Miguel Blas-Matus vividly recalls growing up with seven siblings in a one-room, dirt-floor house in his homeland of Juchitan, Oaxaca, Mexico.

Lacking electricity, they lived by candlelight while his mother cooked over an open fire at night, raised pigs and made cheese.

He'd get up before dawn to help his father -- who only spoke the indigenous Zapotec language -- farm their meager one acre of land amid the arid plains of southern Mexico. It provided just enough for his family to survive.

"You don't even think about poverty -- you're happy with what you have," he recalled recently while standing outside the University of Washington's physician's assistant program in Yakima. "If you have something to eat, that was the main thing."

Today at age 45, his life is much different. He rents a room from a friend in Yakima, owns a 2000 Chevrolet Impala, but mostly relies on his bicycle for transportation, and is a junior in medical school.

Last month, Blas-Matus realized his dream of becoming an American citizen. But his quest into the land of opportunity wasn't easy. It was a journey filled with pain, sacrifice and humiliation.

"Starting from scratch, nothing, I think it's worth it," he said, clad in a black button-down shirt, dark slacks and sporting short black hair. "In that painful process, there are a lot of question marks. But if you enjoy what you're doing, it's worth it."

Blas-Matus' journey began at age 7, when he started school at the urging of his father, who lacked any formal education.

A Zapotec Indian, he began learning Spanish in elementary school and eventually worked his way up to medical school in Mexico City, where he was considered a minority.

"I had to move from an Indian town to the big city," he said. "For (a Zapotec) to get at the university level is rare."

But it was a feat he and all his siblings had accomplished.

After finishing medical school and earning his credentials to work as a doctor, he joined the Mexican Navy, where he completed a fellowship for pediatric surgeons.

"I was following my dreams," said Blas-Matus, with a boyish smile.

But a three-month visit to the United States in 1993 with his girlfriend, who is from the Yakima Valley, brought new vision to his life.

She worked as an office secretary at a college in Mexico, and in the fields and warehouses in the United States. She held citizenship in both countries.

They decided to get married and figured the U.S. was the best place to raise a family.

So Blas-Matus began applying for a visa that would allow him to work and stay in the country.

That's when the struggles began.

After taking his money, one attorney said it would be an easy process. But months passed without any paperwork, Blas-Matus recalled.

"I went to his office several times, talked to his secretary just to find out what was going on," he said.

Meanwhile, his tourism visa had expired and he became an illegal immigrant.

In order to survive and pay attorney fees, he turned to the fields of the Yakima Valley and warehouses.

Although he appeared to fit in with field workers, Blas-Matus, who stands about 5-foot-9 with a solid frame, soon learned that he lacked the skills -- and stamina -- to be a farm worker. He was fired from his first two jobs before catching on to the daunting tasks of picking apples, and pruning and thinning trees.

"They fired me because my hands were so delicate, they couldn't resist the thinning," he recalled. "The tips of my fingers used to bleed because of all the friction."

Short of cash, he road a bicycle from orchard to orchard seeking work, and recalled standing in snow above his ankles to perform winter pruning.

Two years and five attorneys later, at a cost of about $15,000, Blas-Matus finally received a work visa that allowed him to stay in the U.S. legally.

He said attorneys kept taking his money, telling him they could help him before referring him to another.

"I can't believe the amount of money I spent," he said. "Both my wife and I, we were fighting to make everything work, our savings and everything."

Because Blas-Matus lacked proficiency in English, he was unable to work as a doctor. So he went to school and became a certified nurse's assistant, and worked long hours in two nursing homes before landing a job as a surgical technician at the former Providence Yakima Medical Center in Yakima. He later left for a similar job at Yakima Valley Memorial Hospital.

His sights were set on continuing his education here and becoming a medical doctor in Yakima.

But on May 4, 1997, life delivered the couple a devastating blow -- their daughter died at birth.

Recalling the moment, Blas-Matus sunk in his chair and rubbed his eyes as tears rolled down his face.

He said he gave her an Indian name, Nadxielli, meaning "I Love You" in Zapotec.

"My only daughter that I have is in heaven," he said softly. "She is a baby, and I love her."

Following his indigenous beliefs, he wanted to take her to his homeland to bury her, but because he was here on a work visa, U.S. immigration authorities wouldn't let him return to Mexico.

Not long afterwards, his sister became ill with hepatitis B, and fell into a coma. He again sought permission to return to Oaxaca, but was denied. She died months later.

"They didn't let me go," he said somberly.

But when his father fell ill in 1999, Blas-Matus left the country without permission.

Months later, he was caught re-entering the U.S., and was held at an immigration detention center in Florence, Ariz., for five months.

His father died while he was in custody.

"Restraining a human being's freedom has no price, and that's what they did to me at that detention center," he said. "I tell my wife ... that was a very unforgettable experience."

He was then deported and told that he couldn't return for 10 years.

He appealed the deportation through four courts before eventually losing the case.

He returned to Mexico, and his wife visited him when she could.

She kept filing paperwork in pursuit of his return, and more than 20 physicians from the Yakima Valley wrote letters in support of Blas-Matus to immigration authorities.

Blas-Matus spent three years in Mexico before he was pardoned by U.S. authorities in 2003 and allowed to return on a work visa.

His job at Memorial Hospital was waiting for him.

He moved back into their home in Yakima and began pursuing his education again, but the long periods of time away and insurmountable stress dealing with immigration authorities had taken a toll on his marriage.

His relationship with his wife began to unravel, and eventually ended in divorce in 2006.

"My education, my vocation was just to improve my family," Blas-Matus recalled sadly. "The whole thing I was doing was just to improve our lifestyle, but unfortunately the pressure was too much and the relationship did not work that well.

"I appreciate the whole thing that she did," he added. "I also appreciate the beautiful moments that kept us as a family."

Despite feelings of loneliness following the divorce, the emotional roller coaster that ensued forged in Blas-Matus a desire to continue.

"I did not leave my country to come over here to waste my time," he said. "I didn't just leave my country -- I left community, my people, my culture."

Now, his classmates in his physician's assistant program in Yakima are his family. Class was canceled the day he was sworn in as a citizen and the entire class showed up.

He has one year left of school and plans to stay here and work as a primary care giver to underserved people in rural areas.

"I just feel like when I get done, life has to get better," he said. "It has been a long journey."

* Phil Ferolito can be reached at 577-7749 or pferolito@yakimaherald.com.