Haiti - Day 3

Today we were up bright and early at the Hospital D’Universite Des Etas de Haiti, ready to take on more than we’re equipped to handle. I have to admit that I’m already feeling a bit exhausted, just after two days, which is unfortunate because I’ll be doing this eleven times more. Certainly the heat has sucked the life out of me, as I’m much more alive and functioning in an environment much like Lambeau Field in the middle of December. And, it’s the emotional exhaustion, already, of seeing one sick patient after the next, dying from something that is completely preventable, and would be considered completely appalling if someone in the US received this level of care. It’s hard to come to terms with this.

I had some revelations today…first, I am able to use my French a lot down here, which is great. What’s not so great is that everyone stares back at me with a blank expression. Apparently I have completely lost my French finesse and no one can understand a word of what I’m saying. That’s also partially because people speak a French Creole, but nonethess, I need an interpreter. Second – Haiti is a violent, hostile place. We see one gun shot wound and stabbing and assault after the next…even in broad daylight, in the middle of the day. It’s no wonder that we are forbidden to travel out of the confines of this hospital or the hotel, and we’re literally shuttled back and forth with guards and security. We have all heard that Haiti is not a safe place, but certainly after January 12, this has indeed become the case, as most people have nothing and want everything from their neighbor.

I arrived to work to find the lady who, just 16 hours earlier I had drained the fluid off of her lung, now laid dead in a hallway, with her grieving family by her side. She died in the “Tb Hallway” where seriously ill and seriously contagious patients are seriously neglected. She died overnight, and apparently just couldn’t breathe on her own anymore. But she died from what I consider to be a completely preventable death. Back home, she would have been in an ICU, with a million drips and nurses and alarms and medications, and certainly on a breathing machine. But in Haiti, this kind of death happens a thousand times over, and is considered to be “acceptable”. Here, we have no nurses, no breathing machines, no alarms, and very few medications. It is very hard to accept something like this.

The problems in this country are innumerable. It was corrupt even before this happened. But it’s hard to know how and if it will ever rebuild. There is so much human suffering here that it is difficult to witness, and for the majority of the time, remain helpless. The reality of not being able to “fix” any of these problems is settling in a bit, and while that is disheartening, I also have to remind myself that if thousands of people continue to just give a little bit at a time and contribute to the greater good, then there is possibly some hope for Haiti. Someday…

Time for bed and vivid Malarone dreams...