I am off to Kenya for a month to study international public health. I have a blog set up just for this experience (it's all so official!). Follow along if you wish!
http://inmedblogs.us/rynahansen
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
A Little Haitian Wisdom
After spending a significant amount of time in rural Northwest Haiti, I have acquired some wisdom I think is necessary to share with the world. So here, in no particular order...
the things I have learned in Haiti:
1) It's really ok to pick your nose in public.
2) Donkeys are pretty much the coolest animals on the planet, however the noise that comes out of them is not.
3) Roosters do NOT only crow in the morning.
4) A rooster or a goat that makes noise outside your window can actually turn a relatively calm person into a raging murderer who likes to throw rocks.
5) If you want some new shoes, just ask the white person visiting your country.
6) The louder you sing, the more beautiful it sounds.
7) You really can do ANYTHING with only a machete.
8) If you see little sparkles in the grass at night that look like dew droplets, don't be fooled, it's not dew, it's just the eyes of the hundreds of banana spiders looking back at you.
9) It is NOT possible to live life without a headlight.
10) Clorox is almost as handy as a headlight.
11) Hot water, internet, and washing machines are really more valuable than you think.
12) It is possible to rate how difficult or tiring a day is by how many cold cokes you need to drink by the end.
13) Haitian coke in a glass bottle is better than most everything in the world.
14) If a Haitian says rain is coming, RAIN IS COMING, go take cover somewhere.
15) Rain means everything stops, no school, no work. It is perfectly acceptable to lay in your bed all day.
16) If you take a knife away from a Dutch person, they will most likely starve to death.
17) Pepto Bismol is actually my favorite candy.
18) All of life's most difficult questions can be answered with "si Bondye vle (if God wants)" or "Bondye konnen (God knows)".
19) If your commute doesn't include a two hour donkey ride or a four hour barefooted walk in the mud, then you have no rights to complain.
20) Yawning does not mean you're tired. It means you're hungry!
21) If you feel the ground shake and you are inside, don’t think, just run! (I have acquired this instinct, even in my sleep … Sara has not)
22) Bed nets are not really for mosquitoes, they are to keep geckos, spiders, and scorpions from jumping in your bed.
23) If you get stung by a sea anemone in the ocean, just ask your friend to pee on your wound.
24) The capacity of a small Toyota truck is actually 26 people, 4 goats, and 27 chickens.
and last but not least...
25) If 911 doesn't respond, just get thirty of your neighbors and make them carry your bed to the hospital. Sprinting, singing, and an adequate ingestion of rum is required.
the things I have learned in Haiti:
1) It's really ok to pick your nose in public.
2) Donkeys are pretty much the coolest animals on the planet, however the noise that comes out of them is not.
3) Roosters do NOT only crow in the morning.
4) A rooster or a goat that makes noise outside your window can actually turn a relatively calm person into a raging murderer who likes to throw rocks.
5) If you want some new shoes, just ask the white person visiting your country.
6) The louder you sing, the more beautiful it sounds.
7) You really can do ANYTHING with only a machete.
8) If you see little sparkles in the grass at night that look like dew droplets, don't be fooled, it's not dew, it's just the eyes of the hundreds of banana spiders looking back at you.
9) It is NOT possible to live life without a headlight.
10) Clorox is almost as handy as a headlight.
11) Hot water, internet, and washing machines are really more valuable than you think.
12) It is possible to rate how difficult or tiring a day is by how many cold cokes you need to drink by the end.
13) Haitian coke in a glass bottle is better than most everything in the world.
14) If a Haitian says rain is coming, RAIN IS COMING, go take cover somewhere.
15) Rain means everything stops, no school, no work. It is perfectly acceptable to lay in your bed all day.
16) If you take a knife away from a Dutch person, they will most likely starve to death.
17) Pepto Bismol is actually my favorite candy.
18) All of life's most difficult questions can be answered with "si Bondye vle (if God wants)" or "Bondye konnen (God knows)".
19) If your commute doesn't include a two hour donkey ride or a four hour barefooted walk in the mud, then you have no rights to complain.
20) Yawning does not mean you're tired. It means you're hungry!
21) If you feel the ground shake and you are inside, don’t think, just run! (I have acquired this instinct, even in my sleep … Sara has not)
22) Bed nets are not really for mosquitoes, they are to keep geckos, spiders, and scorpions from jumping in your bed.
23) If you get stung by a sea anemone in the ocean, just ask your friend to pee on your wound.
24) The capacity of a small Toyota truck is actually 26 people, 4 goats, and 27 chickens.
and last but not least...
25) If 911 doesn't respond, just get thirty of your neighbors and make them carry your bed to the hospital. Sprinting, singing, and an adequate ingestion of rum is required.
Fevers, Apples, and...Home
Home now…not quite sure what to think of all this but the hot showers, apples, Starbucks, and clean feeling are just pretty sweet. Seeing my beloved peeps is pretty awesome too. So far most of my activities have included moping around the house as I was sick last week. I spent the week before that in Kansas City attending a class for international public health. It was a good way to reenter this American world by putting the focus back onto international health and being with other people interested in health issues in the third world. It was all awesome (including doing our first load of laundry in the washing machine, the Kansas City BBQ, and the carton of ice cream we hid in our mini freezer all week!), except for the fact that I was starting to feel pretty sick; fevers, body aches, fatigue. I don't think it was exhaustion from four months of steady work...I think it WAS a bizarre tropical disease. A few nights I woke up drenched with sweat. I was like, oh no... I DO have TB!!! (This is my secret fear most of the time in Haiti, but it's actually not so secret because in reality I’m just a very vocal hypochondriac). By the time I landed in Seattle, I was still having body aches and just so so tired. Then the next day my whole body broke out in a red blotchy rash! I called Sara up (a little freaked) and she said she had the same thing!! How crazy is that? Anyway, although we don’t have an official diagnosis, we settled on the fact that we probably had a little dose of Dengue Fever. Just a little Haiti I brought home in my pocket.
But now I'm feeling better. Just bored some days, just so tired other days, and other days enjoying sitting in my house in this Northwest when the sun decides to make a rare appearance and makes us all believe that yes, maybe summer is really coming. But I've had summer for four months…um extreme summer, so hanging out in pants and hooded sweatshirts isn't all that bad. At least my extremities haven't gone numb yet....
As far as news from Passe Catabois, I haven’t heard much yet, but know that Dr. Michael and Esther were able to take a small vacation with their family in the Caribbean for a few weeks. Dustin and Annelies (and Rob of course) are still holding down the fort (their blog is www.haititrip.org if you want to keep up with them). And that perhaps Anne-Marie is on her way back to Haiti soon. I am missing them all as well as my Haitian friends, as the relationships we have there are the most golden things about being in Haiti.
But now I'm feeling better. Just bored some days, just so tired other days, and other days enjoying sitting in my house in this Northwest when the sun decides to make a rare appearance and makes us all believe that yes, maybe summer is really coming. But I've had summer for four months…um extreme summer, so hanging out in pants and hooded sweatshirts isn't all that bad. At least my extremities haven't gone numb yet....
As far as news from Passe Catabois, I haven’t heard much yet, but know that Dr. Michael and Esther were able to take a small vacation with their family in the Caribbean for a few weeks. Dustin and Annelies (and Rob of course) are still holding down the fort (their blog is www.haititrip.org if you want to keep up with them). And that perhaps Anne-Marie is on her way back to Haiti soon. I am missing them all as well as my Haitian friends, as the relationships we have there are the most golden things about being in Haiti.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Moun Yo!
Thursday June 3, 2010
Another one for the books. Today was our chosen rendez-vous date to take another carload of patients to the hospital in LaPointe (about an hour and a half away); most everyone for the HIV program they run there. I was nervous right off the get-go just as there were a carload of patients waiting on our direction with a long list of details to get done, in a land that if something can go wrong...it will go wrong. I knew it would be nothing but chaotic trying to maneuver the Haitian medical system (which, yes, it did not disappoint).
Seven am, we departed with four new HIV patients, three who had already been intiated in the program (all family in tow as well) and another lady with ascites of some unknown origen who we wanted to get some lab work done. So off we go, all surprisingly calm and quiet in the car until we arrive at Twa Rivye (the huge river we have to cross to get into Port de Paix). It was so high, I was starting to sweat as it was looking pretty impossible to cross. Dustin (our chauffer) waited and watched for a while - the only car we saw cross was a tap tap which was already broke down in the middle of the river - muddy water up to it's belly and all the ladies with skirts hiked up, trying to push it to the other side. After some time, and with the urging from the Haitians "wi! nou ka janbe dlo a!" and with a personal guide clinging to the side of our car, we pushed through and arrived out on the other side just fine. The water was just below the hood. Yes...our car has a snorkel.
We continued on. First, stop at the hospital in Port de Paix, to get a letter of transfer for one our our patients who had had anything but a nice experience there and we wished to restart her at LaPointe. Not surprisingly, hospital closed...Fet Dieu...thank you Haiti for yet another holiday to not be at work. Frustrating to say the least as we didn't know if we would be able to get meds for Madam Clair (yet again) at LaPointe without this letter.
Finally, we arrive into the chaos at LaPointe. And...no HIV doctor today. Apparently he left to study for something like four years. Sigh...this day was not starting out too well. We stood there in the crowd for a while trying to make order out of the mess, but it wasn't coming easily. There were still nurses working so it appeared we would be able to still do consultations. And, everything came bit by bit and after a lot of confusion and flusteration, a lot of wild goose chases (go to door number 9, now knock on door number 14, after that get your meds at door number 4, etc. etc. etc.), and some help by a very gracious Haitian nurse, we got most everything on our list done, including everything for Madam Clair. A miracle in my mind after seeing how our day started. Consultations, labs...done; meds....given. All we suspected confirmed HIV postiive, even the thirteen month old we suspected whose mom is also positive. And we only had one minor freak out when one of the ladies denied it all in the consulation with the nurse. "I don't have HIV! I will not take those meds!" This even though we had told her, her positive result at our clinic several weeks ago. Apparently it sounds different coming out of a Haitian mouth.
But it got done and the best end of the day was when we snuck over to the House of Hope to check on Gina, the toddler with Tb we dropped off about three weeks ago. We almost didn't recognize her; she was a plump little girl instead of the stick skinny baby we dropped off. She is doing so well; laughing, playing, eating, and even bossing other kids around.
We sludged and slid all over the road back home through the fresh mud (after making the most of our snorkel again), relieved and talking a lot about the nice cold cokes waiting for us at home.
Another one for the books. Today was our chosen rendez-vous date to take another carload of patients to the hospital in LaPointe (about an hour and a half away); most everyone for the HIV program they run there. I was nervous right off the get-go just as there were a carload of patients waiting on our direction with a long list of details to get done, in a land that if something can go wrong...it will go wrong. I knew it would be nothing but chaotic trying to maneuver the Haitian medical system (which, yes, it did not disappoint).
Seven am, we departed with four new HIV patients, three who had already been intiated in the program (all family in tow as well) and another lady with ascites of some unknown origen who we wanted to get some lab work done. So off we go, all surprisingly calm and quiet in the car until we arrive at Twa Rivye (the huge river we have to cross to get into Port de Paix). It was so high, I was starting to sweat as it was looking pretty impossible to cross. Dustin (our chauffer) waited and watched for a while - the only car we saw cross was a tap tap which was already broke down in the middle of the river - muddy water up to it's belly and all the ladies with skirts hiked up, trying to push it to the other side. After some time, and with the urging from the Haitians "wi! nou ka janbe dlo a!" and with a personal guide clinging to the side of our car, we pushed through and arrived out on the other side just fine. The water was just below the hood. Yes...our car has a snorkel.
We continued on. First, stop at the hospital in Port de Paix, to get a letter of transfer for one our our patients who had had anything but a nice experience there and we wished to restart her at LaPointe. Not surprisingly, hospital closed...Fet Dieu...thank you Haiti for yet another holiday to not be at work. Frustrating to say the least as we didn't know if we would be able to get meds for Madam Clair (yet again) at LaPointe without this letter.
Finally, we arrive into the chaos at LaPointe. And...no HIV doctor today. Apparently he left to study for something like four years. Sigh...this day was not starting out too well. We stood there in the crowd for a while trying to make order out of the mess, but it wasn't coming easily. There were still nurses working so it appeared we would be able to still do consultations. And, everything came bit by bit and after a lot of confusion and flusteration, a lot of wild goose chases (go to door number 9, now knock on door number 14, after that get your meds at door number 4, etc. etc. etc.), and some help by a very gracious Haitian nurse, we got most everything on our list done, including everything for Madam Clair. A miracle in my mind after seeing how our day started. Consultations, labs...done; meds....given. All we suspected confirmed HIV postiive, even the thirteen month old we suspected whose mom is also positive. And we only had one minor freak out when one of the ladies denied it all in the consulation with the nurse. "I don't have HIV! I will not take those meds!" This even though we had told her, her positive result at our clinic several weeks ago. Apparently it sounds different coming out of a Haitian mouth.
But it got done and the best end of the day was when we snuck over to the House of Hope to check on Gina, the toddler with Tb we dropped off about three weeks ago. We almost didn't recognize her; she was a plump little girl instead of the stick skinny baby we dropped off. She is doing so well; laughing, playing, eating, and even bossing other kids around.
We sludged and slid all over the road back home through the fresh mud (after making the most of our snorkel again), relieved and talking a lot about the nice cold cokes waiting for us at home.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday May 28, 2010
This week, Sara and her brother AJ came in on Monday. Dustin and I went into town to pick them up, which tested our patience a little bit. We got the tap tap that stopped every five minutes to pick someone or something up, then had to be push-started every time to restart the engine. This was all after waiting in the hot sun for an hour in Passe Catabois while the back of the pick up filled with people, which is normal. Then to make the ride even better, the truck ran out of gas just before the big river crossing to Port de Paix. So we opted (a wise choice) to walk the rest of the way to the airport and take a canoe across the river instead of waiting in the hot sun (again) for gas to arrive. The ride back home was not much better (which included an old lady vomiting over the side) but one thing is always true: insight to the Haitian is found in the back of the tap tap. Jokes, talk, philosophy, you get it all, which is always an educational experience. Needless to say we were burnt and all had sore butts, but Sara and AJ arrived well!
The rain continues. Almost everyday some form of wetness falls from the sky. The land is GREEN. Wednesday, Sara, Esther, and I got caught in a downpour after making trip across the street to the bakery. We had to camp out beneath Madam Jal's store (sticks and a tarp) while the street turned into a rushing river of mud. But alas, after twenty minutes, the sun is out and we were able to slop through the mud back home.
Had a patient on Wednesday that horrified us all. A fourteen year old boy came with "vomiting and diarrhea". He had been sent by another rural dispensary after they saw they could do nothing more. As the rest of the crew went to help this boy at the clinic, Annelies and I finished rounds at the hospital. By the time I got back to the clinic, there were IVs and meds running on the boy but it was obvious he was taking his last breaths. I wasn't there two minutes and his very last breath came. It was obvious something else was going on - something that seemed to be so difficult to get out of the family. His face was so skeletal looking and some talk of poisoning was being tossed around. It's so hard to tell what the truth is here, but yeah...a fourteen year old boy died. The brother's wailing and flailing about (rolling on the ground and running up and down the road) brought the whole town to come and watch. Just another horrid scene for the books...
The rain continues. Almost everyday some form of wetness falls from the sky. The land is GREEN. Wednesday, Sara, Esther, and I got caught in a downpour after making trip across the street to the bakery. We had to camp out beneath Madam Jal's store (sticks and a tarp) while the street turned into a rushing river of mud. But alas, after twenty minutes, the sun is out and we were able to slop through the mud back home.
Had a patient on Wednesday that horrified us all. A fourteen year old boy came with "vomiting and diarrhea". He had been sent by another rural dispensary after they saw they could do nothing more. As the rest of the crew went to help this boy at the clinic, Annelies and I finished rounds at the hospital. By the time I got back to the clinic, there were IVs and meds running on the boy but it was obvious he was taking his last breaths. I wasn't there two minutes and his very last breath came. It was obvious something else was going on - something that seemed to be so difficult to get out of the family. His face was so skeletal looking and some talk of poisoning was being tossed around. It's so hard to tell what the truth is here, but yeah...a fourteen year old boy died. The brother's wailing and flailing about (rolling on the ground and running up and down the road) brought the whole town to come and watch. Just another horrid scene for the books...
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Sunday May 23, 2010
Time for an update, but not sure what went on this week. Things have been slow due to rainy weather. That is except for one crazy hot crowded stifling Monday at clinic (which was: 95 degrees inside, no air flow, Ryna with a fever, and 100 inpatient people waiting to be seen!). One things for sure, there is a good group here now: Dustin, Annelies, Michael, Esther, and me (Sara comes back tomorrow). Let's just say cold cokes are still a staple here as well as sitting on the back porch talking and laughing our way through what goes on in these crazy days... The last of the teams left us on Monday. The food and company was nice for sure, but now it's time for a little silence.
I'm sitting here looking out into the valley behind our house and the land has miraculously turned green. It only started raining three days ago and now, green grass everywhere. I still don't understand how that is possible, but maybe I could imagine if I was able to measure the amount of water that can tumble in a few minutes here. The Haitians are so happy...this means planting their gardens is possible...and the hope of a good crop in a few months.
Tuesday was a little melancholy. We decided to send our dear friend, Clair, home to die; this at the request of his family. He has been in the hospital since before I arrived in March, for TB treatment. When we saw the treatment wasn't working well, we found that he was also HIV positive. He was the man we sent to Port de Paix multiple times to start the HIV program there, but kept running into roadblocks. I had gone to the hospital there once myself to get medicines for him. But after three months of slow declination, his wife finally asked to take him home to die. So hard, but it was the right decision. I later heard he died Wednesday night and the family did the funeral march with him in the torrential rains that came on Thursday. Oh misery... I will miss him and his family dearly.
The hospital this week has been feeling quite low key...a nice change. Right now, we have four TB patients, four HIV patients (the mama of baby Ivnelle, returned this week!), a baby recovering from a bad respiratory illness (I'm almost positive I am sick from her after she spit some medicines back in my face!), and a toddler with malnutrition. Shinaika (6 year old post heart failure) is still here. The wounds on her legs are almost closed, which means she may be able to go home soon! I think her parents are more than ready.
Sara comes back tomorrow, along with her brother AJ. I will be so glad to have her back again! Should be a good time with everyone again. The time is ticking away...less than three weeks until I am on the plane back to the States. A little surreal.
I'm sitting here looking out into the valley behind our house and the land has miraculously turned green. It only started raining three days ago and now, green grass everywhere. I still don't understand how that is possible, but maybe I could imagine if I was able to measure the amount of water that can tumble in a few minutes here. The Haitians are so happy...this means planting their gardens is possible...and the hope of a good crop in a few months.
Tuesday was a little melancholy. We decided to send our dear friend, Clair, home to die; this at the request of his family. He has been in the hospital since before I arrived in March, for TB treatment. When we saw the treatment wasn't working well, we found that he was also HIV positive. He was the man we sent to Port de Paix multiple times to start the HIV program there, but kept running into roadblocks. I had gone to the hospital there once myself to get medicines for him. But after three months of slow declination, his wife finally asked to take him home to die. So hard, but it was the right decision. I later heard he died Wednesday night and the family did the funeral march with him in the torrential rains that came on Thursday. Oh misery... I will miss him and his family dearly.
The hospital this week has been feeling quite low key...a nice change. Right now, we have four TB patients, four HIV patients (the mama of baby Ivnelle, returned this week!), a baby recovering from a bad respiratory illness (I'm almost positive I am sick from her after she spit some medicines back in my face!), and a toddler with malnutrition. Shinaika (6 year old post heart failure) is still here. The wounds on her legs are almost closed, which means she may be able to go home soon! I think her parents are more than ready.
Sara comes back tomorrow, along with her brother AJ. I will be so glad to have her back again! Should be a good time with everyone again. The time is ticking away...less than three weeks until I am on the plane back to the States. A little surreal.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday May 20, 2010
Right now just bunkered down in the kitchen as the rain pours with all the force it's made of on the ground outside. It's awesome since we haven't had much rain in the past weeks and the ground, gardens, land is left crispy dry. But the force of this rain always takes me by surprise (this coming from a girl from Seattle) especially the noise it makes as it pelts down on our tin roof. It's a perfect day to just lay in bed all day, which is actually what I had ended up doing. I've been sick for the past four days and finally this morning I caved and went back to bed around 9:30am after a few nights that involved raging headaches, coughing, fevers, etc. Next thing I knew I woke up to torrential downpour at 2pm, so I'm guessing the nap was a good idea. So rain... maybe we'll wake up tomorrow and the whole country will be green, gardens growing, enough food for all, and Ryna will be feeling better.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday May 14, 2010 (happy birthday jackanoonie)
I don't know what to say. Writing about disease and death sometimes gets old. But alas, that is what is here. Sometimes the frustration of this country overtakes you. It's hard not to get frustrated with the reign of bad luck, infection, and damage here. It seems sometimes that everything bad that could happen, happens. But then again, maybe it's just my pessimism coming out. Haiti is in a world of its own. Like someone from the visiting team said today, "Haiti is a whole different kind of animal" compared to other parts of the world, and I think they are right. The more you learn and experience Haiti, the more complicated it gets.
Tuesday, we lost a fourteen year old girl in the hospital. She had been admitted for only four or five days, with a diagnosis of tuberculosis. Her lungs seem to be getting worse the last few days. Monday night she was having a hard time breathing and was just starting to look bad, so we started her on some different medicines to cover her for other possible diagnoses. She was still with us Monday morning, but was gone by the afternoon. For the life of me, I don't know what happened and that is one of the hardest things about being here. With no clear answers, you are continually asking yourself, did we miss something? Could we have done something more or something different? Was there something spiritually oppressive going on here? There was some evidence that the family was deep into voodoo stuff and some random uncle had come in Monday morning after we left the hospital and performed some "procedure" involving smoke around the sick girl in her bed. I don't know what happened, physically or spiritually.
One thing I do know is how deep these thoughts are cemented in the culture; I'm sure far more than I can ever comprehend. As soon as the girl died in her bed I noticed several of the patients wearing red bandanas; even the ones I know are not into voodoo. I just stood quietly outside the hospital as a crowd soon gathered to watch, as the mother was making her show of wailing, as is customary here. I went to talk to Shinaika (the 6 year old post heart failure who now was wearing a red bandana) through the window. Why are you wearing that? I asked. My mom put it on me. She said. Why? To protect us. Only people who are sick wear it. I had never seen this before and don't know if that's because I have never noticed or if it was significant for the person who died or the way she died. It's still a mystery. I can't fight this. All I could do was tell Shinaika that yes, sometimes you are scared, but all you have to do is talk to Jesus; he can be inside you, and then you don't have to be afraid. Sometimes it feels like our message of Christ has a hard time getting through all the crap that is here.
Wednesday, our baby boy passed as well. He was still having fevers every day despite antibiotics and malaria treatment. All I can think is the HIV took him. Wednesday, quite quickly he took a turn for the worst. He started to gulp for air with each breath, and we could all see we were losing him quickly. That evening, a large group of the family came to get him. The mother had called them as she saw he was suffering and that the end was near. We didn't know until they were all there and had talked together that they all wanted to go, including the mother who is also hospitalized due to her HIV. After some hard deliberation, we decided it would be better to let them go; it's better to die at home, if that's what the mother wanted. She has plans to return for her own treatment after the funeral is done, which I think she will be true to. I heard later he died on the road home, most likely in someones arms. He was three months; most likely HIV positive.
And just so we all don't give up due to frustration, it's necessary to remember some light: Mercelia, who came in two months ago with pulmonary TB is going home tomorrow. She was bedridden and maybe 70 pounds at the beginning and now is up and about and never comes short in giving us some attitude every so often. Her two year old daughter showed up about a month into her treatment who was also obviously sick. After some uncertainty of diagnoses, we were able to take her to the hospital in LaPointe, where she also tested positive for TB. She is now staying at House of Hope in LaPointe (one of the best long term care facilities for children) for the duration of her treatment. She now has a chance for the rest of her life. And Monday night there was a delivery of twins, who were actually already delivered when they arrived in the truck at the clinic. They are healthy, strong boys, and all was joyous in the clinic that night except for me when the placentas landed on my foot when we cut the cords...sick, is all I have to say about that.
Tuesday, we lost a fourteen year old girl in the hospital. She had been admitted for only four or five days, with a diagnosis of tuberculosis. Her lungs seem to be getting worse the last few days. Monday night she was having a hard time breathing and was just starting to look bad, so we started her on some different medicines to cover her for other possible diagnoses. She was still with us Monday morning, but was gone by the afternoon. For the life of me, I don't know what happened and that is one of the hardest things about being here. With no clear answers, you are continually asking yourself, did we miss something? Could we have done something more or something different? Was there something spiritually oppressive going on here? There was some evidence that the family was deep into voodoo stuff and some random uncle had come in Monday morning after we left the hospital and performed some "procedure" involving smoke around the sick girl in her bed. I don't know what happened, physically or spiritually.
One thing I do know is how deep these thoughts are cemented in the culture; I'm sure far more than I can ever comprehend. As soon as the girl died in her bed I noticed several of the patients wearing red bandanas; even the ones I know are not into voodoo. I just stood quietly outside the hospital as a crowd soon gathered to watch, as the mother was making her show of wailing, as is customary here. I went to talk to Shinaika (the 6 year old post heart failure who now was wearing a red bandana) through the window. Why are you wearing that? I asked. My mom put it on me. She said. Why? To protect us. Only people who are sick wear it. I had never seen this before and don't know if that's because I have never noticed or if it was significant for the person who died or the way she died. It's still a mystery. I can't fight this. All I could do was tell Shinaika that yes, sometimes you are scared, but all you have to do is talk to Jesus; he can be inside you, and then you don't have to be afraid. Sometimes it feels like our message of Christ has a hard time getting through all the crap that is here.
Wednesday, our baby boy passed as well. He was still having fevers every day despite antibiotics and malaria treatment. All I can think is the HIV took him. Wednesday, quite quickly he took a turn for the worst. He started to gulp for air with each breath, and we could all see we were losing him quickly. That evening, a large group of the family came to get him. The mother had called them as she saw he was suffering and that the end was near. We didn't know until they were all there and had talked together that they all wanted to go, including the mother who is also hospitalized due to her HIV. After some hard deliberation, we decided it would be better to let them go; it's better to die at home, if that's what the mother wanted. She has plans to return for her own treatment after the funeral is done, which I think she will be true to. I heard later he died on the road home, most likely in someones arms. He was three months; most likely HIV positive.
And just so we all don't give up due to frustration, it's necessary to remember some light: Mercelia, who came in two months ago with pulmonary TB is going home tomorrow. She was bedridden and maybe 70 pounds at the beginning and now is up and about and never comes short in giving us some attitude every so often. Her two year old daughter showed up about a month into her treatment who was also obviously sick. After some uncertainty of diagnoses, we were able to take her to the hospital in LaPointe, where she also tested positive for TB. She is now staying at House of Hope in LaPointe (one of the best long term care facilities for children) for the duration of her treatment. She now has a chance for the rest of her life. And Monday night there was a delivery of twins, who were actually already delivered when they arrived in the truck at the clinic. They are healthy, strong boys, and all was joyous in the clinic that night except for me when the placentas landed on my foot when we cut the cords...sick, is all I have to say about that.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Oh baby baby, Oh baby baby
Just spent the night chillin with our little baby Annelies took in this week. You know how that goes...
This three month old came to us in the arms of family who told us the mother had died the month before and therefore, they did not have milk for him. We had seen them maybe two weeks earlier and had given them some milk to make at home for him. However, this time around, he did not look good. We decided to keep the baby in the hospital with a young aunt where we could watch him take the milk and just observe how things go. The whole thing was a little dramatic as the family didn't want to stay and there were just a lot of personality quirks flying around. The story got more interesting the next day when the mom showed up at the clinic, apparently raised from the dead. The honesty of Haitians never ceases to shock me.
The mom was obviously ill. It was no shock to us when her HIV test was positive. The story was starting to make a little more sense; not complete sense but a small start nonetheless. And so, mom and baby to stay with us in the hospital for a while. They were among the group Annelies and Esther took on a very tiring "field trip" to LaPointe on Monday for the HIV program there. Everyone was tested and started on appropriate medicines but as for our baby boy, we'll have to wait and see since he is too young for the testing they have at LaPointe.
The next day Annelies decided to take the baby just for the day to watch him and also because he has started to vomit the milk and wasn't looking so great. Plus the pediatrician said he needs very small, very frequent feedings as his stomach cannot handle more. He's pale and still having frequent fevers and is just smaller than a peanut really. I will be shocked if he is negative for HIV. And so, as it goes with every baby that comes to our house, he has started sleeping with us and yes, has a tube. Not because we love doing this so much, but because it was starting to look necessary as over the course of the next few days he vomited every ounce of milk he drank, started to cough and gag on what we think is just severe reflux, and was getting dehydrated. So down went the tube. This was all spearheaded by Annelies and Sara as I'm sorry to say I drag my heals on bringing babies home. But after a few sleepless nights for Sara and Annelies, I was feeling brave and ready to go head on with the baby for the night. And I must say we had a nice party that involved eating a whole pot of popcorn (me) and watching Pride and Prejudice (me and sleeping baby) at 2 o'clock in the morning while he got to drink milk through his tube every hour. Not so bad and even better when there are enough nurses here you can sleep in the morning while the others do rounds at the hospital.
In other news, sadly, we lost a patient yesterday morning who was HIV positive but died because of a severe anemia. This one was hard to swallow because we missed our chance to bring her to LaPointe for a blood transfusion, where that is actually possible. It's hard not to feel guilty about this. She was a scared and was suffering. We sat with her the night before, just to be with her, praying some, as we knew the end was near.
In other odd news, there is a German news team here making a small documentary feature on Michael and Esther's work here. Yeah...just a little odd to see camaras, lights, and all in Passe Catabois!
Pray for us this week. We have a new team here from California who is working on building a church in Vion, but I mostly need prayer because Sara is leaving to go home for two weeks on Monday. I don't know what I will do without my friend who I have been with for 24 hours a day for 3 months! I might go into Sara withdrawals.
This three month old came to us in the arms of family who told us the mother had died the month before and therefore, they did not have milk for him. We had seen them maybe two weeks earlier and had given them some milk to make at home for him. However, this time around, he did not look good. We decided to keep the baby in the hospital with a young aunt where we could watch him take the milk and just observe how things go. The whole thing was a little dramatic as the family didn't want to stay and there were just a lot of personality quirks flying around. The story got more interesting the next day when the mom showed up at the clinic, apparently raised from the dead. The honesty of Haitians never ceases to shock me.
The mom was obviously ill. It was no shock to us when her HIV test was positive. The story was starting to make a little more sense; not complete sense but a small start nonetheless. And so, mom and baby to stay with us in the hospital for a while. They were among the group Annelies and Esther took on a very tiring "field trip" to LaPointe on Monday for the HIV program there. Everyone was tested and started on appropriate medicines but as for our baby boy, we'll have to wait and see since he is too young for the testing they have at LaPointe.
The next day Annelies decided to take the baby just for the day to watch him and also because he has started to vomit the milk and wasn't looking so great. Plus the pediatrician said he needs very small, very frequent feedings as his stomach cannot handle more. He's pale and still having frequent fevers and is just smaller than a peanut really. I will be shocked if he is negative for HIV. And so, as it goes with every baby that comes to our house, he has started sleeping with us and yes, has a tube. Not because we love doing this so much, but because it was starting to look necessary as over the course of the next few days he vomited every ounce of milk he drank, started to cough and gag on what we think is just severe reflux, and was getting dehydrated. So down went the tube. This was all spearheaded by Annelies and Sara as I'm sorry to say I drag my heals on bringing babies home. But after a few sleepless nights for Sara and Annelies, I was feeling brave and ready to go head on with the baby for the night. And I must say we had a nice party that involved eating a whole pot of popcorn (me) and watching Pride and Prejudice (me and sleeping baby) at 2 o'clock in the morning while he got to drink milk through his tube every hour. Not so bad and even better when there are enough nurses here you can sleep in the morning while the others do rounds at the hospital.
In other news, sadly, we lost a patient yesterday morning who was HIV positive but died because of a severe anemia. This one was hard to swallow because we missed our chance to bring her to LaPointe for a blood transfusion, where that is actually possible. It's hard not to feel guilty about this. She was a scared and was suffering. We sat with her the night before, just to be with her, praying some, as we knew the end was near.
In other odd news, there is a German news team here making a small documentary feature on Michael and Esther's work here. Yeah...just a little odd to see camaras, lights, and all in Passe Catabois!
Pray for us this week. We have a new team here from California who is working on building a church in Vion, but I mostly need prayer because Sara is leaving to go home for two weeks on Monday. I don't know what I will do without my friend who I have been with for 24 hours a day for 3 months! I might go into Sara withdrawals.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010
Death and sickness seem to be all around us. It is possible to feel that more severely than in the previous year I've spent here? I don't know. Life seems more fragile these days and it still feels like we are fighting a battle that has already been lost. Physical illness is a hard enemy.
This morning a three year old girl died at our house. Her dad, who was pretty well drunk, brought her to clinic on Friday with bloody diarrhea - she was already pretty out of it. Sara, Esther, and Michael decided to take her for a few days since the dad was so, not in a good way - he couldn't even recall how old she was. We started her on treatment for a dysentary and put an NG tube down for hydration after no one could get in an IV. She was there, would arouse every now and then, take some food or drink, then slip back to her sleeping/restless from pain state. But last night she took a turn for the worst and this morning died in Annelies's arms after she vomited a good amount of dark dark blood. This is beyond sad. We are trying to recover today. Nap, read, eat, do nothing. I woke up completely drenched with sweat after a 2 and a half hour nap. Yes, I had been in a coma. I don't think I was the only one who crashed today.
-Other than that, last week was not so busy, which was good considering the summer heat wave has come and everyone is melting here. It...is...so...hot...
-Been reading a bit in 2 Corinthians and being encouraged by Paul's suffering and perseverence.
-Tomorrow we are taking a car load of people to the hospital in LaPointe, mostly for HIV consultations and medicines. Oh yeah, HIV was raining here last week... fifteen people in the car could be a little chaotic...yeah, pray for that one. I think I'm staying here to hold down the fort for Monday clinic day.
This morning a three year old girl died at our house. Her dad, who was pretty well drunk, brought her to clinic on Friday with bloody diarrhea - she was already pretty out of it. Sara, Esther, and Michael decided to take her for a few days since the dad was so, not in a good way - he couldn't even recall how old she was. We started her on treatment for a dysentary and put an NG tube down for hydration after no one could get in an IV. She was there, would arouse every now and then, take some food or drink, then slip back to her sleeping/restless from pain state. But last night she took a turn for the worst and this morning died in Annelies's arms after she vomited a good amount of dark dark blood. This is beyond sad. We are trying to recover today. Nap, read, eat, do nothing. I woke up completely drenched with sweat after a 2 and a half hour nap. Yes, I had been in a coma. I don't think I was the only one who crashed today.
-Other than that, last week was not so busy, which was good considering the summer heat wave has come and everyone is melting here. It...is...so...hot...
-Been reading a bit in 2 Corinthians and being encouraged by Paul's suffering and perseverence.
-Tomorrow we are taking a car load of people to the hospital in LaPointe, mostly for HIV consultations and medicines. Oh yeah, HIV was raining here last week... fifteen people in the car could be a little chaotic...yeah, pray for that one. I think I'm staying here to hold down the fort for Monday clinic day.
Pictures are worth more
Just a little "penyen". The malnourished daughter of one of our Tb patients sits to have her hair braided.
Our front yard.
Shinaika, still in the hospital, and doing so well! Just waiting for her leg wounds to heal.
Al from the Seattle team is having a little too much fun.
Everyone on our roadtrip across Haiti to the hospital in Cange. Vigil is on the right.
We finally made it!
Just a little "mountains beyond mountains"
Sara with a laboring patient at the clinic.
Dr. Michael taking Acdonel, a Tb patient, to church.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Just Another Day in the Neighborhood
Just a picturesque view on a normal morning in Passe Catabois as the day starts.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thursday April 22, 2010
This is all a little surreal! I am officially sitting in Cange (central Haiti) right now and will spend the night here at Zanmi LaSante, the Partners in Health hospital started in part by Paul Farmer (aka my hero).
We brought Vigil, one of our TB patients who has already been in our care for treatment for two and a half months and still has a positive sputum test and is clinically getting worse. He started treatment for the first time last year but quit to go to the witch doctor for six months. We started retreatment in February but he's still fighting something fierce. We are suspecting a resistent TB that we definitely do not have the means to diagnose and treat in our neck of the woods. And so, after some phone consulting with Anne-Marie in the Netherlands, to Cange we go. The only place in the country (that I know of) that deals with resistence.
We left Passe Catabois at seven this morning and after seven hours of Haitian roads, sweltering heat, and a quick lunch in Gonaives, we arrived in Cange with some "heads that have been rearranged" (Sara's words for how bumpy that insane ride was) but pretty excited hearts. However, we soon found out there was no room for Vigil in the TB program at Cange, so he would have to be transferred to the hospital in a place called Hinche - another hour and a half away! This time just Vigil and his mother go by ambulance, provided by Cange. We all parted ways feeling sad and a little afraid with uncertainty. Vigil and his mother have no idea where they are going and now are going with complete strangers. Nacilia, Vigil's mom, left with tears in her eyes and enough money in her pocket to get back home to Port de Paix via bus. We could see the fear in her eyes and understandibly so. He son is sick and now off to a strange place. We don't know if she can stay with him so she will have to find her way back home by herself. Vigil's treatment will be long, a minimum of eight months. It's hard for us to say goodbye to Vigil but I cannot imagine how Nacilia is feeling right now. Sad, but so necessary. They will start Vigil on the regime for resistent TB the next day and send his sputum to Boston where is can be tested for specific resistence (all for free).
The other sad thing: I did not get to meet by best friend, Paul Farmer, today...but did use his internet some (don't tell anyone!).
We brought Vigil, one of our TB patients who has already been in our care for treatment for two and a half months and still has a positive sputum test and is clinically getting worse. He started treatment for the first time last year but quit to go to the witch doctor for six months. We started retreatment in February but he's still fighting something fierce. We are suspecting a resistent TB that we definitely do not have the means to diagnose and treat in our neck of the woods. And so, after some phone consulting with Anne-Marie in the Netherlands, to Cange we go. The only place in the country (that I know of) that deals with resistence.
We left Passe Catabois at seven this morning and after seven hours of Haitian roads, sweltering heat, and a quick lunch in Gonaives, we arrived in Cange with some "heads that have been rearranged" (Sara's words for how bumpy that insane ride was) but pretty excited hearts. However, we soon found out there was no room for Vigil in the TB program at Cange, so he would have to be transferred to the hospital in a place called Hinche - another hour and a half away! This time just Vigil and his mother go by ambulance, provided by Cange. We all parted ways feeling sad and a little afraid with uncertainty. Vigil and his mother have no idea where they are going and now are going with complete strangers. Nacilia, Vigil's mom, left with tears in her eyes and enough money in her pocket to get back home to Port de Paix via bus. We could see the fear in her eyes and understandibly so. He son is sick and now off to a strange place. We don't know if she can stay with him so she will have to find her way back home by herself. Vigil's treatment will be long, a minimum of eight months. It's hard for us to say goodbye to Vigil but I cannot imagine how Nacilia is feeling right now. Sad, but so necessary. They will start Vigil on the regime for resistent TB the next day and send his sputum to Boston where is can be tested for specific resistence (all for free).
The other sad thing: I did not get to meet by best friend, Paul Farmer, today...but did use his internet some (don't tell anyone!).
My Lament Today
Tuesday, April 13, 2009
My heart feels ragged and I'm not sure how I can pick up the pieces, bandage them together and go on. Lord, this is too much. It's one of the first times I'm seriously wondering how Haitians can go on with the misery they experience in this life because I've just gotten a taste of it and I don't feel like continuing on today.
Tasha pounded on our door at 5am. Acdonel, one of our TB patients, is vomiting profuse amounts of blood. I hear in my half awake ears people throwing around the word "mouri" and I shoot out of bed along with Sara. We hurry down to the hospital. I'm praying the whole time for God to give us strength for whatever we are about to see. We enter the hospital and approach the door of their room. Tasha, his sister, sees what's inside and falls the ground, rolling, wailing; he's covered with the sheet; he's died already. I can't explain the shock that jolted through my heart right then. I don't understand. He was fine the evening before. More than fine. We even joked around a bit about how I insanely love mangoes. It was just a normal day. He's stayed with us for more than a month now and he was getting better everyday.
This one is hitting me harder than most. Acdonel is the one we look forward to see the most at rounds (don't tell anyone else). He was gaining strength enough to walk again. He would lay on his mat right by the open door, greeting and joking with everyone who passed by. The other day we found him with Orisnel, our little malnourished boy with Down's syndrome, and they were giggling up a storm as he teased and poked him. Oh...his voice. Everyday you would hear "mesi Missla" after his daily shot. His precious sister who shared food with everyone in the hospital. He was only 32, he has 3 kids, and he died from TB - how stupid is that?
I sat in the hospital for an hour and a half this morning, stunned. I felt for the first time myself, the raw emotion in the wailing that happens after someone dies here. It came in waves. Silence as everyone sits trying to comprehend what just happened. Then Tasha starts with another bout of wails that let out the depth of her misery, pain, and cries to God. It fills the whole hospital. "Bondieu! Bondieu! Jezi! Jezi - oh! Anmwe (help me)! Anmwe! Li te mouri nan men mwen (he died in my hands)!" Over and over with real live fresh tears. They had called the family to come get the body. When they arrived I lost it again, hard. When you see a grown man fall to the ground and cry, it breaks you. This man was loved.
I don't know how much I can take Lord, or you will have to shovel my flattened heart off this Haitian soil. I watched John Love, aka. the baby with worms, die in front of me yesterday after he had vomited and diarrheaed everything out of his body. There were signs that the worms had most likely attacked his brain, so it was more or less a relief to see him pass. And the pregnant lady finally delivered her stillborn baby today, the one we figured had already died inside since we couldn't find the heartbeat and there had been no movement for several days.
But why Acdonel? Why did you take him now? I don't understand. He mustered up enough strength to go to church last Sunday despite the fact that he did not have church shoes - something no Haitian has ever done that I have seen. I think he really loved you... like really; sort of a rarity here. He was loved immensely in this hospital, he was making everyone laugh; he was getting better. But the TB took him so fast, so unexpected and left us all gasping for air as we stood there stunned. This hurts.
It's too much for a heart to handle today. The only comfort I have now Lord, is the fact that you know this misery well; you know this heartbreak well. You feel the effects of how messed up this world is and your heart is breaking more than mine is. That alone gives me strength today.
My heart feels ragged and I'm not sure how I can pick up the pieces, bandage them together and go on. Lord, this is too much. It's one of the first times I'm seriously wondering how Haitians can go on with the misery they experience in this life because I've just gotten a taste of it and I don't feel like continuing on today.
Tasha pounded on our door at 5am. Acdonel, one of our TB patients, is vomiting profuse amounts of blood. I hear in my half awake ears people throwing around the word "mouri" and I shoot out of bed along with Sara. We hurry down to the hospital. I'm praying the whole time for God to give us strength for whatever we are about to see. We enter the hospital and approach the door of their room. Tasha, his sister, sees what's inside and falls the ground, rolling, wailing; he's covered with the sheet; he's died already. I can't explain the shock that jolted through my heart right then. I don't understand. He was fine the evening before. More than fine. We even joked around a bit about how I insanely love mangoes. It was just a normal day. He's stayed with us for more than a month now and he was getting better everyday.
This one is hitting me harder than most. Acdonel is the one we look forward to see the most at rounds (don't tell anyone else). He was gaining strength enough to walk again. He would lay on his mat right by the open door, greeting and joking with everyone who passed by. The other day we found him with Orisnel, our little malnourished boy with Down's syndrome, and they were giggling up a storm as he teased and poked him. Oh...his voice. Everyday you would hear "mesi Missla" after his daily shot. His precious sister who shared food with everyone in the hospital. He was only 32, he has 3 kids, and he died from TB - how stupid is that?
I sat in the hospital for an hour and a half this morning, stunned. I felt for the first time myself, the raw emotion in the wailing that happens after someone dies here. It came in waves. Silence as everyone sits trying to comprehend what just happened. Then Tasha starts with another bout of wails that let out the depth of her misery, pain, and cries to God. It fills the whole hospital. "Bondieu! Bondieu! Jezi! Jezi - oh! Anmwe (help me)! Anmwe! Li te mouri nan men mwen (he died in my hands)!" Over and over with real live fresh tears. They had called the family to come get the body. When they arrived I lost it again, hard. When you see a grown man fall to the ground and cry, it breaks you. This man was loved.
I don't know how much I can take Lord, or you will have to shovel my flattened heart off this Haitian soil. I watched John Love, aka. the baby with worms, die in front of me yesterday after he had vomited and diarrheaed everything out of his body. There were signs that the worms had most likely attacked his brain, so it was more or less a relief to see him pass. And the pregnant lady finally delivered her stillborn baby today, the one we figured had already died inside since we couldn't find the heartbeat and there had been no movement for several days.
But why Acdonel? Why did you take him now? I don't understand. He mustered up enough strength to go to church last Sunday despite the fact that he did not have church shoes - something no Haitian has ever done that I have seen. I think he really loved you... like really; sort of a rarity here. He was loved immensely in this hospital, he was making everyone laugh; he was getting better. But the TB took him so fast, so unexpected and left us all gasping for air as we stood there stunned. This hurts.
It's too much for a heart to handle today. The only comfort I have now Lord, is the fact that you know this misery well; you know this heartbreak well. You feel the effects of how messed up this world is and your heart is breaking more than mine is. That alone gives me strength today.
Thursday April 8, 2010
Success today. Just had a pretty awesome day. We departed this morning in Rob's car to Port de Paix with a long checklist of things to be done in hand. We were transporting a patient we've had in the hospital for the past month back home. He was shot in the low spine and is now paralyzed from the waist down. It's been a tough road with him, but he's going home with a wheelchair and supplies he needs for home care today.
Next, it's my turn. Rob drops me off at the big hospital because I need to get some HIV meds for one of our TB patients. This goal is a little far fetched. We had sent our guy with TB (and his wife) two times last week for the test and to get the meds, but after some very frustrating and body breaking rides to and from Port de Paix they only came back with pokes in their arms and no appointment with the doctor. The wife had gone back another time, since now her husband was too weak to even get out of bed, but they wouldn't give her medicine for him because he wasn't there in the flesh. So...we decided we had to try one more time before we send him home to die, since he is so bad now. And so back at the hospital in Port de Paix, I find the SIDA (HIV) program, talk to the nurse, show her my "official" letter from Dr. Michael and she gives me the meds! Check one...
Next I had time to moto it to the grocery store to find some heavenly goodies you can only find in the city for Esther and Sara. I found what we needed and yes maybe some Snickers bars, check two... Then I moto'd it back to the airport to meet up with everyone. As soon as I walk through the door, I meet Lynn...part of our team who was coming in today, who had just stepped off the airplane! We talked for a while until Rob returned and told us Dr. Michael had found and bought the motorcycle they wanted! Check three. Then Esther returned and said she found the medicine we had been looking for in LaPointe. Check four. After that, the whole Seattle team walked through the gate. Everyone accounted for, check five...
A lot of small victories today that came at a good time in the midst of this week.
Next, it's my turn. Rob drops me off at the big hospital because I need to get some HIV meds for one of our TB patients. This goal is a little far fetched. We had sent our guy with TB (and his wife) two times last week for the test and to get the meds, but after some very frustrating and body breaking rides to and from Port de Paix they only came back with pokes in their arms and no appointment with the doctor. The wife had gone back another time, since now her husband was too weak to even get out of bed, but they wouldn't give her medicine for him because he wasn't there in the flesh. So...we decided we had to try one more time before we send him home to die, since he is so bad now. And so back at the hospital in Port de Paix, I find the SIDA (HIV) program, talk to the nurse, show her my "official" letter from Dr. Michael and she gives me the meds! Check one...
Next I had time to moto it to the grocery store to find some heavenly goodies you can only find in the city for Esther and Sara. I found what we needed and yes maybe some Snickers bars, check two... Then I moto'd it back to the airport to meet up with everyone. As soon as I walk through the door, I meet Lynn...part of our team who was coming in today, who had just stepped off the airplane! We talked for a while until Rob returned and told us Dr. Michael had found and bought the motorcycle they wanted! Check three. Then Esther returned and said she found the medicine we had been looking for in LaPointe. Check four. After that, the whole Seattle team walked through the gate. Everyone accounted for, check five...
A lot of small victories today that came at a good time in the midst of this week.
This is not a horror movie, it's real life
Wednesday April 7, 2010
This week, I'm trying to grasp what's been going on. It feels a little dark and I'm not sure why. Monday night I had the most haunting experience I've ever had here. It was 11pm and I went to the hospital to give our dehydrated baby with diarrhea/vomiting fluids via the NG we had placed the Friday before. He was still not taking fluids orally. I get there and see the baby is laying on his side with a spot of red blood he had just vomited. He was still gagging some, his mouth and nostrils still coated with blood. I start to escalate inside and run to the other room to get some gloves. He hadn't been vomiting blood before. I get back to the room and then I spot some stuff in his mouth. I ask the mom, what did you give him?!! I try to scoop whatever it is in his mouth out with my fingers - he's still obviously in distress. Then I see it... in the back pockets of his mouth sit a pile of an uncountable amount of white small worms wiggling their little bodies away - coated in the blood that was still in his mouth.
I didn't know what to do. I was at a loss. I tried to scoop them out but they were wedged and too far back. I tried for a while until I realized I needed help and some bravery from someone else considering it was almost midnight and my headlight was almost dead and I was in a dark room with a five month old baby who has worms coming out his mouth.
I sprinted back to the house and got Sara. We did what we could for another hour or so with a bulb syringe, tweezers, and every worm medicine we could think of, but could only do so much. It's awful, a nightmare of the worst kind, except that it was real life. I don't understand this and I am having trouble shaking this one. I almost vomited on our way back home and was oscillating between laughing with hysteria, shock, and crying some. I had to shower again to calm my mind that I hadn't taken any worms home with me. Yes. a nightmare. Worms are something that eat the dead, not a five month old baby. I can't help but think that physically, we are fighting against a game that is already lost. Yes, my pessimism is coming through tonight. I don't know what kind of game is going on here.
Just these past two days it's been worms and wounds galore. Dr. Michael is becoming the king of stitching machete wounds; maybe four or five in the past week we've had. And the one yesterday was a 16 year old boy who chopped through his entire bone while "weeding" his garden. And we got a lady in the hospital with a massive deep wound covering her whole upper thigh, which we had to debreed. She had been here a few weeks ago and the wound was not so bad. It's mind boggling how a wound could get so bad in such a short time until we decided to do an HIV test...positive. We are fighting a bigger battle here...HIV, TB, abscesses, burns, machete wounds, worms....the fight against physical illness and degredation is overwelming this week.
This week, I'm trying to grasp what's been going on. It feels a little dark and I'm not sure why. Monday night I had the most haunting experience I've ever had here. It was 11pm and I went to the hospital to give our dehydrated baby with diarrhea/vomiting fluids via the NG we had placed the Friday before. He was still not taking fluids orally. I get there and see the baby is laying on his side with a spot of red blood he had just vomited. He was still gagging some, his mouth and nostrils still coated with blood. I start to escalate inside and run to the other room to get some gloves. He hadn't been vomiting blood before. I get back to the room and then I spot some stuff in his mouth. I ask the mom, what did you give him?!! I try to scoop whatever it is in his mouth out with my fingers - he's still obviously in distress. Then I see it... in the back pockets of his mouth sit a pile of an uncountable amount of white small worms wiggling their little bodies away - coated in the blood that was still in his mouth.
I didn't know what to do. I was at a loss. I tried to scoop them out but they were wedged and too far back. I tried for a while until I realized I needed help and some bravery from someone else considering it was almost midnight and my headlight was almost dead and I was in a dark room with a five month old baby who has worms coming out his mouth.
I sprinted back to the house and got Sara. We did what we could for another hour or so with a bulb syringe, tweezers, and every worm medicine we could think of, but could only do so much. It's awful, a nightmare of the worst kind, except that it was real life. I don't understand this and I am having trouble shaking this one. I almost vomited on our way back home and was oscillating between laughing with hysteria, shock, and crying some. I had to shower again to calm my mind that I hadn't taken any worms home with me. Yes. a nightmare. Worms are something that eat the dead, not a five month old baby. I can't help but think that physically, we are fighting against a game that is already lost. Yes, my pessimism is coming through tonight. I don't know what kind of game is going on here.
Just these past two days it's been worms and wounds galore. Dr. Michael is becoming the king of stitching machete wounds; maybe four or five in the past week we've had. And the one yesterday was a 16 year old boy who chopped through his entire bone while "weeding" his garden. And we got a lady in the hospital with a massive deep wound covering her whole upper thigh, which we had to debreed. She had been here a few weeks ago and the wound was not so bad. It's mind boggling how a wound could get so bad in such a short time until we decided to do an HIV test...positive. We are fighting a bigger battle here...HIV, TB, abscesses, burns, machete wounds, worms....the fight against physical illness and degredation is overwelming this week.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday March 27, 2010
Just sitting here at the guest house in the midst of actual calmness. Just the sound of the river down below in the valley with kids yelling out as they play and the swishing of the wash lady doing laundry at our faucet outside. Finally, a moment of nothing to do but sit here in the breeze.
I'm trying to remember what happened this week. It was a little crazy and turned us upside down for a few days. Rob returned from the Netherlands here on Sunday and the very next day a medical team from the States based out of a mission here from Saint Louis arrived. The same team has come for a few years to do a two or three day clinic here at our hospital. They arrived Monday and went to work setting up their own clinic in the hospital. They were with us for three nights which was nonstop hubbub considering they brought 52 people and all their stuff in tow. And considering our house isn't so big, tents in the field and mattresses lining our porch popped out everywhere. They were pretty good sports I must say, especially when we had a 20 minute downpour the first night. We got some new patients that will be hospitalized with us as well; heart failure, TB, wounds. All in all it was most nice to have docs to consult with for our cases we have been unsure about in the hospital.
But needless to say, we may have resembled chickens with our heads cut off this week as we were running from one thing to the next and answering questions. Um...we definitely carved out a few minutes every afternoon to drink a cold coke across the street at Evans'. I like to think it was necessary in order to keep our sanity (a little break time to talk, vent, laugh is vital here). The hardest point of the week however...Wednesday night. Eribendi, the three year old boy with Kwashiorkor we have been tube feeding every 2-3 hours for the past two weeks passed away. He took a turn for the worst rather quickly and was already gone by 8pm that night. We left all the hubbub at the house, and went down to the hospital to clean him and say goodbye. He was gone by the time we arrived. At one point, when we were alone with him and his father in the room, the father actually broke down into tears. Such a rare sight to see here in Haiti: for a father to weep quietly for his baby. I think he was able to do it because he was out of sight of the crowd (who would other wise yell at him not to cry) that had accumulated in the hall when they heard the mom wailing that her baby had died. The father was gracious to us. He seemed to accept this turn of events as he said he knew we had worked hard. He said he accepted that God had chosen to take him anyway.
That is that...
The quietness and calmness of Thursday kind of took me by surprise. The team and the movement and voices of 52 people were gone and we were no longer having to make runs to the hospital every few hours. A new kind of freedom; a little bittersweet. The cokes and talks with Sara and Esther have been a life saver as we process all this. Eribendi. The man we have who was shot through the spinal cord that left him paralyzed who we had to tell would never walk again. One of our TB patients who is not responding well after almost 2 months, who we learned is HIV positive (along with his wife). And what to do with Vigil, a TB patient from Passe Catabois who is also not responding to treatment despite every intervention we try. All of this is hard to take, but also the way of Haiti and just plain life itself...
We plan to take tomorrow to unwind at the beach...
I'm trying to remember what happened this week. It was a little crazy and turned us upside down for a few days. Rob returned from the Netherlands here on Sunday and the very next day a medical team from the States based out of a mission here from Saint Louis arrived. The same team has come for a few years to do a two or three day clinic here at our hospital. They arrived Monday and went to work setting up their own clinic in the hospital. They were with us for three nights which was nonstop hubbub considering they brought 52 people and all their stuff in tow. And considering our house isn't so big, tents in the field and mattresses lining our porch popped out everywhere. They were pretty good sports I must say, especially when we had a 20 minute downpour the first night. We got some new patients that will be hospitalized with us as well; heart failure, TB, wounds. All in all it was most nice to have docs to consult with for our cases we have been unsure about in the hospital.
But needless to say, we may have resembled chickens with our heads cut off this week as we were running from one thing to the next and answering questions. Um...we definitely carved out a few minutes every afternoon to drink a cold coke across the street at Evans'. I like to think it was necessary in order to keep our sanity (a little break time to talk, vent, laugh is vital here). The hardest point of the week however...Wednesday night. Eribendi, the three year old boy with Kwashiorkor we have been tube feeding every 2-3 hours for the past two weeks passed away. He took a turn for the worst rather quickly and was already gone by 8pm that night. We left all the hubbub at the house, and went down to the hospital to clean him and say goodbye. He was gone by the time we arrived. At one point, when we were alone with him and his father in the room, the father actually broke down into tears. Such a rare sight to see here in Haiti: for a father to weep quietly for his baby. I think he was able to do it because he was out of sight of the crowd (who would other wise yell at him not to cry) that had accumulated in the hall when they heard the mom wailing that her baby had died. The father was gracious to us. He seemed to accept this turn of events as he said he knew we had worked hard. He said he accepted that God had chosen to take him anyway.
That is that...
The quietness and calmness of Thursday kind of took me by surprise. The team and the movement and voices of 52 people were gone and we were no longer having to make runs to the hospital every few hours. A new kind of freedom; a little bittersweet. The cokes and talks with Sara and Esther have been a life saver as we process all this. Eribendi. The man we have who was shot through the spinal cord that left him paralyzed who we had to tell would never walk again. One of our TB patients who is not responding well after almost 2 months, who we learned is HIV positive (along with his wife). And what to do with Vigil, a TB patient from Passe Catabois who is also not responding to treatment despite every intervention we try. All of this is hard to take, but also the way of Haiti and just plain life itself...
We plan to take tomorrow to unwind at the beach...
Check this out
Friday March 26, 2010
Shinaika, our girl who is in heart failure. Before and after this week of pretty heavy duty diuretics and heart medications. She still has a problem that will be chronic, but she is alive.
Shinaika, our girl who is in heart failure. Before and after this week of pretty heavy duty diuretics and heart medications. She still has a problem that will be chronic, but she is alive.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Let's just recount this day, shall we?
Wake up call at 6:30 am because the mother of one of our new malnourished boys was in labor and almost ready to push. I am lucky, since Dr. Michael is an OB doc and Sara is the queen of deliveries, they went down instead of me. That's nice, since mornings are one of the only times of quiet in the day. I go down at 8 for morning rounds. The baby is born a half hour later after only a few pushes.
Meanwhile, we see that one of our little girls, Shinaika, who has been in the hospital for two weeks already is starting to take a turn for the worst. She has major lower body and abdominal edema that is making it hard for her to breath. We were beginning to suspect the key issue was heart failure as it has been hard to distinguish a diagnosis without any tests. She hasn't slept well any night she's been here because of pain and difficulty breathing. But this morning she definitely had a gaunt look to her face that was making us all a little nervous.
Meanwhile, the family of the newly born baby wants to go home, meaning they are taking our boy, Djino, the malnourished boy (the actual patient) home too. He is five years old, weighs 24 pounds, and one of the most severely malnourished kids I've seen ever. He has an open pressure sore that covers his whole right buttock. He is suffering, can barely find enough strength to lift his body to a sitting position. You know a kid is suffering when they cry out to God when you change his bandages, ugg. He's only been here for two days and now that the new baby is born the family wants to go home. There is no doubt in my mind he will die at home, but this decision from the family is so difficult to swallow as it seems like Djino is of little priority now. Hard to take to say the least...
Next, on to the clinic where we get back-to-back babies who are having feeding issues. One, five days old, with a completely open cleft palate and lip. He can't suck in order to breastfeed so I try to pump mom's milk in order to spoon feed the baby, but after much conversation with the family, they "can't" stay in the hospital in order for us to follow the baby. So, away they go with a can of milk and a spoon for baby. Next we see a three month old girl with an obvious congenital disorder who is maybe 3 pounds if we are generous. It's almost shocking to see how thin her arms are. I think she is actually smaller than a peanut. She's not coordinated enough to breastfeed well, so mom's milk is gone. They however, agree to stay! So we will be able to give her milk and follow her weight.
Meanwhile, we hear our heart failure girl is not doing well. The family thinks she is going to die, so they want to take her home. Esther and I run over to the hospital to try and reason with the family that we are starting new meds to help her heart. Then the most brilliant thing came to mind. We run to go find, Dr. Lary, a retired doc from Seattle who has just arrived in Passe Catabois today as a part of a team working with Bruce! He has pediatric and cardiac experience (imagine the perfection of that coincidence). We finally track him down and he is so glad to come assess our girl. He walks into the room crammed with family and random on-lookers and it falls completely silent. This man works in silence for a full five minutes, listening, palpating, listening again...I mean...you could hear a pin drop. He finally steps aside and says: "She has mitral valve insufficiency. She's in heart failure. Let's put her on a big dose of lasix, some dig, and an ace-inhibitor. It will work for this, this, and this reason." That right there was our little ray of sunshine in this storm of a day. Who needs diagnostic tests when Dr. Lary is here? And so we did just that and now we continue to wait on our girl, the meds and the patience of the family.
Meanwhile, (back to our day) I learn that our other new malnourished girl has gone home, without any consulting with us. Apparently the grandma came and saw she was not better after two days with us and took her home. All you can do is sigh at this point and say, ok...and try not to take it as a slap in the face. I have to remember we are here for the people, not to force them to do anything. They can take or leave what we offer them I guess.
Meanwhile (yes again), back at the clinic, where another woman has been laboring since the morning, is having trouble with the delivery. Her abdomen was such a weird shape that Sara and Michael thought that it may be breech, or even twins. But all in all, after a little vacuum action and an explosion of pus, the baby was born ok. Now that's the way to end the day! OH did I mention our water has been turned off all day?
The work eased up around 4 and we were able to have small break. We were able to go the the bakery and drink something cold and sit for a few minutes. It was nice, until we heard the 10 day old baby we saw yesterday was back with diarrhea. yes.... it never fails, there's always something calling the moment you sit down!
Wake up call at 6:30 am because the mother of one of our new malnourished boys was in labor and almost ready to push. I am lucky, since Dr. Michael is an OB doc and Sara is the queen of deliveries, they went down instead of me. That's nice, since mornings are one of the only times of quiet in the day. I go down at 8 for morning rounds. The baby is born a half hour later after only a few pushes.
Meanwhile, we see that one of our little girls, Shinaika, who has been in the hospital for two weeks already is starting to take a turn for the worst. She has major lower body and abdominal edema that is making it hard for her to breath. We were beginning to suspect the key issue was heart failure as it has been hard to distinguish a diagnosis without any tests. She hasn't slept well any night she's been here because of pain and difficulty breathing. But this morning she definitely had a gaunt look to her face that was making us all a little nervous.
Meanwhile, the family of the newly born baby wants to go home, meaning they are taking our boy, Djino, the malnourished boy (the actual patient) home too. He is five years old, weighs 24 pounds, and one of the most severely malnourished kids I've seen ever. He has an open pressure sore that covers his whole right buttock. He is suffering, can barely find enough strength to lift his body to a sitting position. You know a kid is suffering when they cry out to God when you change his bandages, ugg. He's only been here for two days and now that the new baby is born the family wants to go home. There is no doubt in my mind he will die at home, but this decision from the family is so difficult to swallow as it seems like Djino is of little priority now. Hard to take to say the least...
Next, on to the clinic where we get back-to-back babies who are having feeding issues. One, five days old, with a completely open cleft palate and lip. He can't suck in order to breastfeed so I try to pump mom's milk in order to spoon feed the baby, but after much conversation with the family, they "can't" stay in the hospital in order for us to follow the baby. So, away they go with a can of milk and a spoon for baby. Next we see a three month old girl with an obvious congenital disorder who is maybe 3 pounds if we are generous. It's almost shocking to see how thin her arms are. I think she is actually smaller than a peanut. She's not coordinated enough to breastfeed well, so mom's milk is gone. They however, agree to stay! So we will be able to give her milk and follow her weight.
Meanwhile, we hear our heart failure girl is not doing well. The family thinks she is going to die, so they want to take her home. Esther and I run over to the hospital to try and reason with the family that we are starting new meds to help her heart. Then the most brilliant thing came to mind. We run to go find, Dr. Lary, a retired doc from Seattle who has just arrived in Passe Catabois today as a part of a team working with Bruce! He has pediatric and cardiac experience (imagine the perfection of that coincidence). We finally track him down and he is so glad to come assess our girl. He walks into the room crammed with family and random on-lookers and it falls completely silent. This man works in silence for a full five minutes, listening, palpating, listening again...I mean...you could hear a pin drop. He finally steps aside and says: "She has mitral valve insufficiency. She's in heart failure. Let's put her on a big dose of lasix, some dig, and an ace-inhibitor. It will work for this, this, and this reason." That right there was our little ray of sunshine in this storm of a day. Who needs diagnostic tests when Dr. Lary is here? And so we did just that and now we continue to wait on our girl, the meds and the patience of the family.
Meanwhile, (back to our day) I learn that our other new malnourished girl has gone home, without any consulting with us. Apparently the grandma came and saw she was not better after two days with us and took her home. All you can do is sigh at this point and say, ok...and try not to take it as a slap in the face. I have to remember we are here for the people, not to force them to do anything. They can take or leave what we offer them I guess.
Meanwhile (yes again), back at the clinic, where another woman has been laboring since the morning, is having trouble with the delivery. Her abdomen was such a weird shape that Sara and Michael thought that it may be breech, or even twins. But all in all, after a little vacuum action and an explosion of pus, the baby was born ok. Now that's the way to end the day! OH did I mention our water has been turned off all day?
The work eased up around 4 and we were able to have small break. We were able to go the the bakery and drink something cold and sit for a few minutes. It was nice, until we heard the 10 day old baby we saw yesterday was back with diarrhea. yes.... it never fails, there's always something calling the moment you sit down!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Life in Passe Catabois, take 3!
Sunday March 14, 2010
Jumping right back into work here in Passe Catabois. It almost feels as though I hadn't left at all. Everything so familiar. We landed in Passe Catabois quicker than I ever thought possible after only an hour wait in the airport in Port-au-Prince, a very bumpy ride to Port de Paix (I was fearing for my life as usual), and being delivered via personal tap-tap over the dirt roads that seem more bumpy and slow-going every time. After we arrived at the house and the car drove away, the essense of the countryside started to permeate. It was so quiet! So green! So beautiful! Such a slow way of life, but the same Passe Catabois I know and love. Sort of an odd feeling after the bustle of Port-au-Prince.
It has been business as usual here the past week. After a quick greeting from Jacques and Isabelle, we ran down to the clinic to find Anne-Marie deep to her elbows in surgery, as usual. She stopped to greet both Sara and I with giant bear hugs though; such a good feeling after so long! Two weeks ago, she returned to Passe Catabois in order to bring the new German doctor, Michael, and his wife, Esther, who is an operating room nurse, here to stay for one year. They have been busy! Emanette, one of the assistants here and our dear friend, planned seven surgeries almost everyday while Anne-Marie was here! Anne-Marie pretended to be mad, but the joy she gets from her work and her love for the Haitian people is too evident to hide.
And so highlights of this week:
-meeting and spending time with Michael and Esther (they are so ready to jump in)
-cokes with Anne-Marie everyday after clinic (and yelling jokes to all the people who come and go on tap-taps)
-sitting at the bakery...and um, eating loads of fresh bread
-getting used to the amount of spiders we live among here and the mouse who decided his home is in our bathroom now
-the way Madam Jal danced when she saw us arriving in Passe Catabois and the giant hug from Frer Jal
-the abscess on the neck of an old man we thought had swallowed a piece of meat that Anne-Marie popped (needless to say we won't be eating vanilla pudding any time soon...sick me out).
-seeing friends I haven't seen in so long: faces that have changed, faces that are the same, kids who are taller, and new babies!
Sara and I agreed to take over the rounds at the hospital from Emanette until we go again in a few months. Emanette has been holding down the fort here for several months, so a rest will be nice for her. Just being in the hospital here again is a pretty sweet feeling. It feels a little like home (and is crazy beautiful now that Lynn has finished all the tiling!). We already have a three year old with Kwashiorkor malnutrition that came in this week who is kicking our butts. His whole body is swollen and he will not take the malnutrition milk. (yes business as usual in PC!) And so, down went the NG. We are only on the third tube in two days, but the milk has been going down. He is kind of teetering on the edge right now...we are not sure what will happen in the next few days.
Anne-Marie left this morning to go back to the Netherlands until the adoption papers for the girls will be finalized. And so it is Dr. Michael, Esther, Sara, and I holding down the fort. Pray everything will go well!
Jumping right back into work here in Passe Catabois. It almost feels as though I hadn't left at all. Everything so familiar. We landed in Passe Catabois quicker than I ever thought possible after only an hour wait in the airport in Port-au-Prince, a very bumpy ride to Port de Paix (I was fearing for my life as usual), and being delivered via personal tap-tap over the dirt roads that seem more bumpy and slow-going every time. After we arrived at the house and the car drove away, the essense of the countryside started to permeate. It was so quiet! So green! So beautiful! Such a slow way of life, but the same Passe Catabois I know and love. Sort of an odd feeling after the bustle of Port-au-Prince.
It has been business as usual here the past week. After a quick greeting from Jacques and Isabelle, we ran down to the clinic to find Anne-Marie deep to her elbows in surgery, as usual. She stopped to greet both Sara and I with giant bear hugs though; such a good feeling after so long! Two weeks ago, she returned to Passe Catabois in order to bring the new German doctor, Michael, and his wife, Esther, who is an operating room nurse, here to stay for one year. They have been busy! Emanette, one of the assistants here and our dear friend, planned seven surgeries almost everyday while Anne-Marie was here! Anne-Marie pretended to be mad, but the joy she gets from her work and her love for the Haitian people is too evident to hide.
And so highlights of this week:
-meeting and spending time with Michael and Esther (they are so ready to jump in)
-cokes with Anne-Marie everyday after clinic (and yelling jokes to all the people who come and go on tap-taps)
-sitting at the bakery...and um, eating loads of fresh bread
-getting used to the amount of spiders we live among here and the mouse who decided his home is in our bathroom now
-the way Madam Jal danced when she saw us arriving in Passe Catabois and the giant hug from Frer Jal
-the abscess on the neck of an old man we thought had swallowed a piece of meat that Anne-Marie popped (needless to say we won't be eating vanilla pudding any time soon...sick me out).
-seeing friends I haven't seen in so long: faces that have changed, faces that are the same, kids who are taller, and new babies!
Sara and I agreed to take over the rounds at the hospital from Emanette until we go again in a few months. Emanette has been holding down the fort here for several months, so a rest will be nice for her. Just being in the hospital here again is a pretty sweet feeling. It feels a little like home (and is crazy beautiful now that Lynn has finished all the tiling!). We already have a three year old with Kwashiorkor malnutrition that came in this week who is kicking our butts. His whole body is swollen and he will not take the malnutrition milk. (yes business as usual in PC!) And so, down went the NG. We are only on the third tube in two days, but the milk has been going down. He is kind of teetering on the edge right now...we are not sure what will happen in the next few days.
Anne-Marie left this morning to go back to the Netherlands until the adoption papers for the girls will be finalized. And so it is Dr. Michael, Esther, Sara, and I holding down the fort. Pray everything will go well!
Monday, March 8, 2010
For the past month we have been staying at a school here in Port-au-Prince called Quisqueya Christian School. After the quake, as school was put on hold, it was turned into a disaster relief center. For the past two months they have been housing, feeding, and taking good care of up to 150-200 medical workers at a time. They are plugged into the network of hospitals and clinics that are functioning around the city in order to dispatch and transport every person, every day, to a setting who needs their skills the most. I have seen personally that this operation is amazing to say the least. It sounds like they plan to continue in this regard for a few more months. They do not charge for teams to stay, so if you or anyone you know still wants to donate to help in Haiti, this would be a good place to do it. That's my plug for ya.
See http://qcsrelief.quisqueya.org/ for more info.
See http://qcsrelief.quisqueya.org/ for more info.
goodbye Port-au-Prince
March 8, 2010 am
Just sitting here in the sun feeling a jumble of emotions. Feeling good because the sun is out after several days of wet and cold and just finished my golden cup of Stumptown coffee that our friend from Portland left us. Tastes like a little bit of home.
Yesterday was our last day of work; kind of a surreal feeling. I finished up with two days as Diquini Hospital, the setting at which we spent a week and a half at, at the beginning of these four weeks. The work there is the most labor intensive, but also the most rewarding as the sickest of people are there. I worked over the weekend and it was just a good two days to end this stretch of work in Port-au-Prince. When I arrived on Saturday morning, it seemed like a different place. It was dead and was lacking in the normal chaos and crowds I was used to from only a week or so before. The fact that it was Saturday, the fact that it was raining, and the fact that it seems like the hospital is transitioning from disaster relief mode to a more long term, sustainable mode by charging new patients for exams, made for a much quieter place. It was odd...
I worked in the ER this time around. A huge team had come from the States to work there, so there were so many hands on deck that at times there was not much to do. But a few serious cases did come through, like a man who suffered a gunshot wound, and two ladies who were hit by a truck while they were at the market. I helped out where I could, but honestly, was probably more of a help with language than my nursing skills (that are not so skilled in emergencies or fast-paced nursing). It was good experience, but the most satisfying was seeing the familiar faces, mostly Haitian, who see me in the hall, break a smile, and ask, "Where have you been?!". It was a good ending for me to say the least, especially to just see the hospital functioning well with a mix of Haitian staff and visiting teams from around the world. Who knows how it will be next week...
Seeing this Port-au-Prince journey coming to a close is a tough one. It's been a ride, so good and horrible all in the same breath. I have learned so much more than I ever anticipated from the plethora of medical people I have been in contact with everyday, as well as the Haitian people themselves. I have seen a new side of Haiti in this city but also see how all it's people are bonded through this mysterious place called Haiti.
But it's time to move on. Yesterday, seeing all the newbies coming in fresh from the plane, almost shaking with excitement and ready to jump in and help, made me realize how much I've changed since arriving here (as we are dragging our butts out of the car everyday after work). It's easier to give up the job here when you see so many eager to get to work. Still, it's sad to say goodbye to new friends, the staff here at Quisqueya who have taken such good care of us, and just the way of life here.
There is a need in the north, in Passe Catabois, that is calling, so onward we go. A more settled life, sleeping in a real bed, and living inside the real Haiti, sounds pretty nice. Not to mention the work there which is just so satisfying. We will be heading up there tomorrow. Please keep us in mind or in your prayers as we transition; that we'll have the wisdom and strength to do what is handed to us and do it well.
Just sitting here in the sun feeling a jumble of emotions. Feeling good because the sun is out after several days of wet and cold and just finished my golden cup of Stumptown coffee that our friend from Portland left us. Tastes like a little bit of home.
Yesterday was our last day of work; kind of a surreal feeling. I finished up with two days as Diquini Hospital, the setting at which we spent a week and a half at, at the beginning of these four weeks. The work there is the most labor intensive, but also the most rewarding as the sickest of people are there. I worked over the weekend and it was just a good two days to end this stretch of work in Port-au-Prince. When I arrived on Saturday morning, it seemed like a different place. It was dead and was lacking in the normal chaos and crowds I was used to from only a week or so before. The fact that it was Saturday, the fact that it was raining, and the fact that it seems like the hospital is transitioning from disaster relief mode to a more long term, sustainable mode by charging new patients for exams, made for a much quieter place. It was odd...
I worked in the ER this time around. A huge team had come from the States to work there, so there were so many hands on deck that at times there was not much to do. But a few serious cases did come through, like a man who suffered a gunshot wound, and two ladies who were hit by a truck while they were at the market. I helped out where I could, but honestly, was probably more of a help with language than my nursing skills (that are not so skilled in emergencies or fast-paced nursing). It was good experience, but the most satisfying was seeing the familiar faces, mostly Haitian, who see me in the hall, break a smile, and ask, "Where have you been?!". It was a good ending for me to say the least, especially to just see the hospital functioning well with a mix of Haitian staff and visiting teams from around the world. Who knows how it will be next week...
Seeing this Port-au-Prince journey coming to a close is a tough one. It's been a ride, so good and horrible all in the same breath. I have learned so much more than I ever anticipated from the plethora of medical people I have been in contact with everyday, as well as the Haitian people themselves. I have seen a new side of Haiti in this city but also see how all it's people are bonded through this mysterious place called Haiti.
But it's time to move on. Yesterday, seeing all the newbies coming in fresh from the plane, almost shaking with excitement and ready to jump in and help, made me realize how much I've changed since arriving here (as we are dragging our butts out of the car everyday after work). It's easier to give up the job here when you see so many eager to get to work. Still, it's sad to say goodbye to new friends, the staff here at Quisqueya who have taken such good care of us, and just the way of life here.
There is a need in the north, in Passe Catabois, that is calling, so onward we go. A more settled life, sleeping in a real bed, and living inside the real Haiti, sounds pretty nice. Not to mention the work there which is just so satisfying. We will be heading up there tomorrow. Please keep us in mind or in your prayers as we transition; that we'll have the wisdom and strength to do what is handed to us and do it well.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Sad Day
March 5, 2010
Today is a sad day. We said goodbye to our trio as Lisa left us to fly back home to Philly today. We've been working, sleeping, and eating every meal together for the past four weeks, and so having it all change in one day is a little surreal. We somehow made it from Miami through the Domincan Republic into the disaster area that is Port-au-Prince four weeks ago ready to take on the world together. We've pulled four weeks of shifts at multiple hospitals, clinics, and tent cities around the capital, survived a few benign aftershocks that sent us running (and giggling a lot), survived being hit on by every self-appointed Haitian translator without throwing any punches, braved eating multiple slices of Haitian pizza without becoming deathly ill with diarrhea, discovered evenings on the roof are a sanctuary, came to think of our tarp showers under the stars as heavenly, and shared more meals of rice and beans than most will in a lifetime! The past four weeks have been so golden, mostly attributed to the companionship of these two friends and the experiences and work we have shared together.
This past week has been more laid back than most. We went to four different clinics around the city and finished up by about 4 pm everyday. This was such a nice change from our previous week; actually having some down time in the early evening before dinner and our nightly meetings is somewhat of a novel concept! It was a welcomed change. The settings at which we worked at this week were pretty interesting. Monday, we ended up at a large tent city that was formed at "The Petionville Club", previously one of the most prestigious country clubs in the city, now turned into thousands of tents and people living in close quarters. We worked with an independent missionary (who was pulling teeth all day) and some of his Haitian staff to set up an outdoor, semi-chaotic clinic. Most of the cases we have seen at the clinics are pretty benign. So many headaches and vague stomachaches that medical professionals say are most likely resulting from post-trauma, and so I've been trying to focus on health education more than just handing them a bag of tylenol. We have, though, seen some serious cases, like malaria, respiratory infections, significant wounds, and some questionable typhoid. Thursday we worked at a clinic that has sprung up at "Bojeux", the grounds of the only amusement park in all of Haiti (yes you heard me). The setting was so odd, but a semi-permanent clinic has evolved here that is very functional. The day, however, was extremely slow since USAID decided to do a distribution of tarps, water, and toiletry supplies at the gates! It was a sight to see and nothing like the chaos that the news so much loves to show. It was a very patient line of Haitians, waiting one by one to receive these much wanted necessities. We were able to duck through the gate to see supplies being unloaded out of several semi trucks, a large group of UN soldiers (with very large guns) guarding the perimeters (as well as some barbwire coils), and a lot of joyous Haitians. The dang USAID took away all our patients for the day as I guess the Haitians forgot about their head and stomachaches when they saw supplies being handed out. Needlesstosay, it was the first slow day we've had, and I'm not complaining.
Today is a sad day. We said goodbye to our trio as Lisa left us to fly back home to Philly today. We've been working, sleeping, and eating every meal together for the past four weeks, and so having it all change in one day is a little surreal. We somehow made it from Miami through the Domincan Republic into the disaster area that is Port-au-Prince four weeks ago ready to take on the world together. We've pulled four weeks of shifts at multiple hospitals, clinics, and tent cities around the capital, survived a few benign aftershocks that sent us running (and giggling a lot), survived being hit on by every self-appointed Haitian translator without throwing any punches, braved eating multiple slices of Haitian pizza without becoming deathly ill with diarrhea, discovered evenings on the roof are a sanctuary, came to think of our tarp showers under the stars as heavenly, and shared more meals of rice and beans than most will in a lifetime! The past four weeks have been so golden, mostly attributed to the companionship of these two friends and the experiences and work we have shared together.
This past week has been more laid back than most. We went to four different clinics around the city and finished up by about 4 pm everyday. This was such a nice change from our previous week; actually having some down time in the early evening before dinner and our nightly meetings is somewhat of a novel concept! It was a welcomed change. The settings at which we worked at this week were pretty interesting. Monday, we ended up at a large tent city that was formed at "The Petionville Club", previously one of the most prestigious country clubs in the city, now turned into thousands of tents and people living in close quarters. We worked with an independent missionary (who was pulling teeth all day) and some of his Haitian staff to set up an outdoor, semi-chaotic clinic. Most of the cases we have seen at the clinics are pretty benign. So many headaches and vague stomachaches that medical professionals say are most likely resulting from post-trauma, and so I've been trying to focus on health education more than just handing them a bag of tylenol. We have, though, seen some serious cases, like malaria, respiratory infections, significant wounds, and some questionable typhoid. Thursday we worked at a clinic that has sprung up at "Bojeux", the grounds of the only amusement park in all of Haiti (yes you heard me). The setting was so odd, but a semi-permanent clinic has evolved here that is very functional. The day, however, was extremely slow since USAID decided to do a distribution of tarps, water, and toiletry supplies at the gates! It was a sight to see and nothing like the chaos that the news so much loves to show. It was a very patient line of Haitians, waiting one by one to receive these much wanted necessities. We were able to duck through the gate to see supplies being unloaded out of several semi trucks, a large group of UN soldiers (with very large guns) guarding the perimeters (as well as some barbwire coils), and a lot of joyous Haitians. The dang USAID took away all our patients for the day as I guess the Haitians forgot about their head and stomachaches when they saw supplies being handed out. Needlesstosay, it was the first slow day we've had, and I'm not complaining.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Back Home
Sunday, Feb. 28
Just got back from 4 days out in the countryside working at a clinic there. Ti Gwav (Pitit Goave) is 26 miles outside of PAP, and took us 3 hours to get there in the back of our beloved "cattle truck". We passed through Leogone, which was apparently the epicenter of the quake. The same as PAP, so many structures down, but since it's not so dense, not as severe looking. We did pass over cracks in the paved roadway that could have measured a foot wide, which was pretty impressive.
We finally returned to our home at Quisqueya last night, all very ready to come home. I'm just feeling down today, but not sure why. Perhaps the culmination of being here for three weeks is coming together, or just seeing plainly the hearts of some of the "blans" coming to work that just aren't so beautiful, experiencing some who have the humility of a fruitfly or think they know Haiti after a week of being here, or working with health care workers that just make me question what kind of care is being given to Haitians, or just the fact that it poured buckets last night here in PAP, and the majority of the city is sleeping outside (that alone is just difficult to think about). Stuggling with irritation at times, which indicates we should probably take a day off. We are doing that today.
The clinic at Ti Gwav is a mission clinic that started post earthquake to fill the gap of the local hospital, which just infrastructure- and staff-wise was damaged in the earthquake. Hopefully this clinic will phase out as the local hospital gets back on their feet. Good in theory, but working there was hard as they have somehow become the OB capital of the world, I mean Ti Gwav. But what happens when you open up a free clinic where all normal deliveries are welcome 24 hours a day in Haiti? Um, no sleep for anyone and 14 deliveries in 4 days, thank you very much. It's a good idea, and good care, but not sustainable with volunteers coming in and out every week. You burn out in about 2 days and just start to get irritated with everything. But for us, most were good deliveries. Really, my guess is we probably had 14 deliveries in the 4 days we were there, also while running a day clinic and taking any urgent care cases around the clock (all working with another team already there mind you). Sara, now deemed the offical OB nurse, was awesome and got some crazy good experience. We only had one stillbirth and one five month miscarriage but the rest were wet, screaming babies ready to take on this world. The best was when Lisa and Sara finally delivered (by themselves) the lady who had been in labor for the three days we had been there, or maybe the one who went "a marche"ing after her check, and went ten steps and squatted and delivered outside.
By any means, we are all glad to be back "home" in Port-au-Prince, surprisingly enough... at least to our oasis at Quisqueya. Our little team of three is so golden; just to process all of this, to support each other, and to laugh a lot. I thank God for them. And am also just praying he gives us the strength, compassion, and patience to go on. And hope I can just simply put my head down, do the work given to me, and somehow bring honor to him. Because in all reality, all this is just fluff or an annoying screech in his ear if it is not making us more like him....
Lisa and Sara, post delivery
Just got back from 4 days out in the countryside working at a clinic there. Ti Gwav (Pitit Goave) is 26 miles outside of PAP, and took us 3 hours to get there in the back of our beloved "cattle truck". We passed through Leogone, which was apparently the epicenter of the quake. The same as PAP, so many structures down, but since it's not so dense, not as severe looking. We did pass over cracks in the paved roadway that could have measured a foot wide, which was pretty impressive.
We finally returned to our home at Quisqueya last night, all very ready to come home. I'm just feeling down today, but not sure why. Perhaps the culmination of being here for three weeks is coming together, or just seeing plainly the hearts of some of the "blans" coming to work that just aren't so beautiful, experiencing some who have the humility of a fruitfly or think they know Haiti after a week of being here, or working with health care workers that just make me question what kind of care is being given to Haitians, or just the fact that it poured buckets last night here in PAP, and the majority of the city is sleeping outside (that alone is just difficult to think about). Stuggling with irritation at times, which indicates we should probably take a day off. We are doing that today.
The clinic at Ti Gwav is a mission clinic that started post earthquake to fill the gap of the local hospital, which just infrastructure- and staff-wise was damaged in the earthquake. Hopefully this clinic will phase out as the local hospital gets back on their feet. Good in theory, but working there was hard as they have somehow become the OB capital of the world, I mean Ti Gwav. But what happens when you open up a free clinic where all normal deliveries are welcome 24 hours a day in Haiti? Um, no sleep for anyone and 14 deliveries in 4 days, thank you very much. It's a good idea, and good care, but not sustainable with volunteers coming in and out every week. You burn out in about 2 days and just start to get irritated with everything. But for us, most were good deliveries. Really, my guess is we probably had 14 deliveries in the 4 days we were there, also while running a day clinic and taking any urgent care cases around the clock (all working with another team already there mind you). Sara, now deemed the offical OB nurse, was awesome and got some crazy good experience. We only had one stillbirth and one five month miscarriage but the rest were wet, screaming babies ready to take on this world. The best was when Lisa and Sara finally delivered (by themselves) the lady who had been in labor for the three days we had been there, or maybe the one who went "a marche"ing after her check, and went ten steps and squatted and delivered outside.
By any means, we are all glad to be back "home" in Port-au-Prince, surprisingly enough... at least to our oasis at Quisqueya. Our little team of three is so golden; just to process all of this, to support each other, and to laugh a lot. I thank God for them. And am also just praying he gives us the strength, compassion, and patience to go on. And hope I can just simply put my head down, do the work given to me, and somehow bring honor to him. Because in all reality, all this is just fluff or an annoying screech in his ear if it is not making us more like him....
Lisa and Sara, post delivery
Tuesday, Feb. 23
ok, last night, small freakout, a little earth shaking movement, and an episode that turned into one of the most hilarious of the trip so far. We woke up to something around 1:30 am, some movement, some noise, everyone was awake. An aftershock that apparently rocked the grounds here a bit. I didn't feel it but was awake. We settle back down, almost asleep and no joke, five minutes later I feel the floor drop... more movement. In that split second I see everyone sprint for the door as if they were sitting there just waiting for the gun to go off signally the beginning of a race. Lisa, our friend from Portland, sprinted to the door unbelievably quick. The next thing I know I smack the floor, slipping around on the tile, and Sara right ahead of me biffed it at the same time. She tried to run but forgot she was still in her sleeping bag! (we actually can't stop belly laughing about our gracefulness in the light of this potential disaster that proved to be quite benign). Once we were outside, the hilarity of the situation came out. All of us a little shaky, the reality of what had happened here a month ago still fresh, feeling the knots already forming on our knees... but then thought back to the image of Sara and I slipping and sliding on the floor still stuck in our sleeping bags and could not stop laughing. We spent the rest of the night sleeping under the stars and and can say we may understand why so many Haitians will not go back to live under their own roofs. We've since been able to move our beds into one of the big army tents on our compound. Did I mention AC? Thank you all you tax payers.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday Feb. 20
This place is such a buzz this morning. The AC machines for the army tents on our campus just seem to pulsate with a steady buzz. Everyone is loading up the trucks for their destinations for the day, getting ready to go through the gate and enter into the chaos on the streets of Port-au-Prince, which is most likely a chaos that is normal in any crowded third world city with the added bonus of swerving around piles of consolidated rubble that has crumbled out onto the streets and taking detours where demolition cranes are starting to move in to take down buildings. The helicopters keep buzzing over us this morning too. Just a reminder that I don't know a fraction of the magnitude of what is going on in this city right now.
This week has held a lot of new working experiences. Diquini Hospital early in the week. Wednesday, a makeshift nursing clinic at the CrossWorld campus in Bolosse, where we saw maybe 120 people and sent a few urgent cases to the hospital. Thursday, an outpatient clinic in Pernier, which ended up being a pretty chill, slow-paced day. And Friday, we tagged onto the team going to CDTI Hospital, the most prestigious private hospital in PAP that has now opened up for free public healthcare with an ER and 12 large tents (that is the med-surg unit) set up in it's front yard. It was a fun day for me - attributed mostly to the fact that my Creole allows me to have conversations and somehow the Haitians light up with shock when they hear Creole tumble out of my mouth. And somehow they always end up laughing at me, which just is enjoyable for everyone involved. So Lisa and I took on about 15 patients each (mostly post-amputations) and just jumped into the chaos. How's that for nurse, patient ratio? A round of IV antibiotics and vicodin anyone?
Sara will be wiped today as she bravely went out to pull a double night shift at our beloved Diquini hospital last night.
We are hanging in here. Trying to fight the guilt of resting when we need to and trying to laugh a lot. We've been throwing the sarcasm around with the Portland Fire team who is staying here, which helps. A little bit of Northwest culture is nice.
We will need to starting pulling together our plans for March, so keep us in your prayers about this; that the right plans will come to pass.
This week has held a lot of new working experiences. Diquini Hospital early in the week. Wednesday, a makeshift nursing clinic at the CrossWorld campus in Bolosse, where we saw maybe 120 people and sent a few urgent cases to the hospital. Thursday, an outpatient clinic in Pernier, which ended up being a pretty chill, slow-paced day. And Friday, we tagged onto the team going to CDTI Hospital, the most prestigious private hospital in PAP that has now opened up for free public healthcare with an ER and 12 large tents (that is the med-surg unit) set up in it's front yard. It was a fun day for me - attributed mostly to the fact that my Creole allows me to have conversations and somehow the Haitians light up with shock when they hear Creole tumble out of my mouth. And somehow they always end up laughing at me, which just is enjoyable for everyone involved. So Lisa and I took on about 15 patients each (mostly post-amputations) and just jumped into the chaos. How's that for nurse, patient ratio? A round of IV antibiotics and vicodin anyone?
Sara will be wiped today as she bravely went out to pull a double night shift at our beloved Diquini hospital last night.
We are hanging in here. Trying to fight the guilt of resting when we need to and trying to laugh a lot. We've been throwing the sarcasm around with the Portland Fire team who is staying here, which helps. A little bit of Northwest culture is nice.
We will need to starting pulling together our plans for March, so keep us in your prayers about this; that the right plans will come to pass.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Ti Poze
We are working hard and it's so tiring but it feels so worthwhile. It's a perfect set up here, the place we are staying, because we leave at night and are done with work at the end of the day. There is a retreat waiting for us with a hot meal and a shower and a space on the floor we can crash. I am still pretty amazed at this provision.
By the end of the day yesterday, day six of constant work, we all kind of hit the wall. It's starting to show. Exhaustion is taking over and not feeling the best physically. It will be ok. We decided to take a day off today, which should be a good rest.
So, yes, a little bit of a wall yesterday. Lisa was pulled to a different site so I was the only nurse in the peds unit. It wasn't so busy with people coming, but it's too much to do a good job trying to take care of seven and help the doctors with triage and getting the new critical kids admitted and orders sorted through (and sifting through the mass chaos that is our documentation!). At one point it was three docs and me... um, not fair! But they were gracious and stepped in where needed, like starting most of the IVs and getting meds prepared. There is such a plethora of people who have flown in here to help. People from all over the world and from all different specialties; it's just so crazy. But it seems most are stepping up to whatever they are thrown into.
But oh, the sight of the city really hit me yesterday on our drive home, even though I see it everyday. Maybe my fatigue level was setting in, or just the constant sight of destruction and garbage and smoke everywhere, or because we drove a different route through what used to be Port-au-Prince proper, downtown. There was no building intact that I saw. Seriously, it looked like a war zone, as if bombs had gone off everywhere. You pass the buildings that are completely flattened, all the levels now like a stack of pancakes and can't help but think to the fact of how many people had been inside. And you think of how on earth is anyone going to be able to fix this? It's just too large to comprehend and I don't see how it's possible. I try not to let my mind go there. It helps to just remind myself of my role in this: just to take care of one sick person at a time, until a solution bigger than myself comes through. Psalms 46 is so vivid here; really ringing true. God is present here and he is building up his own city even when there seems like there is no hope. Sometimes it's hard to remember that.
By the end of the day yesterday, day six of constant work, we all kind of hit the wall. It's starting to show. Exhaustion is taking over and not feeling the best physically. It will be ok. We decided to take a day off today, which should be a good rest.
So, yes, a little bit of a wall yesterday. Lisa was pulled to a different site so I was the only nurse in the peds unit. It wasn't so busy with people coming, but it's too much to do a good job trying to take care of seven and help the doctors with triage and getting the new critical kids admitted and orders sorted through (and sifting through the mass chaos that is our documentation!). At one point it was three docs and me... um, not fair! But they were gracious and stepped in where needed, like starting most of the IVs and getting meds prepared. There is such a plethora of people who have flown in here to help. People from all over the world and from all different specialties; it's just so crazy. But it seems most are stepping up to whatever they are thrown into.
But oh, the sight of the city really hit me yesterday on our drive home, even though I see it everyday. Maybe my fatigue level was setting in, or just the constant sight of destruction and garbage and smoke everywhere, or because we drove a different route through what used to be Port-au-Prince proper, downtown. There was no building intact that I saw. Seriously, it looked like a war zone, as if bombs had gone off everywhere. You pass the buildings that are completely flattened, all the levels now like a stack of pancakes and can't help but think to the fact of how many people had been inside. And you think of how on earth is anyone going to be able to fix this? It's just too large to comprehend and I don't see how it's possible. I try not to let my mind go there. It helps to just remind myself of my role in this: just to take care of one sick person at a time, until a solution bigger than myself comes through. Psalms 46 is so vivid here; really ringing true. God is present here and he is building up his own city even when there seems like there is no hope. Sometimes it's hard to remember that.
Friday Feb. 12
I'm such a pansy. The cold that two babies coughed all over my face the first day has caught up with me. Yes... A little grippe (cold), but it will pass soon. I'm tired, but it's such a good tired. Every night my mat on the floor seems to get more and more comfortable.
Yesterday, day five of work at Diquini Hospital. I'm still working in the peds inpatient ward. But yesterday we had a little change of pace. so slow! We had gotten wind that the president has called three days of fasting and prayer for the whole country. On our way to the hospital, there were people flocking to churches or open spaces, dressed in white, black, and their Sunday best, all to cry out to God for help. I'm like, what? Is this the Haiti I know? I'm still learning Port-au-Prince is a different world than the world I know in the rural Northwest.
The peds team we have been working with has left yesterday so there may be a shuffle of people. We will wait to see what happens. It was a good ending for this team because we discharged so many kids yesterday and didn't have the traffic to fill it up again. I left today with only four patients left. Meningitis, malnutrition, and a post op kid who had had his polycystic kidney removed. But one amazing thing: no kids died in our ward all week. Something of a miracle here.
Yesterday, day five of work at Diquini Hospital. I'm still working in the peds inpatient ward. But yesterday we had a little change of pace. so slow! We had gotten wind that the president has called three days of fasting and prayer for the whole country. On our way to the hospital, there were people flocking to churches or open spaces, dressed in white, black, and their Sunday best, all to cry out to God for help. I'm like, what? Is this the Haiti I know? I'm still learning Port-au-Prince is a different world than the world I know in the rural Northwest.
The peds team we have been working with has left yesterday so there may be a shuffle of people. We will wait to see what happens. It was a good ending for this team because we discharged so many kids yesterday and didn't have the traffic to fill it up again. I left today with only four patients left. Meningitis, malnutrition, and a post op kid who had had his polycystic kidney removed. But one amazing thing: no kids died in our ward all week. Something of a miracle here.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Andedan Port-au-Prince
We are safe and sound in Port-au-Prince. The travel here was unnaturally smooth. After three days, three plane rides, and eight hours of bus ride we arrived in Port-au-Prince last Sunday, all in one piece and all luggage still in tow. So the title of the blog will have to be changed for the time being. Our team with CrossWorld is now three. Sara, Lisa (our new edition from Philly who is an ER nurse), and I.
We've landed at a school that has now turned into a base camp of sorts for medical teams coming and going. It is so organized and functional, I was seriously speechless when I got here. We were greeted with a hot meal of Haitian rice and beans (and if any of you know me, you'd know how excited I was for this), and the miraculous news that we were allotted a 3 minute showers everyday! The networking that is going on here is truly amazing. Trying to connect functioning hospitals, short term medical teams, and clinics among tent cities is beyond anything I expected. A special crisis response team is coordinating all this, so we are assigned to a place to work every day depending on where there is a need. Like I said, pretty amazing.
The city...is just a sight to see. It's really hard to put into words. You will see a building completely turned rubble, but every building surrounding it is ok. Every fifth or sixth building has massive damage. Everyday we see damage or rubble that you just can't comprehend all happened in the span of 40 seconds. And it still seems like people aren't going inside most buildings. There are makeshift tents everywhere you look. So many just popped up on the sidewalk or on the center median of the street or wherever there was open land. There are a few massive ones around the palace area. Seeing the palace, that just sort of crumbled on itself, is just something else.
But this city is so alive. It is bustling, movement everywhere; people coming and going everywhere. Business is going even if it's not happening inside buildings. There is food for sale on every street and people trying to sell other goods. Several places in the city I see Haitian crews with matching t-shirts, brooms in hand, cleaning up their city; all sweeping in a group, cleaning the streets, piling rubble together, piling garbage together.
I've gotten to see so much of the city, because for the past 3 days I've worked in a hospital across town, so it takes about an hour to drive there (the traffic is horrendous). I got shuffled to work in pediatrics (I always find the babies somehow). It's chaos to say the least, but it's getting better. The day before we arrived a team from the states was just opening up a ward for kids, so just finding organization and a process has been a little chaotic. So far I've been able to do triage, and then work on admitting and making sure meds are done for inpatients. The majority by far is diarrhea, dehydration, and breathing problems. So many new babies that are sleeping outside in tents. It's so hard to take. In every space on the hospital land there are tents or tarps set up with patients sleeping on mats; most are amputations.
But Haitians are still Haitians. They are alive. Most are suffering, but they still make me laugh and some how the jokes always tumble out of my mouth in Creole.
We are in good spirits here...
We've landed at a school that has now turned into a base camp of sorts for medical teams coming and going. It is so organized and functional, I was seriously speechless when I got here. We were greeted with a hot meal of Haitian rice and beans (and if any of you know me, you'd know how excited I was for this), and the miraculous news that we were allotted a 3 minute showers everyday! The networking that is going on here is truly amazing. Trying to connect functioning hospitals, short term medical teams, and clinics among tent cities is beyond anything I expected. A special crisis response team is coordinating all this, so we are assigned to a place to work every day depending on where there is a need. Like I said, pretty amazing.
The city...is just a sight to see. It's really hard to put into words. You will see a building completely turned rubble, but every building surrounding it is ok. Every fifth or sixth building has massive damage. Everyday we see damage or rubble that you just can't comprehend all happened in the span of 40 seconds. And it still seems like people aren't going inside most buildings. There are makeshift tents everywhere you look. So many just popped up on the sidewalk or on the center median of the street or wherever there was open land. There are a few massive ones around the palace area. Seeing the palace, that just sort of crumbled on itself, is just something else.
But this city is so alive. It is bustling, movement everywhere; people coming and going everywhere. Business is going even if it's not happening inside buildings. There is food for sale on every street and people trying to sell other goods. Several places in the city I see Haitian crews with matching t-shirts, brooms in hand, cleaning up their city; all sweeping in a group, cleaning the streets, piling rubble together, piling garbage together.
I've gotten to see so much of the city, because for the past 3 days I've worked in a hospital across town, so it takes about an hour to drive there (the traffic is horrendous). I got shuffled to work in pediatrics (I always find the babies somehow). It's chaos to say the least, but it's getting better. The day before we arrived a team from the states was just opening up a ward for kids, so just finding organization and a process has been a little chaotic. So far I've been able to do triage, and then work on admitting and making sure meds are done for inpatients. The majority by far is diarrhea, dehydration, and breathing problems. So many new babies that are sleeping outside in tents. It's so hard to take. In every space on the hospital land there are tents or tarps set up with patients sleeping on mats; most are amputations.
But Haitians are still Haitians. They are alive. Most are suffering, but they still make me laugh and some how the jokes always tumble out of my mouth in Creole.
We are in good spirits here...
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Door Reopens
It's finally time. It seems God has reopened the door to Haiti...
After three weeks of a lot of emotion and a multitude of plans from every direction, I WILL be traveling to Haiti THIS weekend. It's been a painful process, but the Lord continues to chip away at all the ugliness inside me and is still the most gracious being I have ever encountered. In addition, he has handed me a detour and am seriously waiting with excited anticipation about how everything will play out in the next few months.
And so, if you care to know, here is my current plan:
My friend, Sara, and I will be leaving on Friday, and we should arrive in Port-au-Prince sometime on Sunday (if every travel connection happens, it will be a miracle to say the least). We are partnering with the mission organization, CrossWorld, where we will be part of a small medical relief team, based in Port-au-Prince. We will be staying at a school that has been turned into an earthquake relief center of sorts, and seems to be the base for many medical volunteers. And from there, I think the work begins...
As of now, the schedule is flexible. It looks like we may be working in PAP for four weeks or so. After that, we most likely will meet up with Rob to travel north back to our Haitian home, Passe Catabois. I'm thinking it will feel quite luxurious after our time in PAP.
Please keep us in your prayers if you think of it. Specifically that we will be in the Lord's hands, we will do the work he has for us, and do it joyfully. That we could make it safely into Port-au-Prince and then just be a light to whoever needs it there. Also that we are spared from malaria (both of us), intestinal trouble(both), chocolate withdrawls (both), fits about not being clean (me), etc, etc. There is so much more (and so many unknowns), but seriously, the Lord know's what we need, so just ask for that :)
After three weeks of a lot of emotion and a multitude of plans from every direction, I WILL be traveling to Haiti THIS weekend. It's been a painful process, but the Lord continues to chip away at all the ugliness inside me and is still the most gracious being I have ever encountered. In addition, he has handed me a detour and am seriously waiting with excited anticipation about how everything will play out in the next few months.
And so, if you care to know, here is my current plan:
My friend, Sara, and I will be leaving on Friday, and we should arrive in Port-au-Prince sometime on Sunday (if every travel connection happens, it will be a miracle to say the least). We are partnering with the mission organization, CrossWorld, where we will be part of a small medical relief team, based in Port-au-Prince. We will be staying at a school that has been turned into an earthquake relief center of sorts, and seems to be the base for many medical volunteers. And from there, I think the work begins...
As of now, the schedule is flexible. It looks like we may be working in PAP for four weeks or so. After that, we most likely will meet up with Rob to travel north back to our Haitian home, Passe Catabois. I'm thinking it will feel quite luxurious after our time in PAP.
Please keep us in your prayers if you think of it. Specifically that we will be in the Lord's hands, we will do the work he has for us, and do it joyfully. That we could make it safely into Port-au-Prince and then just be a light to whoever needs it there. Also that we are spared from malaria (both of us), intestinal trouble(both), chocolate withdrawls (both), fits about not being clean (me), etc, etc. There is so much more (and so many unknowns), but seriously, the Lord know's what we need, so just ask for that :)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Waiting...
Hi all,
This past week and a half have been beyond hard. We have all heard the news and seen the images coming out of Port-au-Prince daily that really can't be described with words. I have to turn off the radio and TV because I can't handle it knowing I am sitting here at home, far from the chaos, far from being able to give any help. It hurts even worse now that Haiti and the people there, have somehow found their way into the depths of my heart. The only thing I want to do, which is be in Haiti, I cannot do. There has definitely been more than a little agony, anger, and tears shed from this end.
For those of you who don't know my travels started on January 12, taking off from Seattle. I got a call that there had just been an earthquake striking Port-au-Prince, no kidding, while I was in the car on the way to the airport. No one knew the extent of the damage yet, and with all flights still on, I traveled forward. After a red eye to New York, I arrived to find my flight was canceled to Port-au-Prince the morning of the 13th, for obvious reasons. And I can now say January 13th is running for one of the worst days of my life. Let's just say it involved 12 hours at JFK airport, about 150 pounds of luggage, 156 thousand minutes on the phone (several of which were me blubbering to my mom after I had spent over an hour at the ticket counter), and absolutely zero help from my dear friends at Delta. After exhausting every possible strategy and plan we could think of, Sara (who was stranded in Miami) and I decide to head back home to wait until we had a clear route into the country and up to Passe Catabois.
And like I said this week has not been a pretty one. Life seems to be on hold for now and that is just plain frustrating. Plans seem to change everyday, but nothing solid has come to light through the madness and flurry of people and ideas. This is a testing time... that we can continue to trust that God is working for the good here and trusting he will show us the way we should go now.
Senye a, m'ap tann ou...
This past week and a half have been beyond hard. We have all heard the news and seen the images coming out of Port-au-Prince daily that really can't be described with words. I have to turn off the radio and TV because I can't handle it knowing I am sitting here at home, far from the chaos, far from being able to give any help. It hurts even worse now that Haiti and the people there, have somehow found their way into the depths of my heart. The only thing I want to do, which is be in Haiti, I cannot do. There has definitely been more than a little agony, anger, and tears shed from this end.
For those of you who don't know my travels started on January 12, taking off from Seattle. I got a call that there had just been an earthquake striking Port-au-Prince, no kidding, while I was in the car on the way to the airport. No one knew the extent of the damage yet, and with all flights still on, I traveled forward. After a red eye to New York, I arrived to find my flight was canceled to Port-au-Prince the morning of the 13th, for obvious reasons. And I can now say January 13th is running for one of the worst days of my life. Let's just say it involved 12 hours at JFK airport, about 150 pounds of luggage, 156 thousand minutes on the phone (several of which were me blubbering to my mom after I had spent over an hour at the ticket counter), and absolutely zero help from my dear friends at Delta. After exhausting every possible strategy and plan we could think of, Sara (who was stranded in Miami) and I decide to head back home to wait until we had a clear route into the country and up to Passe Catabois.
And like I said this week has not been a pretty one. Life seems to be on hold for now and that is just plain frustrating. Plans seem to change everyday, but nothing solid has come to light through the madness and flurry of people and ideas. This is a testing time... that we can continue to trust that God is working for the good here and trusting he will show us the way we should go now.
Senye a, m'ap tann ou...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
se nan li mwen mete tout espwa m
Je m wouj afos mwen kriye.
Ke m sere.
M pedi kouray le m we jan pep
mwen an ap fini,
jan timoun yo ak ti bebe yo ap
tonbe endispoze
nan mitan lari kapital la.
Y'ap rele manman yo,
Y'ap kriye pou pen ak dlo sikre.
Yo tonbe san konesans nan lari a
tankou moun ki blese,
yo mouri nan bra manman yo.
Lamentations 2:11-12
Wi, le m chonje sa,
ke m sere, m santi ke m ap rache.
Men, mwen reprann kouray le m
chonje yon sel bagay.
Senye a pa janm sispann
renmen nou.
L'ap toujou gen pitye pou nou.
Tankou soley la ki leve chak maten
konsa tou lap toujou kenbe
pawol li.
Mwen di: Se Senye a ki tout mwen.
Se nan li mwen mete tout espwa m.
Lam. 3:20-24
Sa bon pou nou rete dousman
ap tann li vin delivre nou.
Lam. 3: 26
Ke m sere.
M pedi kouray le m we jan pep
mwen an ap fini,
jan timoun yo ak ti bebe yo ap
tonbe endispoze
nan mitan lari kapital la.
Y'ap rele manman yo,
Y'ap kriye pou pen ak dlo sikre.
Yo tonbe san konesans nan lari a
tankou moun ki blese,
yo mouri nan bra manman yo.
Lamentations 2:11-12
Wi, le m chonje sa,
ke m sere, m santi ke m ap rache.
Men, mwen reprann kouray le m
chonje yon sel bagay.
Senye a pa janm sispann
renmen nou.
L'ap toujou gen pitye pou nou.
Tankou soley la ki leve chak maten
konsa tou lap toujou kenbe
pawol li.
Mwen di: Se Senye a ki tout mwen.
Se nan li mwen mete tout espwa m.
Lam. 3:20-24
Sa bon pou nou rete dousman
ap tann li vin delivre nou.
Lam. 3: 26
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
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