Haiti – Day 8

The day that I never thought would come, came.

I got the afternoon off.

As soon as I had heard that I was the lucky nominee of this coveted honor, I gladly accepted. When I got back to the hotel, I nearly jumped right into the pool with my scrubs on. I nearly had one foot in the water when I noticed a large sign that explicitly said “no scrubs on in the pool”. Darnit. It's a good rule, actually. If all of us did that, there isn't enough bleach and chlorine that can kill what's on us at the end of the day. Instead, I peeled them off in my room, grabbed my towel and an icy cold Prestige, and dove in.

All afternoon I laid by the pool, took two naps, read my book, and wrote this blog. It was just perfect. I looked in the mirror and hardly recognized the rested, rejuvenated, sun kissed person who was staring back at me.

It’s a bit ironic that this time off came on a day like today, as today, more than any other day, I really looked forward to going to work. My mindset has shifted quite a bit from just 5 days ago. And even as wonderful as this time away is, I’m already feeling that I’m actually kind of missing it. This “thing” has totally grown on me, and I can at least begin to understand how some people have come here to volunteer for 2 weeks, and months later, haven’t left yet.

I feel a bit wimpy being completely wiped out after 6 and ½ straight days of work, but honest to God this is the hardest work I have done in my entire life; probably more mentally than physically. IMC actually requires that we take at least one day off, and it is hard for many to do because we get so immersed in what we are doing. It is a bit hard to leave, as you feel that you’re not only abandoning your critically ill patients but your cohesive group of coworkers. But alas, this is very necessary.

The driver took me home on a different route, as we drove past the Parliament building and Presidential Palace so I could see a bit more of the city. Many of us have seen this now infamous image of the crumbled domes and collapsed surroundings of the palace, where President Rene Preval once resided. I hear that he and his wife now live in an army barrack near the Airport.

This down time of the afternoon has allowed me to really reflect on the past 6 days; how I have felt, what I have smelled, the lessons I have learned, and the atrocities I have witnessed. It is difficult to put many of it into words, but I think anyone can read the stories and see the pictures and formulate their own feelings.

Here are some staggering statistics about both pre and post quake Haiti, that I have learned over the past week. I think it helps to illustrate why this country has as many problems as it does and helps me understand what we’re up against:

* About 85% of all Haitians live in poverty.

* Most Haitians live on $2 or less per day.

* 50% of Haitians are illiterate. I learned this just yesterday, as I was explaining to a young man how to take his antibiotics. I handed him the bottle of pills, on which I had written “un grain, trios fois de jour” (one pill, three times per day). He stared back with obvious confusion and shame on his face. My translator explained to me that he could not read. I felt more ashamed than he did

* 80% of college graduates from Haiti have emigrated, mostly to the US

* Only 30% of Haitians have access to basic health care. Thirty percent? Wow...

* Poverty has forced at least 225,000 Haitian children to work as restavecs, which is essentially a form of slavery, as they perform free labor for their 'owners'. The children are sent away by their parents who are unable to care of them. Many of the restavec children are abused.

* Half of the Haitian children do not receive their childhood vaccinations. A child should never get the measles, or the mumps, or diphtheria. But I’ve seen it. There are reasons that there are vaccines for these diseases…they are horrible and deadly.

* Even before the January earthquake, nearly half the causes of deaths in Haiti have been attributed to HIV/AIDS, Tb, and diarrheal disease (typhoid and cholera)

* Ninety percent of Haiti’s children suffer parasites and waterbone diseases as a result of a lack of clean water

• The January earthquake immediately claimed the lives of 230,000 people, most of whom were ultimately buried in mass graves. 300,000 were injured, and they estimate that 30% of these later died from their injuries.

* One million people were made homeless.

* This one hits a bit closer to home; Haiti’s Nursing School (the one and only) completely collapsed during the earthquake. It was located right outside of our Hospital. I have attached a picture of what was once the building, but is now a pile of rubble and a new tent. The majority of the faculty was killed, along with more than half of the students, who were still in class that late afternoon on January 12th. The building was so horribly collapsed, and therefore, it was nearly impossible to reach any of the survivors or bodies. The stench grew to be so horrific that hey had to burn what was left.

This morning, we had the privilege of having 6 adorable, precocious nursing students join us in the hospital. They are among the remaining survivors from their class, so in essence, all 6 of them are the future of Haitian Nursing. They are shy, eager, sharp, and so darn cute in their white pinafore blouses and skirts. I want one to wear back home.

I’ll close with one final story from the day. You can see pictured to the right a beautiful little Haitian boy, who came in through the ER, with his mother (we think), and a laceration to his forehead. The boy was apparently misbehaving, and therefore his mother threw a bottle at his head as a form of punishment. The boy was completely petrified…not only of the surrounding ER atmosphere, but of my lidocaine-filled syringe. It took 4 of us to hold this little guy down. He, of course, like any normal child would, fought back with his life and thrashed around in hopes that he could win the war against the needle. During his fight, his mom beat him…right in front of us. She slapped him and hit him because he was scared. Heartbreaking doesn’t describe this.

We took a break from the action, and I played with him a bit and took his picture several times to show him the image on my digital camera. He loved it. I asked him if he was in school today, and he told me that he doesn’t go to school. He is probably a child restavec. Knowing that, and witnessing the public violence displayed by his mother, what kind of future does this child have?

Seeing that this wasn’t going to be easy, and not being able to stomach witnessing mom beating him more, we resorted to an intramuscular injection of Ketamine right in his thigh. This is a short acting sedative that is wonderful for doing minor procedures in kids. Within minutes, he was higher than a kite and fast asleep, and his forehead was beautifully and carefully sutured closed. He work up with a smile, holding a shiny new nascar toy that he “zoom zoom”-ed along the edge of the filthy, blood stained cot on which he laid.

Hear his story. Look at his picture. An image and tale that is tragically reflective of so many many children here. Don’t you want to take him home with you, too?