can take over the reins when it comes to building the medical devices, but they haven’t yet found that special person. It’s challenging because it requires a certain level of skill and commitment, and they won’t be able to offer much in terms of pay. 

As word of their work spread to other countries, Eric would often hear, “Oh you need to take this to other countries!” But he responds, “No, you need to do it, in your country. Real simple.” To those people, he offers some advice:

• 3D Printing: Don’t skimp on the up-front costs of printers and print materials, since it will cost more in the long run. Don’t rely on internet forums but seek guidance from experts whenever possible.
• Logistics of Distribution: “Do your homework” on how to get things moved around, and don’t rely on the government for help, especially where corruption is rampant. Work with locals whenever possible due to their awareness of the issues and culture.
• Filming and Photography: Be very careful with this so you prevent the perception of doing the work to make big money back home.

As a final motivation, Eric shared a beautiful parting message: 

“You can do it, you can make a difference. Just make sure you’re doing it to make a difference, not get rich. If you’re getting into this to be famous then you’re in the wrong place…But is it worth it? Oh, immensely so. When you get a big hug from a 5-year-old girl who lost her arm, and a few months before she wouldn’t even look at her own arm? Yeah… yeah, that’s pretty cool. And when somebody comes up to you with a group of five people and says ‘Thank you for giving hope to my people.’ That’s a big deal, because they had none, and you were able to restore some hope. That’s better than all the pay in the world in my opinion.”
Link to Eric Lamoray’s Facebook (to get in touch or donate): https://www.facebook.com/eric.lamoray