For my Ashes, You give me Beauty

As I sit collecting my thoughts over the events of the past few days, I remain amazed that I have been given this experience. For the ashes of my life, for the weakness, pride and stains of humanity I could offer, I have been given beauty. Jesus is everywhere, in His most distressing disguise, in the mother who continues to demand medications for herself after we have finished addressing the needs of her child; in the angry mob of impatient men who approach the gates of a food distribution center; in the countless miscommunications and misunderstandings which flood my daily life; in the tears of a child who has experienced trauma beyond imagining; in the uncooperative patient who complains of illness but refuses to take medication and changes her story; in the winces of the hydrocephalic baby who is slowly dying; in the daily burden of a funeral mass, at which tiny bodies lie alongside those of adults.

I was honored to encounter Jesus in a new way on Saturday morning, when I accompanied Sr. Judy to Cite Soleil, one of the worst slums in the Western Hemisphere, if not the world. The Missionaries of Charity hold a clinic at a church that was destroyed in the earthquake, for the residents of Cite Soleil, adults and children alike. They have no medical training, but they have extraordinary instinct and intuition to know the needs of the people. We traveled through the main roads of Port-au-Prince, then once on the outskirts of Cite Soleil, we turned off a main road onto an active marketplace, with baskets of food, questionable medication collections, clothes, shoes, anything imaginable for sale. The patient driver honked his horn as people gathered their wares and moved out of the path of the truck, some much more reluctantly than others. After several hundred feet of wading through the crowds, we reached a gate, again completely blocked by vendors. After a few minutes, the path was (barely) clear – an orange seller was our most difficult obstacle – and God help us if we damage ANY of the items in our way - and we entered through the open gate. Sr. Judy's immediate remark was, “Welcome to Calcutta!” - and that was exactly what I would use to describe the scene before us. Children and mothers and older citizens begging for care were stacked on either side of the truck, eight to ten people thick, for at least 100 feet. I was afraid we would run over little toes, they were so close to the wheels! We left the car and walked through a pasageway, to a hall of sorts, with children and mothers snaked around the room. I was very impressed with the amount of medications available, and was told I would be one of the “pharmacy techs” for the day, as my Creole and experience here are still fairly limited.

The morning started with a prayer, a brief scripture lesson, and then it was a crash course in tropical medicine, with Sr. Judy as my professor. She sees patients as a provider here, due to her many years of experience and fabulous sense. I started rather timidly, asking question after question as I located medications and listened to her as she related to the mothers and children. The MC's have a superb system down for preparation and distribution of meds, down to these perfect little sachets they make out of magazine and newspaper pages! We searched the crowd, looking for the most critically-ill appearing patients. There were countless children with skin disorders, due to the squalor of tent-living and the contamination of their dwellings with sewage. These are the places you see in the television commercials – the canals of filthy water running through the narrow paths between houses fabricated from tarps, plastic bags, cardboard, rotten wood. The children play in the same water that is used as a toilet, for laundry, for food preparation. These are truly the poorest of the poor.

We treated extremely painful lesions. We saw a little boy with tremendously compromised breathing. We sat with his mother and directed her to go that afternoon to St. Damien (our hospital) – she was reluctant, and we re-iterated and reinforced our deep concern about her son. We may never know if she came. The sense of urgency is almost never present here. I notice it in my every day work, in communication, in attempts to teach or state needs. There is no rush. All is at a different pace. We saw another girl with a mysterious and very high fever, and yet another girl with typhoid. Sitting and talking, dressed up in her finest, with a temperature of 40 celsius! A tiny little baby with a fractured leg from a falling television, was splinted. A woman, seven months pregnant, but barely looking four months along, was given folic acid, vitamins, and food. She was beautiful, and looked heavily burdened with worry. It was so wonderful to be able to speak with her, encourage her and love her for a few minutes. The morning swept by in a whirlwind. It was fascinating to observe the sisters as they worked, firm but gentle in their approach, embracing the challenge of the crowds of relentless patients. I absolutely loved being there, and I pray that I can go again. One of the best parts of the morning was to listen to a surgeon who came with us. He has been to Haiti many times before, and he related that this was the complete highlight of his experience. He worked in the wound clinic, and saw many cancers among the crowd. Such wounds will never heal. But to see his face light up as he talked – it is a great gift to be present when others come alive to this work.

I was emotionally spent after the morning, but had the chance to join a tour of the city in the afternoon. It was something I had been wanting badly, so I jumped into the bus. I was disappointed not to be able to see terrifically well, but it was still very interesting to listen to the discussions of the several first-time travelers to Haiti, and others who had not seen anything outside the hospital walls. We saw the national cathedral, completely destroyed, which collapsed and killed the Archbishop of Haiti as well as several seminarians on retreat. We saw the National Palace, which is slowly being razed. In an interesting juxtaposition, one of the most dangerous tent cities is now just feet from the former landmark, and is notorious for crime, especially against women. We saw the endless stream of tent cities, literally cropped up in any vacant area. The wheels were turning in heads – questions were asked about how to sustain a future in this country, how the citizens of Haiti view NGO's, where to start with improvements, all questions I LOVE to hear! We visited the site of the former hospital and volunteer center in Petionville, where two American volunteers lost their lives. The sign for the hospital hangs precariously, just outside the fence housing the vacant land. The rubble was cleared very quickly after the earthquake – employees, patients and volunteers could not bear to see a pile of rubble. There are still many places that have not yet been cleared, but new buildings are being constructed among the ruins. The country has not died and will not die.

Sunday was a breakfast out! A real buffet breakfast, with pancakes, sausage, toast, eggs, coffee, juice....so delicious. I had recently woken up craving a real American breakfast – this was a good effort! But it was wonderful to sit and start the morning in peace. The rest of the day was a work day for me. I went to the baby house, and tried to work amongst the 35 little ones pulling at my legs and arms. We played for several minutes, then I snuck away to finish organizing charts and take an inventory of the medicine cabinet. Then it was more holding and playing and comforting. I sat with Erline for a while, holding her, tickling her, getting a laugh out of her, observing her as she moved quietly through the house. Dani and Kevin came with me, and were attacked by loving kids for two hours. We came back to the hospital grounds for the afternoon, and I worked away at Excel – not my favorite program, but we are getting along decently for now. Evening mass was at 7 pm, a perfect way to end the weekend, with peace and singing and Jesus.

Yesterday and today were the continuation of my 11-day stretch, and we spent the morning at the baby house. It wasn't going to be the whole morning, but as the joys of miscommunication and/or complete lack of communication follow closely behind all of us, it turned out the be the entire morning. But I am happy to say that all but two children have been weighed and measured. (The two children were at physical therapy). The entire task of doing so took us a half an hour, then we waited an additional two hours for our ride to arrive. I paced for a while, but then tried (unsuccessfully) to take in in stride. There is simply no such thing in existence here as a “quick errand,” “a few minutes,” “be right back,” or a guarantee that a driver will be back with a car at the agreed upon time, or that anyone will be reachable by phone in the intervening several hours while we wait to return to the clinic that we closed in order to complete our “quick errand.” Oh, the joys. But we got the data we needed, and now we can commence with additional nutrition for the children that need it. Yesterday afternoon was “new sandal day,” during which every child received a new pair of flip-flops or sandals. This happens every three months – sadly, not nearly often enough, because the kids are so hard on their shoes, but was still a fun event. This is their last free week before school starts, so they are taking advantage of every minute. Kevin brought them a new soccer ball, and they were thrilled – they kept asking if they could really keep it! So precious. Little do they know, there are a few more to come, to be held safely in the possession of Dani and yours truly. Then the chalk came out – and was a huge hit. It was also yet another opportunity to teach the kids patience and sharing. Two concepts they are not very keen on, but we managed to keep things relatively peaceful. 

Old sandals...

The new and the old

 Today I addressed the challenge of weaning the nurses from numerous handwritten lists to the concept of everything being accessible on the computer. Each child has numerous lab and other tests which are to be completed on admission to the program. Due to the time it has taken to work through this process with the hospital, the large number of children in the program, the children who have continued to arrive since its inception, the numerous unscheduled issues which arise, and the general disorganization of a new program, we are very much behind in completing all of the exams. (Another reason I am here! Job security surrounds me.) So we tediously looked through all the charts (these nurses are so helpful, constantly asking me what they can do!) and listed all of the exams which kids needed. Then, I created a spreadsheet for it (!!!) which can be printed out, and we can check off as we complete everything. So pretty! It will still take several weeks, if not months, but I have expectant faith that this will be done in the forseeable future. I was able to throw away one list today! Many, many, many, many more await me in the mysterious book which I am afraid to open. But we will address each list in time. 

The sun has fallen asleep and the pounding rain has commenced - so I must monitor the progress of the rain as it sneaks under the door and through the windows. I am having trouble posting pictures this evening, so more will come soon. Thanks so much for reading!