It was yet another hot, frustrating, exhausting day in Haiti...
There were many many deaths today, including that of a young 7 year old boy (kids deaths are really awful). Many deaths more or less anticipated, and others were sudden and unexpected. This beautiful young boy with soft brown skin and long eyelashes was carried in by his mother, who said that he had been ill for about a week; sick with a fever, not playing much, kind of lethargic, etc. When he came to us, he was barely responsive and had very labored respirations. The boy had many abnormal clinical features; he was a very thin and underdeveloped 7 year old. He had a very large liver that we could palpate. He had enlarged lymph nodes in his neck and in his arm pits. He had sores on the roof of his mouth. Simply put - he looked toxic. We got an IV in him and gave him some fluids and antibiotics, because everyone here has something infectious that responds to an antibiotic. He did well for a while, but a few hours later he began to drop his oxygen saturation. He suddenly stopped breathing and went into cardiac arrest. We tried to resuscitate him for 30 minutes or so, but because of all of his swollen lymph nodes, we could not intubate him. He died right in front of us with his wailing mom and did right by our side.
He probably died of HIV. Undiagnosed and untreated HIV. He was only 7.
We see so many newly diagnosed HIV cases. It presents in such occult, insidious ways that it require us to put many pieces of the puzzle together. Many are adults, but some are kids too. Yesterday a young, 16 year old girl came in through triage complaining of an earache and throat pain. She looked awfully anorexic, pale, and toxic. I took one look in her mouth and saw a white furry coat of oral thrush. There is no reason why a 16 year old girl should have thrush in her mouth...only if she is immune suppressed. We took a blood sample, and she came back positive for HIV. Nearly half of our current patient load are HIV positive. When untreated, HIV is rampant, scary, and deadly. The way that people die here from HIV doesn't happen nearly as often in a developed society, as back home, we have the proper screening tools, medications, technology, and resources to fight it. But not in Haiti.
On the ride home, while staring out the window at the hundreds and hundreds of tents homes fashioned atop garbage, rubble, and human excrement, I reflected on the day and thought to myself how people here lead such difficult, difficult lives. Their lives are a constant struggle for a myriad of reasons. And even in death, they struggle. Their death, from what I have seen in the past 6 days, is a slow, painful battle. They can't even die in peace. For the one moment in their life when they leave this earth to enter a new place, can't they just go in peace?
Haiti
Wall graffiti we drove past every day: The image is of the country of Haiti crying
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Haiti - Day 6
I have decided to focus on mostly positive things tonight, since I feel like each of my previous posts have been riddled with depressing, heavy stuff. I think I truthfully believed for the first time today that we're actually doing some good here, and even if we save one life and lose 10, that's still one precious life saved. There is good in that.
To start off the day, I lived out a real life version of 'Home Alone', although Home Alone in Port Au Prince is a tad more petrifying than Home Alone in a Mansion in Winnetka Illinois. Our morning routine is that we all gather to eat breakfast of chewy cornflakes at 6:30am, and then head on the bus at 6:50 to arrive at the Hospital at 7:00. After I finished my meal, i quickly ran upstairs to use the bathroom (I would have to be desperate to use the bathroom at the hospital), and came down just 5 minutes later to discover that the bus left without me. I'm not sure what was more disappointing - realizing that it was gone, or realizing that no one seemed to notice that I was missing. "Surely they'll get down the street and everyone will realize that they forgot me", I reassured myself. 30 minutes later, there I stood, like a dummy, in the same place where I realized that I had been ditched. Just me, and the 3 security guards with their combat boots and machine guns slinged across their chests. I asked them if I could take their picture, hoping to lighten the situation a bit and make them smile.
They didn't smile.
I decided at that point that I should leave to call David, the logistics director of IMC to tell him that my colon couldn't wait this morning, and apparently the bus couldn't either. I also contemplated throwing on my swimsuit and laying out by the pool, but I resisted the temptation. I called David, who arranged to pick me up, and one hour later, I was there. No harm done.
There was the usual barrage of sadness and frustration today, but there were some good things and pleasant surprises as well. My favorite patient with the cervical fracture was able to get transferred from our Hospital to the Medishare hospital. Medishare is completely created and staffed by health care workers from Miami FL who set it up near Haitian Airport. They have a traveling Neurosurgeon there this week, who is willing to try and take on the surgery for this patient. I cried when I heard the news, and cried when he left. So did he. We (I can't take credit, it was our coordinator) helped facilitate this transfer and gave him the only hope and chance that he deserves.
This is a testament to the fact that there are good people in this world. Good people who believe in helping others and who can provide hope in situations that seem bleak and hopeless.
Lunch time came. I lucked out and had peanut butter in the MRE packet that was given to me. MRE stands for 'Meals Ready to Eat' and are used to feed soldiers in the army. We eat MREs for lunch every day. My MRE today was Clam Chowder and Vegetable Lasagna, which are both prepared in a mushy consistency, eaten at room temperature right out of the pouch. I regurgitate just thinking about it, but when it comes around to one or two in the afternoon and I'm desperately hungry, I would hurt someone if they tried to take my Clam Chowder. I covet it as if I haven't eaten in weeks (it kind of feels like that, actually). But today, my pack had peanut butter, which was truly the best luck of all. I wouldn't even share it, that's how bad I wanted it.
Following a long and exhausting day, we hopped back on the bus, where all I can do is stare out the window,and rock back and forth a bit as if I have suffered a traumatic brain injury. Following a refreshing shower, a wonderful phone call from Chris, and a Sunday night buffet dinner by the pool with a live Haitian band playing joyful music, life seemed so much better and I was able to use my words again. Having a cold beer with my fellow co workers and recounting stories of the day, while sharing a laugh or two, is entirely therapeutic.
And - the crowned jewel of the day was being able to say a quick hello to my parents and a Happy Father's Day to my Dad. Perfect.
Tonight I'm going to sleep with a smile.
To start off the day, I lived out a real life version of 'Home Alone', although Home Alone in Port Au Prince is a tad more petrifying than Home Alone in a Mansion in Winnetka Illinois. Our morning routine is that we all gather to eat breakfast of chewy cornflakes at 6:30am, and then head on the bus at 6:50 to arrive at the Hospital at 7:00. After I finished my meal, i quickly ran upstairs to use the bathroom (I would have to be desperate to use the bathroom at the hospital), and came down just 5 minutes later to discover that the bus left without me. I'm not sure what was more disappointing - realizing that it was gone, or realizing that no one seemed to notice that I was missing. "Surely they'll get down the street and everyone will realize that they forgot me", I reassured myself. 30 minutes later, there I stood, like a dummy, in the same place where I realized that I had been ditched. Just me, and the 3 security guards with their combat boots and machine guns slinged across their chests. I asked them if I could take their picture, hoping to lighten the situation a bit and make them smile.
They didn't smile.
I decided at that point that I should leave to call David, the logistics director of IMC to tell him that my colon couldn't wait this morning, and apparently the bus couldn't either. I also contemplated throwing on my swimsuit and laying out by the pool, but I resisted the temptation. I called David, who arranged to pick me up, and one hour later, I was there. No harm done.
There was the usual barrage of sadness and frustration today, but there were some good things and pleasant surprises as well. My favorite patient with the cervical fracture was able to get transferred from our Hospital to the Medishare hospital. Medishare is completely created and staffed by health care workers from Miami FL who set it up near Haitian Airport. They have a traveling Neurosurgeon there this week, who is willing to try and take on the surgery for this patient. I cried when I heard the news, and cried when he left. So did he. We (I can't take credit, it was our coordinator) helped facilitate this transfer and gave him the only hope and chance that he deserves.
This is a testament to the fact that there are good people in this world. Good people who believe in helping others and who can provide hope in situations that seem bleak and hopeless.
Lunch time came. I lucked out and had peanut butter in the MRE packet that was given to me. MRE stands for 'Meals Ready to Eat' and are used to feed soldiers in the army. We eat MREs for lunch every day. My MRE today was Clam Chowder and Vegetable Lasagna, which are both prepared in a mushy consistency, eaten at room temperature right out of the pouch. I regurgitate just thinking about it, but when it comes around to one or two in the afternoon and I'm desperately hungry, I would hurt someone if they tried to take my Clam Chowder. I covet it as if I haven't eaten in weeks (it kind of feels like that, actually). But today, my pack had peanut butter, which was truly the best luck of all. I wouldn't even share it, that's how bad I wanted it.
Following a long and exhausting day, we hopped back on the bus, where all I can do is stare out the window,and rock back and forth a bit as if I have suffered a traumatic brain injury. Following a refreshing shower, a wonderful phone call from Chris, and a Sunday night buffet dinner by the pool with a live Haitian band playing joyful music, life seemed so much better and I was able to use my words again. Having a cold beer with my fellow co workers and recounting stories of the day, while sharing a laugh or two, is entirely therapeutic.
And - the crowned jewel of the day was being able to say a quick hello to my parents and a Happy Father's Day to my Dad. Perfect.
Tonight I'm going to sleep with a smile.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Haiti - Day 5
I’m happy to report that it was a much better day today for many reasons. I slept well, paced myself and made an effort to drink more water, and I believe I have come to terms a bit more with what is the reality here, and what we are, and are not, capable of. This doesn’t necessarily make it any easier, but it makes it less traumatic for me.
It was another day of really sick patients. Some have traditional diseases like we have in the US, such as Congestive Heart Failure, Pneumonia, Kidney Infections, Acute Surgical issues (gallbladders, appendicitis, etc….), but when these patients finally come to the hospital, their diseases are ten times worse. Again – there is no concept of primary care here, and no diseases are prevented or treated. And, we see some pretty uncommon and rare diseases that we don’t often see in the US…such as Typhoid, Dengue Fever, Dysentery, Tb, and lots of HIV. Many traumatic injuries are the result of violence and assaults and traffic injuries, as there are no traffic lights or rules.
We didn’t get breakfast today – not sure of the logistics behind that - but I successfully managed to prevent myself from panicking. We headed to the hospital, and I came back to some patients that I had said good-bye to when we left just last night. There is one patient that I have really taken a liking to and whose story is tragic. Early yesterday morning, this young businessman was outside with his family, and he was hit in the back of the neck by a piece of heavy, falling debris. The force was so great that it not only fractured his cervical vertebrae, but severed his spinal cord. He was immediately paralyzed in all four of his extremities and laid motionless, but still with a pulse and the ability to breathe, and a perfectly functioning brain. He was carried in by family, and after an xray (thankfully it was working yesterday), we all viewed his horrific image. What this kid undoubtedly needs is surgery to fuse his spine to prevent further spinal cord damage. But that kind of surgeon and that kind of surgery and the rehabilitation to support it just doesn’t exist here. So – here he lies, flat on his back in the ER, with a tube in his bladder and a diaper on because he can not control his bowel or bladder, and is essentially waiting to die. If we sit him up, he will damage his unstable spinal cord and could die instantly. Maybe that would be better than the slow, painful death he will face, laying flat on his back in the corner of a dark, putrid ER with a fever of 105.0. And every time I check on him and ask him if he needs something, he says, “no, merci, ca va bien” (no thank you, I’m fine) and asks how I am. Sometimes I just have to walk away because I don’t want him to see my tears.
At some point in the early morning, a frightened young woman came up from behind me and tapped me on the shoulder, and handed to me a swaddled bundle of bloody blankets. I could sense that something was wrapped inside. As I peeled back the layers, I discovered a very tiny tiny baby inside. He wasn’t crying, but I could see his small lungs retracting, very rapidly. He was born this morning at 27 weeks – an age that is barely older than the age where babies are considered viable. Mom was fine, but she was confused and scared, so she came to the ER. We checked her out, and her baby, and miraculously they were doing just fine. Can you imagine a woman in the US walking for miles and miles, just a few hours post op and completely alone, to find help for her baby?
Around lunchtime I sutured the arm of a 10 year old kid whose mother slashed him with a knife as a form of punishment. I saw a man who’s right testicle was the size of a football, as he has not had anyone to look at his large inguinal hernia in over 3 years. We admitted dozens of other sick sick patients…most stayed, some died. I have never put anyone in a body bag before. Until this week...
How did Haiti become so neglected? It's a long, complicated history, with a long, complicated list of problems. When will Haiti ever rebuild?...
Time for bed.
Love,
Gretchen
It was another day of really sick patients. Some have traditional diseases like we have in the US, such as Congestive Heart Failure, Pneumonia, Kidney Infections, Acute Surgical issues (gallbladders, appendicitis, etc….), but when these patients finally come to the hospital, their diseases are ten times worse. Again – there is no concept of primary care here, and no diseases are prevented or treated. And, we see some pretty uncommon and rare diseases that we don’t often see in the US…such as Typhoid, Dengue Fever, Dysentery, Tb, and lots of HIV. Many traumatic injuries are the result of violence and assaults and traffic injuries, as there are no traffic lights or rules.
We didn’t get breakfast today – not sure of the logistics behind that - but I successfully managed to prevent myself from panicking. We headed to the hospital, and I came back to some patients that I had said good-bye to when we left just last night. There is one patient that I have really taken a liking to and whose story is tragic. Early yesterday morning, this young businessman was outside with his family, and he was hit in the back of the neck by a piece of heavy, falling debris. The force was so great that it not only fractured his cervical vertebrae, but severed his spinal cord. He was immediately paralyzed in all four of his extremities and laid motionless, but still with a pulse and the ability to breathe, and a perfectly functioning brain. He was carried in by family, and after an xray (thankfully it was working yesterday), we all viewed his horrific image. What this kid undoubtedly needs is surgery to fuse his spine to prevent further spinal cord damage. But that kind of surgeon and that kind of surgery and the rehabilitation to support it just doesn’t exist here. So – here he lies, flat on his back in the ER, with a tube in his bladder and a diaper on because he can not control his bowel or bladder, and is essentially waiting to die. If we sit him up, he will damage his unstable spinal cord and could die instantly. Maybe that would be better than the slow, painful death he will face, laying flat on his back in the corner of a dark, putrid ER with a fever of 105.0. And every time I check on him and ask him if he needs something, he says, “no, merci, ca va bien” (no thank you, I’m fine) and asks how I am. Sometimes I just have to walk away because I don’t want him to see my tears.
At some point in the early morning, a frightened young woman came up from behind me and tapped me on the shoulder, and handed to me a swaddled bundle of bloody blankets. I could sense that something was wrapped inside. As I peeled back the layers, I discovered a very tiny tiny baby inside. He wasn’t crying, but I could see his small lungs retracting, very rapidly. He was born this morning at 27 weeks – an age that is barely older than the age where babies are considered viable. Mom was fine, but she was confused and scared, so she came to the ER. We checked her out, and her baby, and miraculously they were doing just fine. Can you imagine a woman in the US walking for miles and miles, just a few hours post op and completely alone, to find help for her baby?
Around lunchtime I sutured the arm of a 10 year old kid whose mother slashed him with a knife as a form of punishment. I saw a man who’s right testicle was the size of a football, as he has not had anyone to look at his large inguinal hernia in over 3 years. We admitted dozens of other sick sick patients…most stayed, some died. I have never put anyone in a body bag before. Until this week...
How did Haiti become so neglected? It's a long, complicated history, with a long, complicated list of problems. When will Haiti ever rebuild?...
Time for bed.
Love,
Gretchen
Friday, June 18, 2010
Day 4 – Haiti
Today was completely and utterly overwhelming. Not only did I not stop to use the bathroom or eat all day long, but each new patient was sicker than the next one, and we really had no answer to anyone’s problems. In short, it was just a shitty day.
We arrived to the hospital to discover that all of our fans were stolen overnight. The hospital is staffed by MDs from Boston Hospitals overnight, but of course they’re not in every room at all times. Someone walked out with the 4 fans that keeps us alive during the day. We realized from the moment we arrived that the day was going to be difficult. And it was. Many deaths, many unsolvable problems.
It was just heavy and sad from beginning to end. And – I’m ready for bed early, so this will be a short blog. I hope to sleep well and write more tomorrow.
Love
Gretchen
We arrived to the hospital to discover that all of our fans were stolen overnight. The hospital is staffed by MDs from Boston Hospitals overnight, but of course they’re not in every room at all times. Someone walked out with the 4 fans that keeps us alive during the day. We realized from the moment we arrived that the day was going to be difficult. And it was. Many deaths, many unsolvable problems.
It was just heavy and sad from beginning to end. And – I’m ready for bed early, so this will be a short blog. I hope to sleep well and write more tomorrow.
Love
Gretchen
Thursday, June 17, 2010
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...
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...
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Day One and Two – Haiti
Today, Wednesday, was my first full day in Haiti, as I arrived yesterday around 1:00 in the afternoon. As I gathered my luggage and passed through customs, I was greeted by the staff of International Medical Corps, the Non-Government Organization that has sent me here, as they escorted me to the van to whisk me away to the Hotel. Unbeknown to me, I was on the plane with several other IMC volunteers, including 3 women from Brooklyn (An MD, NP and RN) who were extremely friendly, and we became quick friends with each other. It was nice to have a few others to share this initial “where the hell am I” experience with.
En Route to our destination, we passed through the streets of downtown Port-Au-Prince and saw first hand aftermath of the January 12th destruction. It is as if the earthquake happened last week. Collapsed buildings, demolished schools and stores, and piles upon piles of rubble is strewn everywhere. We passed by and miles of tarps and metal slabs, called ”tent cities”, that people have fashioned to now call their homes. It’s really jaw dropping…not only to see this unimaginable devastation, but to realize that there is still much destruction as there was 5 months ago. And - there are no clean up efforts in site
We arrived to the Park Plaza Hotel, which is right in the heart of the destruction zone, and has been essentially taken over by expats that have converged on Haiti to volunteer. It is an embarrassingly nice place to stay, and has been virtually unaffected by the January 12th earthquake. What I mean by embarrassing is that it is a little slice of paradise enclosed in a concrete wall, that is surrounded by miles and miles of poverty, tent cities, and destruction. I feel a bit guilty for being put up here, but i appreciate its beauty at the same time. It's probably akin to a 3-star hotel in the states. After we got relatively settled in our rooms, we headed to the hotel pool for a dip in the 90 degree water, that was just slightly cooler than the 100 degree temperature in the air.
I’m in Haiti.
Following an afternoon nap and IMC meeting at 6:00pm, I socialized a bit with my new fellow volunteers, had a delicious Haitian meal, spent a long and unsuccessful attempt at trying to connect to the internet and Skype with Chris, and went to bed exhausted, and excited…
I awoke my first morning in Haiti feeling refreshed and well rested. I skipped the shower, as I knew I was in for a long, hot, and sweaty day. Man alive, was it ever.
I was assigned to work in the ER, to see and treat patients with the other MD. Between the 2 of us, we saw and triaged 60 patients, which I hear is considered to be a slow day. We were booked solid from 7am until we closed the doors at 4. The working conditions are truly abysmal. The stench is horrific. The supplies and resources are frighteningly limited. And the patients are among some of the sickest that I have ever seen. But, they are also some of the most warm, friendly, and grateful patients I have ever seen as well. I think I lost about 10 pounds of sweat, as it reaches over 100 degrees in the hospital. I have yet to pee today…
We are seeing less and less of the injuries from the earthquake, and are now seeing more chronic diseases, and the aftermath of something more devastating than the earthquake itself; a lack of any sort health care system in Haiti. Primary care and preventive medicine are essentially nonexistent, and this government was corrupt even before the earthquake struck. There are very few Haitian nurses in this hospital, as the government stopped paying them last October. It scares me to think that we, the organization running this hospital, will be gone in 12 days, but, it is also amazing to think of the good we have done while we have been here, and I already feel that sentiment from the 10 hours I spent there.
We saw and treated patients straight until 5pm. I personally performed more procedures in one day of work than I have from several years of work back home. I sutured about 10 lacerations, some more complex than others and all of which should have been performed by someone who really knew what they were doing, and performed 3 thoracentesis procedures (draining fluid off of the lungs through a large needle). The great thing about this procedure is that the before and after is quite dramatic and satisfying (patient barely able to breathe, and then following the tap, resting and breathing comfortably). Just about half of the patients we see have TB, and I’m almost certain that I’ll pick it up while I’m here. There is only so much one can do to protect themselves…
All in all, it was an overwhelming day... Mentally and physically. We have no days off, as we work through the weekend, so I know that I have to put my head down and just plow through. I have to say that I let go of a little bit of that guilt, as we came back to a cool air conditioned hotel room, with a swimming pool and a fully stocked bar that serves icy cold beers. It felt good after a long day, and I think I'll appreciate these amenities more and more. There is really no other option than to work long and hard days, and that’s exactly what I came here to do.
More stories and pictures (hopefully) to follow.
I am safe, happy, and will go to bed feeling right about being here.
Love and miss you all.
G
En Route to our destination, we passed through the streets of downtown Port-Au-Prince and saw first hand aftermath of the January 12th destruction. It is as if the earthquake happened last week. Collapsed buildings, demolished schools and stores, and piles upon piles of rubble is strewn everywhere. We passed by and miles of tarps and metal slabs, called ”tent cities”, that people have fashioned to now call their homes. It’s really jaw dropping…not only to see this unimaginable devastation, but to realize that there is still much destruction as there was 5 months ago. And - there are no clean up efforts in site
We arrived to the Park Plaza Hotel, which is right in the heart of the destruction zone, and has been essentially taken over by expats that have converged on Haiti to volunteer. It is an embarrassingly nice place to stay, and has been virtually unaffected by the January 12th earthquake. What I mean by embarrassing is that it is a little slice of paradise enclosed in a concrete wall, that is surrounded by miles and miles of poverty, tent cities, and destruction. I feel a bit guilty for being put up here, but i appreciate its beauty at the same time. It's probably akin to a 3-star hotel in the states. After we got relatively settled in our rooms, we headed to the hotel pool for a dip in the 90 degree water, that was just slightly cooler than the 100 degree temperature in the air.
I’m in Haiti.
Following an afternoon nap and IMC meeting at 6:00pm, I socialized a bit with my new fellow volunteers, had a delicious Haitian meal, spent a long and unsuccessful attempt at trying to connect to the internet and Skype with Chris, and went to bed exhausted, and excited…
I awoke my first morning in Haiti feeling refreshed and well rested. I skipped the shower, as I knew I was in for a long, hot, and sweaty day. Man alive, was it ever.
I was assigned to work in the ER, to see and treat patients with the other MD. Between the 2 of us, we saw and triaged 60 patients, which I hear is considered to be a slow day. We were booked solid from 7am until we closed the doors at 4. The working conditions are truly abysmal. The stench is horrific. The supplies and resources are frighteningly limited. And the patients are among some of the sickest that I have ever seen. But, they are also some of the most warm, friendly, and grateful patients I have ever seen as well. I think I lost about 10 pounds of sweat, as it reaches over 100 degrees in the hospital. I have yet to pee today…
We are seeing less and less of the injuries from the earthquake, and are now seeing more chronic diseases, and the aftermath of something more devastating than the earthquake itself; a lack of any sort health care system in Haiti. Primary care and preventive medicine are essentially nonexistent, and this government was corrupt even before the earthquake struck. There are very few Haitian nurses in this hospital, as the government stopped paying them last October. It scares me to think that we, the organization running this hospital, will be gone in 12 days, but, it is also amazing to think of the good we have done while we have been here, and I already feel that sentiment from the 10 hours I spent there.
We saw and treated patients straight until 5pm. I personally performed more procedures in one day of work than I have from several years of work back home. I sutured about 10 lacerations, some more complex than others and all of which should have been performed by someone who really knew what they were doing, and performed 3 thoracentesis procedures (draining fluid off of the lungs through a large needle). The great thing about this procedure is that the before and after is quite dramatic and satisfying (patient barely able to breathe, and then following the tap, resting and breathing comfortably). Just about half of the patients we see have TB, and I’m almost certain that I’ll pick it up while I’m here. There is only so much one can do to protect themselves…
All in all, it was an overwhelming day... Mentally and physically. We have no days off, as we work through the weekend, so I know that I have to put my head down and just plow through. I have to say that I let go of a little bit of that guilt, as we came back to a cool air conditioned hotel room, with a swimming pool and a fully stocked bar that serves icy cold beers. It felt good after a long day, and I think I'll appreciate these amenities more and more. There is really no other option than to work long and hard days, and that’s exactly what I came here to do.
More stories and pictures (hopefully) to follow.
I am safe, happy, and will go to bed feeling right about being here.
Love and miss you all.
G
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