A Week Gone By

*Little Care taker

One week.

I can't believe only 7 days have passed since the 45-second earthquake that so drastically changed life as we knew it in Haiti. Our days have felt like a constant stream of problem solving, coordinating and searching which has left little time for emotions processed or true grieving.

Yet Patrick and I have never felt more committed, more energized, more purpose-driven in our daily efforts. Critical presence has taken on a whole new meaning. Our former routine has been replaced by anything but. As helicopters beat the air overhead, cargo planes come in for landing, aid vehicles roam the streets bearing the patch of dozens of countries around the world, media correspondents interview our friends and bring Haiti to the forefront of the world’s attention, we hardly recognize life here anymore.

We continue to seek a visa for Solomon in order to leave for a short time to re-group, re-stock and reorganize ourselves (you know, buy a few extra changes of clothes, a pillow, etc), yet we have every intention of returning to our lives and work here. Now, more than ever, we feel strongly pulled to work for CONASPEH and the people of Haiti. Although our jobs were redefined in a minute’s time, the urgent need for continued presence, solidarity and hard work are all the more pressing. We are excited to take part in processes of healing, rebuilding, growth and redevelopment in months and years ahead.

Today we started the day by meeting Patrick Villier and the board of CONASPEH under a tree in the middle of a vacant lot to catch up on news of people lost and found, churches and schools crumbled and standing, support from partners abroad and plans for steps forward. Patrick is blogging more about the meeting for you, our partners who are invested in heart and prayer. Through the course of the meeting Patrick and I watched a group of men and women arrive with heavy hearts and leave with new determination and lighter spirits just by having a plan of action to pursue, work identified, movement to take forward.
*Kids at Pastor Saint Tilis's orphanage

*Makeshift baby bed

After our meeting, we headed to Kwadebouke to check on Pastor Saint Tilis and the children he keeps in his orphanage. We were able to deliver to the children rice, beans, oil and fresh water found in the mountains. I was able to do some evaluations and Band-Aid skinned knees. We found the children to be infested with scabies and intestinal worms, but still resilient goofy kids making faces for the camera. The orphanage's cistern was bone dry as finding water has become a critical problem for the family running the orphanage. As a result, the children’s hygiene suffers after a week spent sleeping in the empty lot outside of the building. We pledged to help find a water truck to deliver water and bring medicines to eliminate infestations for the time being.
*taking time for cuddles

We later passed by Solomon's orphanage to for any updates—found none—but relaxed for a bit loving on babies and playing with funny kids who took to braiding both Patrick and my hair, and delving into conversation about what strange places like Kansas, Nebraska or Colorado are like.
*tent city

Our last stop of the day took us to the community where Miguelson and his family live. He had called to ask if we could swing by evaluate a few sick members of the community. Patrick and I pulled into the neighborhood with its labyrinth of twisting and turning streets to find an empty lot now housing a tent city of displaced people. Miguelson reported that they’ve had problems with thieves in the night, so the community has joined together and selected several men to act as security detail; they are organizing each other to keep all safe. We were introduced to the wiry man in charge of the security efforts—a previous member of the Haitian army who had a warm smile and gentle demeanor. Haitians taking care of Haitians.
*Smiles

Upon our arrival we were greeted by a large group of people who haven’t yet received outside aid like so many pockets of communities deep within the city’s walls. I was first ushered to a young woman lying on her stomach under a tarp. She had superficial wounds on her shoulder, back and buttocks, but what was disturbing to the women attending to her was that she couldn’t feel or move her legs and couldn’t control urination. She had been evaluated at the hospital after cinder blocks fell on her back to only be sent home as the doctors there had nothing to offer her. My exam confirmed a broken back with paralysis and early wound infection. I spoke frankly to the women who surrounded the young patient who were eager to know what they could do for their daughter and friend. We talked about vigilant hygiene, safe transfers, pain control and what her diagnosis likely meant. “I’m only 27,” the girl said to me. Her eyes told me that she had already resigned herself to her condition.

I then was introduced to one person after another to check blood pressures, evaluate fevers, and examine wounds, aches and pains. The crowd soon had made a claustrophobic circle around me with people anxious to see if I had medicine to relieve their particular form of suffering. I did a lot of reassuring for those whose wounds were healing well without signs of infection, for people with colds and other normal constitutional symptoms. With people all around, education for one was education for all helping expedite attention giving to the large crowd of people. Several leaders rose out of the crowd, helping explain what I was saying, and reiterating instructions. This community was keeping care of each other and I believe will continue to do so.

Thanks to a year under my belt and my new adjusted sense of personal space, I knew the crowd to be a friendly one and never felt fear as bodies pressed in around me, choking the air as they listened and watched each quick patient evaluation I was able to do. Oh the sweat on my brow poured. I certainly can see how some teams new to Haiti may feel like the pressing urgency of so many people might feel overwhelming and potentially hostile. Once again I noticed nothing more than community concern, curiosity and ever-respectful welcome.

Patrick quickly became the pharmacist of the hour and searched through our meager stock of medicines (thanks again Team Marilyn!!) for antibiotics to treat infected wounds, hypertensive medicines for a few with staggering blood pressures, children’s Tylenol mild fevers. It seemed the entire community had muscles and bones hurting after a week sleeping on the ground. We found a pastor and a nurse in the community and gave them several bottles of Tylenol along with instructions on how to distribute the analgesics thus saving many hours in the waning light of day. Despite the ever-growing crowd, the pastor and nurse gracefully accepted their new jobs and agreed to take over treating peoples aching bodies.

By the time we left, darkness had fallen. The kind community was quick to order us back into the car for fear of our security, sending us off with loud thank you’s and waves of appreciation. Can’t deny it, it felt good.

After such catastrophic disaster, surgeons and anesthesiologists are most needed in field hospitals. But today I got to be a family practice doctor, educating, figuring out some creative solutions to complicated situations with the help of the people of the community and giving basic treatment to a group of people who needed a listening ear as much as they needed a health care provider. Happy end to the day.
*our little comedian

Tonight we found Solomon in little boy heaven having played with kids all day, taking advantage of space to run, a big dog to pet and toys to play with. He has adjusted amazingly well to our transient life these days, and I am so grateful for it.

With that, we call it a day, knowing tomorrow will likely be as unique as the last week full of days have been.

The last 7 days have ushered in fear, tragedy, despair. They also have revealed relief-filled discoveries, evidence of communities coming together, global attention and response to disaster, and new definition of the lives we live and the work we are here to do.

But first, sleep.