Monday, March 12, 2012
Our littlest patient
This is the little baby girl whose mama died during my rough week. Her grandma has been bringing her on Tuesdays to get formula and so far, she looks good. She still has a long road ahead of her though. I think it would help if she was given a name, but grandma has not chosen one yet, as is rather common in Haiti, so we just call the baby "Blue Bonnet" because she's always wearing one when she comes to clinic.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
A better week
Nobody died last week.
Phew!
Instead, it was a normal clinic week...although the word "normal" really can't describe anything I do in Haiti. This is what clinic looks like:
Half-naked children hanging out with us while we work.
A 9 year old burn victim named Sabrina who needs 4 people to hold her down while I scrape and clean her cheek. She screams in agony the entire time, yet somehow manages to forgive me.
Outfitting an elderly patient with glasses which led to outfitting my clinic staff with glasses. And it gave me 2 watermelons as a thank you gift from the grateful patient!
Patient charts, ID cards, official stamps, prescription pads, and a filing cabinet. We are super high tech!
Teaching our staff how to prepare and give shots.
And teaching them how to inject lidocaine for local anaesthesia … using my leg. Don’t worry – it wasn’t for nothing. I had a piece of wood stuck in my leg from a hiking accident and in a stroke of genius, we managed to teach my staff a valuable skill and fix my ankle, all in one fell swoop!
Phew!
Instead, it was a normal clinic week...although the word "normal" really can't describe anything I do in Haiti. This is what clinic looks like:
Half-naked children hanging out with us while we work.
A 9 year old burn victim named Sabrina who needs 4 people to hold her down while I scrape and clean her cheek. She screams in agony the entire time, yet somehow manages to forgive me.
Outfitting an elderly patient with glasses which led to outfitting my clinic staff with glasses. And it gave me 2 watermelons as a thank you gift from the grateful patient!
Patient charts, ID cards, official stamps, prescription pads, and a filing cabinet. We are super high tech!
Teaching our staff how to prepare and give shots.
And teaching them how to inject lidocaine for local anaesthesia … using my leg. Don’t worry – it wasn’t for nothing. I had a piece of wood stuck in my leg from a hiking accident and in a stroke of genius, we managed to teach my staff a valuable skill and fix my ankle, all in one fell swoop!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Not my favorite week
It's not easy for me to write about the hard parts of Haiti. I find the stories of fun and progress and cute children much easier to report to the world. But the reality is that Haiti is hard sometimes; in fact, it's hard most of the time, and to ignore that is to write partial truths.
This week has been hard. Very hard.
It started with Thabita, one of my sweet youth group girls. She and her sister, Diamanta, lost their father to a stroke. I called her as soon as I heard the bad news and all I could do was cry with her as she begged me to "Do something, Kez. My family, me, we are all broken. What are we going to do now?"
On Monday, just days after Thabita's loss, one of the women who lives in Cite Brian, the little concrete houses behind the abode house, brought an 18 month old girl to clinic. We'd seen her already and sent her to the hospital because her illness puzzled us. They wouldn't admit her. So on Monday, Roselande lay in Grace's lap, breathing that shallow, raspy breath that I've only ever heard just before death. We rushed her to hospital and she was dead within 20 minutes of arriving. Later that morning, a neighbor took me to the little red house where her body lay wrapped loosely in a white sheet. I knelt beside her, cried and told her I was so sorry. Outside, her family wailed in Haitian mourning custom and the curious neighbors whispered about the white nurse who cried for the baby.
We have been helping to coordinate care of a tiny hydrocephalic baby named Samuel for the past 4 months. Neurologists examined him in Port-au-Prince in Octobor and sent him back to the orphanage to die but somehow he hung on until Wednesday morning. Though we knew that we should rejoice that his suffering was over, it was still incredible difficult to watch that infant-sized coffin go into the ground and to hear the women who cared for him say, "It feels like we just lost the battle."
We thought we'd cried as much as one can cry in a week. We were wrong. Thursday morning brought us a week old baby girl whose mother had died, leaving her and 2 older sibling behind. The grandmother was hoarse almost to the point of being mute from all her wailing and mourning. And minutes later, Oscar told me that Erilien, a 17 year old boy who'd come to clinic 3 weeks ago with probable tuberculosis and HIV, had died.
Five deaths in a one week period. It's not supposed to be like that.
We don't fear death in Haiti as much as people sometimes do in the US; it's a part of life here. But as nurses, we feel responsible in some strange way for every person who's ever come through our doors, and when one of them dies, we grieve not only the loss of life, but also the failure to preserve it. This week, the grief was overwhelming and it was paralyzing. I have avoided our clinic since Thursday and I dread walking back into it on Monday. If I'm not in clinic, perhaps no one else will die.
This week has been hard. Very hard.
It started with Thabita, one of my sweet youth group girls. She and her sister, Diamanta, lost their father to a stroke. I called her as soon as I heard the bad news and all I could do was cry with her as she begged me to "Do something, Kez. My family, me, we are all broken. What are we going to do now?"
On Monday, just days after Thabita's loss, one of the women who lives in Cite Brian, the little concrete houses behind the abode house, brought an 18 month old girl to clinic. We'd seen her already and sent her to the hospital because her illness puzzled us. They wouldn't admit her. So on Monday, Roselande lay in Grace's lap, breathing that shallow, raspy breath that I've only ever heard just before death. We rushed her to hospital and she was dead within 20 minutes of arriving. Later that morning, a neighbor took me to the little red house where her body lay wrapped loosely in a white sheet. I knelt beside her, cried and told her I was so sorry. Outside, her family wailed in Haitian mourning custom and the curious neighbors whispered about the white nurse who cried for the baby.
We have been helping to coordinate care of a tiny hydrocephalic baby named Samuel for the past 4 months. Neurologists examined him in Port-au-Prince in Octobor and sent him back to the orphanage to die but somehow he hung on until Wednesday morning. Though we knew that we should rejoice that his suffering was over, it was still incredible difficult to watch that infant-sized coffin go into the ground and to hear the women who cared for him say, "It feels like we just lost the battle."
We thought we'd cried as much as one can cry in a week. We were wrong. Thursday morning brought us a week old baby girl whose mother had died, leaving her and 2 older sibling behind. The grandmother was hoarse almost to the point of being mute from all her wailing and mourning. And minutes later, Oscar told me that Erilien, a 17 year old boy who'd come to clinic 3 weeks ago with probable tuberculosis and HIV, had died.
Five deaths in a one week period. It's not supposed to be like that.
We don't fear death in Haiti as much as people sometimes do in the US; it's a part of life here. But as nurses, we feel responsible in some strange way for every person who's ever come through our doors, and when one of them dies, we grieve not only the loss of life, but also the failure to preserve it. This week, the grief was overwhelming and it was paralyzing. I have avoided our clinic since Thursday and I dread walking back into it on Monday. If I'm not in clinic, perhaps no one else will die.
Every kid needs a fort!
Every kid needs a fort and I particularly love the latest one that the Jubilee kids have made. It will be theirs for a few more weeks until it becomes the intended finished product: a latrine.
Friday, February 24, 2012
All grown up in Port-au-Prince
When I went to Port-au-Prince last weekend for youth group, my little buddy Frantz practically attacked me in his excitement to have me back in the neighborhood. When he'd calmed down and stopped telling me I'd abandonned him (oh, my aching heart!), he asked for a marker and paper. I watched as the boy who had needed a full year to learn how to count to 10 wrote my name, "Kez", without any instruction! The only other word I've ever seen him write without copying is his own name. I know I'm not his mother, but I sure felt like a proud mama right then!
And moments later, I had to laugh out loud when he told me what the sign was for: "It's for the kids, when they come looking for you. It needs to say, 'Kez is not here. Come back another time.'"
Frantz isn't the only one that has grown up in my absence. St. Joseph's has been nearly completed! It is a huge, colorful, creative building, with lots of light and space. Most importantly, it is the most structurally solid building I've ever seen in Haiti.
And moments later, I had to laugh out loud when he told me what the sign was for: "It's for the kids, when they come looking for you. It needs to say, 'Kez is not here. Come back another time.'"
Frantz isn't the only one that has grown up in my absence. St. Joseph's has been nearly completed! It is a huge, colorful, creative building, with lots of light and space. Most importantly, it is the most structurally solid building I've ever seen in Haiti.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Heroes of the week
Last week's first hero is Osidye, one of our community leaders from Jubilee. He appeared in clinic with a long gash on his arm and another on his chest. The story is that he was walking through the neighborhood when he saw a circle of young men with a teenage girl in the middle. Knowing that the situation was trouble, he pushed through the crowd, took the girl's hand and led her out to safety. The men were all angry, probably somewhat drunk, and one of them attacked him!
The other heroes are Chris and Isaac, two of our long term tribe members, and week-long visitors, Luis and Cheryl. A woman came to clinic on Thursday after a botched home abortion. Her blood pressure was only 70/40, she was running a very high fever, and she was going into shock. I made the call and my Haitian version of 911 was answered by Isaac, who arrived in Much Ministries' white truck to rush us across town to Providence Hospital. He only ran one taptap off the road in his enthusiastic ambulance driving!
My week of recon at Providence paid off big time. Nurses and one particularly kind doctor I'd befriended were on duty and helped me get the woman admitted. Our next needs were blood so Chris, Luis, and Cheryl volunteered to come with me to the hospital's blood bank. Many people would be too afraid of the risks but those 3 were determined to do their part to keep our patient alive.
A few hours later, I was informed that the hospital had performed a D&C, removing the leftover placenta and fetal parts from the woman's uterus, an operation that I thought they couldn't do in Gonaives. Nothing short of a miracle, as far as I'm concerned! They had given her blood and strong IV antibiotics. Her temperature had dropped and her blood pressure had risen, both to normal levels. Two days later, she was home and healthy.
Thank you, heroes!
The other heroes are Chris and Isaac, two of our long term tribe members, and week-long visitors, Luis and Cheryl. A woman came to clinic on Thursday after a botched home abortion. Her blood pressure was only 70/40, she was running a very high fever, and she was going into shock. I made the call and my Haitian version of 911 was answered by Isaac, who arrived in Much Ministries' white truck to rush us across town to Providence Hospital. He only ran one taptap off the road in his enthusiastic ambulance driving!
My week of recon at Providence paid off big time. Nurses and one particularly kind doctor I'd befriended were on duty and helped me get the woman admitted. Our next needs were blood so Chris, Luis, and Cheryl volunteered to come with me to the hospital's blood bank. Many people would be too afraid of the risks but those 3 were determined to do their part to keep our patient alive.
A few hours later, I was informed that the hospital had performed a D&C, removing the leftover placenta and fetal parts from the woman's uterus, an operation that I thought they couldn't do in Gonaives. Nothing short of a miracle, as far as I'm concerned! They had given her blood and strong IV antibiotics. Her temperature had dropped and her blood pressure had risen, both to normal levels. Two days later, she was home and healthy.
Thank you, heroes!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Clinic staff
My main job in Gonaives at the moment is getting the Jubilee clinic up and running. It was closed over the holidays and the solitary Haitian nurse who used to run the show, quit in December. So Grace and I have started from scratch, hiring a new nurse and 3 nursing assistants (NA) trained in Much Ministries' Medical Trade School this past fall.
We spent a few weeks prepping the clinic and our supplies, then we spent 2 weeks just doing staff training. Clinic opened officially on February 6th and has been running remarkably smoothly since then. Vesline, our nurse, and Oscar, our clinic NA have been doing a great job, learning as they go. Our happiest surprise has been Samuela (below in white), an NA hired to do home blood pressure visits to the elderly. She has come daily to clinic though she knows we can't pay her for it, just because she wants to help.
We have general clinic on Mondays, prenatal program on Tuesday mornings, malnutrition program on Tuesday afternoons, blood pressure checks on Wednesdays, and follow-up day on Thursdays. The home visits occur every Saturday and Sunday, and of course, people come to me and Grace constantly during our off hours with wounds, headaches, rashes, fevers, and all sorts of ailments. Needless to say, it's a busy life!
We spent a few weeks prepping the clinic and our supplies, then we spent 2 weeks just doing staff training. Clinic opened officially on February 6th and has been running remarkably smoothly since then. Vesline, our nurse, and Oscar, our clinic NA have been doing a great job, learning as they go. Our happiest surprise has been Samuela (below in white), an NA hired to do home blood pressure visits to the elderly. She has come daily to clinic though she knows we can't pay her for it, just because she wants to help.
We have general clinic on Mondays, prenatal program on Tuesday mornings, malnutrition program on Tuesday afternoons, blood pressure checks on Wednesdays, and follow-up day on Thursdays. The home visits occur every Saturday and Sunday, and of course, people come to me and Grace constantly during our off hours with wounds, headaches, rashes, fevers, and all sorts of ailments. Needless to say, it's a busy life!
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