Haiti

It is like looking through a dark woven blanket to bright light above. The night sky surrounds us, envelopes us as we gaze at the stars and planets. Fires flicker on hillsides around. Dozens of shootings stars streak through our vision. What wishes to make?

Morning comes early; the roosters are the only ones who arrive on time in Haiti. Bright sun heats up our concrete room, the light is blinding. Bread, peanut butter, and pineapple prepare and strengthen us for the final clinic day. Our truck, the beloved White Whale, bumps and winds its way to Dandann.

On my own and many patients to see, my excitement and nervousness brings energy for the day. The patients that have become routine to us in five days file in – cases of acid reflux, headaches, anemia, joint aches, hypertension, dental problems, vision impairments, malnutrition, vitamin deficiencies, dehydration, worms, scabies, and earwax impaction seem to be the major ones. My confidence increases as does my speed.

One man hobbles in using sticks as canes. He thinks that he is 69 years old, his eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, and bones poking through thin, outworn clothes. Asking what brought him to the clinic, he tells me, through my translator Louis, that he has pains in his stomach and all over his body. Haitians are a proud people, surviving through community and hard work so what he says next is difficult to hear. He openly admits that he knows these pains are from hunger. He eats only when people can bring him something, because of his limited mobility. He is unable to work, to support himself in any way. He has no family, his parents died many years ago and he never had children. His neighbors try to help, but they too struggle. He is not alone in his experience, but many do not share their stories. The pain on his face is apparent, I fight back tears. On physical exam, his belly protrudes, each of his ribs and spinous processes hard, sharp against my hands. Our ability to help is limited. We invite him to stay for lunch, share crackers and pretzels with him in the meantime. Tylenol and Tums are the best we have to send him home with. Louis is not only my translator, but a community leader and vows to look after this man.

The day is not done. I see dozens more patients before a father brings his children to my station; my penultimate patient. He is dressed in polka-dot pants and a wide brim straw hat with a ribbon tied around it. He is 32, his children are 8, 5, 3, and 13 months (and one more at home). Johnna, a missionary familiar with his family, explains to me his story. His wife died several months ago from an apparent ear infection, leaving him with the children. He has no money or source of income. The 13 month old has a cough and fever and the 3 year old something entirely different. He says there is something on her back, so we examine her by lifting up the large t-shirt that is her only clothes. A bony mass protrudes out, Dr. Buchta thinks it might be some sort of rib malformation, but cannot know for sure unless an x-ray can be taken. We tell the young father that he must take her to St. Boniface Hospital in Fond des Blanc so that she can be examined with better equipment. He nods understandingly and explains that the hospital is where his wife died and knows that he must take his daughter there, but has not been able to summon the courage to see it again. Again, I am overwhelmed with emotion as the struggles of my patients become clear. They are not simply medical, nor are they economic. The depth of hurt in this country is great. Each family, each person has a story. We are but a small piece of their lives, trying to make a positive change.

For this man and his family, we equip them with all of our vitamins that we have left, toothbrushes and toothpaste, antibiotics, stickers, and encouragement to have his daughter seen at St. Boniface.

At the end of the day, I am emotionally and physically drained. The White Whale brings us back to the orphanage, stopping to see a homebound patient on the way and pick flowers from the flamboyant tree. The children greet us with hugs and smiles. I relish in those times when I can see the joy through their eyes, see Christ through the light so apparent at the Mission. Dinner is a feast of rice, bean sauce, and chicken. We take for granted the provision of clean, safe water and gulp it down.

The sun sets in the hills and mountains that surround us. We debate on whether that planet is Mars or Jupiter, or maybe Venus. Darkness falls, twinkling stars replace the sun. Heat lightning strikes in the distance. It becomes quiet. A falling star blazes through the sky.

What wishes to make?