A Week in Haiti

I just got home from a week volunteering in Haiti at Bernard Mevs hospital in Port au Prince. Enough colleagues of mine had gone before me that I had an idea of what I was getting in to, and we've all seen the pictures of the tent cities and piles of rubble, so even that was no surprise. I knew it wouldn't be pretty or easy. But I'd wanted to go since January, and now was finally my opportunity.

There was no shortage of losses, both young and old. Even that, I was prepared for. It's not the United States where we feel compelled to do everything in our power to save every person from death, in Haiti you have to be far more realistic because resources are so incredibly limited.

So I was pretty surprised when my tears finally came, and they only came once while I was there. I was walking to my 4th of 7 12-hour night shifts in a row, when a woman appeared to have a seizure and hit the concrete outside the emergency department hard. I checked her breathing, I checked her pulses, I checked her pupils: all fine. She just wouldn't respond to me. And out of nowhere, she started sobbing and screaming and shaking on the ground. It wasn't until a security guard came to me and said that her mother was inside the emergency room. She'd had a heart attack and was very close to death. By this point we had an audience and people were trying to put her on a stretcher and put a c-spine collar on her and check vitals signs... all these steps and motions we just automatically go through because we're trained to. We got her sitting up and cleared the crowd, and after some convincing, responders backed off the need for an exam, and brought her some water. In my rusty french, I offered to bring her inside to be with her mother, but she didn't stay at the bedside long, and outside I sat with her and couldn't help but put my arms around her. That's when they came, a flood of tears so unexpected I almost started laughing. Because I saw many lost and many suffer that week, and all I could do was support these families and parents, but for once, I really knew how this woman felt. It didn't require my stethoscope or critical thinking or medication, but it may have been my finest nursing moment while I was there.

The older I get, and the more challenges I face, the more astounded I am with how poorly some people handle adversity. They cop out, they run away, they disappoint, they make excuses, they point fingers, and blame everyone else except themselves. These people, from what I saw, are made of the most tough stuff a person can be made of. Mothers would lay down sheets on the hard ceramic floor of our pediatric ward and share with the mother next to them, stranger or not, while their children lay on cots. They shared food, stories, and clothes. They sang and cried together. And it reinforced everything I took away from losing my own mother: life isn't about the stuff we acquire, or the paycheck we make, the or the clothes we wear, because that can all disappear in the matter of minutes. It's about what we have inside that makes us bounce back.

It was such an honor to be part of their world for a week, and no doubt I gained more from the experience than I offered. But I, with the help of the night staff, did do one hell of a job cleaning and reorganized the unit. So that's a bonus.

Here are some pictures from my trip. To learn more about the organization I traveled with, check out Project Medishare.

4 hours old, 37 weeks gestation 1.96 kgs

 This little girl was hospitalized for dehydration, but her 10 year old brother never left her side, so he slept under her crib, and she inevitably always ended up under there with him.

Miss Sephora also preferred the floor with her mom. 

 Baby Girl Charles and Macinlove.

 Miss Christina and her amazing mother.

 My little Sarah gave me a run for my money during what will probably be one of the longest shifts I've ever worked, but who was acting like a cranky little 2 year-old in no time.

Mr. Macinlove's very first bottle.