Isaiah 55

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways, says the Lord.” Isaiah 55:8

I am trying to believe that I have been here for a month already. It seems impossible! I still feel new in so many ways, yet there is somewhat of a routine being established. A “normal” day for me consists of waking up between 6 and 7 am, having a few minutes to myself to collect my thoughts, check e-mail, pray and eat breakfast. When Fr. Rick is here, daily mass is held at 7 am. It has been a funeral mass for at least three people every day. Otherwise, it's on the road by 7:45 or 8 am, arriving at St. Louis by 8:15, and having the morning to do blood draws, continue working through charts, continuing to talk with the nurses, addressing the bumps and bruises, making plans and setting up kids to see the doctor when she is here, (the doctor comes to St. Louis two afternoons a week, then goes to Ste. Anne on Saturday mornings), taking notes and, of course, sitting outside with the kids and talking with them. I return to the house at midday, to email, research medications and health concerns, eat lunch between 1 and 2 pm, then return to the clinic until 4 or 5 pm. Evenings are a shower, exercise, play with the abandoned kids, a light dinner and more catching up on emails. Bedtime is usually around 9 pm, as late as 1030 depending on how quickly my thoughts calm and who is available by phone/Skype.

One little guy, as soon as he sees me in the morning, says, “Take a picture!” Getting out a camera is a very dangerous and risky move in a place with 140 very eager children who LOVE to see themselves in action. The kids have now taken to attacking me with hugs as I walk through the gates to greet them. The smiles I receive as they see that I have returned are so powerful! A dear friend of mine, with whom I was privileged to work with in Haiti my first time around, talked about “The power of the return.” Endless visitors, foreign NGO's, genuinely as well as ulteriorly-motivated people, have made promises to Haiti, shared grandiose ideas, stated plans to provide for long or short-term needs, have left, and have not returned. It is one thing to visit once, fulfill an immediate need, then leave. It is quite another to return and through that return, demonstrate that there is a relationship here, that these people are significant and matter, that one is sincere in intentions and has come again to learn, listen and care. When I remember names, smiles grow even larger. When the kids see themselves in pictures on my computer, they are fascinated. When I share dance songs with them, they get excited. When I discipline them, they are taken aback, but respond very positively. When they understand my Creole, we all laugh and they seem relieved. She can talk in our language!

It is emotionally wrenching to see kids whose physical problems have not been addressed. It is the nature of the beast here in the developing world that resources are simply not available to provide early diagnoses or treatment. There is a young girl at St. Louis with severe cataracts and other eye disease which have rendered her nearly blind. There is another little guy, Stevenson, (I have mentioned him before) who is also severely impaired visually. The kid is very intelligent – he just can't see! There are girls with gynecological issues. There are three kids with heart murmurs – they may be benign, and do not appear to have affected growth and development to date – but as a cardiac nurse, the wheels start turning in my head. Cardiac-wise, there is very little to do here. Children are sent to the States through a program working in conjunction with St. Damien, but the conditions must be straightforward, be addressed through one surgery, and require no future repairs. It is quite expensive to send any child to a specialist here. Teams come through from other countries occasionally. I have learned that a cardiologist will be visiting in October – I hope to perhaps get these kids seen by him. But, again, nothing is simple.

The workers at NPH and the hospital and the adjunct programs work tirelessly for those they serve. It is truly astounding to see people literally pouring themselves out for the little ones. My schedule is now eleven days on, three days off. It is exhausting and a sacrifice of self, emotion, spirit, body, hunger, sweat and tears. But it is also the only appropriate approach. There is much to be done, and it requires commitment, patience, stepping back, holding my tongue, listening, humility, flexibility, constant adaptation and changing of priorities. I have appreciated Joanne's wisdom as I learn the cultural nuances, talked through ideas and knee-jerk reactions. I made a list of current priorities for the FWAL clinics – only 18 talking points right now!! Enough to keep me occupied for at least 12 months, I think. The list continues to grow with each day's events. We are looking at nutrition, as the initial list of 12 children who are underweight and under stature grew to be nearly half the current population at St. Louis, as we plotted heights and weights on the growth charts. This is not a surprise, simply based on the backgrounds of the kids and the extremely limited access to food they may have had previous to their admission to the FWAL program. Use of available resources, the cost of food, the current lack of available vitamin supplements, adequate caloric intake, interest in and understanding of the importance of drinking water, lack of education... those are just a few of the aspects of the problem.

I relished my three-day weekend, doing basically nothing on Friday but resting and spurts of cleaning. We went to Mama Raphael's for dinner and drinks after an all-important trip to the Belmart, where I found Vienna Fingers! Vienna Fingers are a favorite of my dad's, a tradition from family vacations. (There was always much more success in the junk food department when we went shopping with dad on vacation!) Yesterday I rearranged my little corner of the house, doing a deep cleaning, unpacking and re-packing my suitcase, putting fresh sheets on the bed (one of my favorite things – clean sheets!)

I went on a short visit yesterday to an orphanage established by Partners In Health for 50-ish children, many of whom are disabled. We were delivering newly minted animal sculptures, made by a local artist. {Partners in Health is a fascinating organization, well-established here and present for over 20 years. It was founded by Paul Farmer, an American physician known for his work with multi-drug resistant TB. He has written several books and is the subject of Mountains Beyond Mountains, a biography. He has very strong opinions of the States and has harsh criticism for the era of NGO's – it is tough to read his thoughts at times, but also very convicting. I had just downloaded his most recent book, Haiti After the Earthquake, and I believe that the kids I was visiting yesterday are the same little group mentioned in the book! If you are looking for a good history of Haiti and a poignant narrative of the country from pre- to post-earthquake, I recommend his books.} The orphanage was beautiful, clean, very well-furnished, with modern equipment and happy, clearly well-fed children. A great encouragement to me! On the way back home, we stopped at the home of one of the employees, and I was invited to the back yard, where a goat, or “cabrit” in Creole, had recently met his demise and was being prepared for dinner. I prefer not to know my food before I eat it – but it was interesting to observe the preparations! After a relaxing afternoon, I went to mass with Sr. Kathleen and Sr. Judy at a local parish, then had mushroom lasagna for dinner (SOOOO yummy!)

As I think of the traditions from home, college football, apples and cider, tramping through the leaves as they fall, leaping under the covers as the chill enters the air, apple pies, warm drinks, turning the heater in the car on full blast – I realize I will be missing it. It is easy to be lonely as the evening falls and I wish for good deep conversations with friends or anxiously check my email for updates from the homefront. Skype is an awesome invention which I am sure I will appreciate more and more as the months go by. But as much as I like a routine of sorts, I pray that it doesn't become too much of one, or that I become an afterthought. So selfish of me – but I will readily admit that I need the reminders of support. This is absolutely impossible to do on my own.