Haiti - Day 12

We are officially done with our work in the Emergency Department, and are in the ICU only. It seems as though our lives have come to a screeching halt.

For the past 12 days for me, and 5 months for IMC, we have been tirelessly seeing anyone and everyone who has come to the HUEH Hospital. In fact, we have seen and treated 90,000 patients since January 13th. We have been in over our heads and besieged by the breadth and depth of illness here. And yesterday, we stopped this tireless effort in the ER, and passed the torch to the Haitians.

It is completely depressing to look over at the overwhelmed ER. They have only one physician and one RN, which is nowhere near enough. Patients are laying on the ground, as all of the beds have been filled. IV lines hang dry. People are moaning in pain. Foley bags are filled to the brim with urine. Full bedpans with flies lie everywhere. It looks as though the patients are receiving little to no care, and many of them will ultimately die there.

This is all happening while we are sitting around in the adjacent ICU. There are 5 of us for 6 patients. But our hands are tied. We have been told to not reach over to help them, as they need to start to take on what we have started. But to compare what we can provide, with our educational backgrounds, resources, and sheer manpower, isn't a fair comparison. However, we realize that we can not stay here forever, and at some point, we must leave.

That time is now. And it's harder than ever.

Being that we have only 6 patients, and plenty of hands, I walked over to the nearby re-feeding tent, where approximately 10 cribs line the perimeter of a hot, fan less tent. In each crib you'll see a cherubic Hatian baby in one various stage of the refeeding process. For a myriad of reasons, these children have been identified as malnourished, and are bought here to go through an intense feeding and weight gaining process. Many, towards the end of the cycle, look plump, happy, and healthy with a full head of hair and a robust smile. Others are frail and skeletal, barely able to hold their heads up. Most of the babies are orphans, as their parents either just left them at the doorstep and abandoned them, or couldn't care for them, or died in the quake, and a few are there with their mothers.

At first glance, my eyes welled with tears at the image of emaciated children with big heads bloated bellies. But after seeing the beautiful, plump outcome, and to see all of the good that they are doing to target these beautiful kids, I became happy. It was an hour of bliss, and exactly what I needed. It was a reminder that although there is a lot of misery here, there is a lot of good happening as well.

PS - Not sure what happened to my little girl from yesterday, as she went to the Pediatric Ward. We can only hope from here...