Coming home from Haiti I realized how incredibly exhausted I was. While there and working, I just don't realize how emotionally and physically draining the work is. I slept 13 hours my first full night
home. It feels so cold, and unbelievable how much snow there is. I am trying to enjoy it, went for a cross country ski yesterday and finding comfort sitting by the fire. Always it's a strange reality to come home from Haiti. It's good to be here and enjoy certain things like a variety of foods, warm water, bathtub, family, but feel the pull to stay and keep working there where I am so needed. I dream at night of Haiti and for a moment when I wake, am not sure where I am. Each time it feels a little easier to adjust back here because I know I can return. The coming and going has become a reality and not just an idea. There is a lot of comfort in this both for me, and the people I love there. They now have faith that I will keep returning. I am posting some pictures of my time in Haiti both with friends and family, at the cholera camp, the earthquake anniversary services, and with the babies- for anyone interested. My favorite pictures are of my family- Alison, Valentina, Vanelson and Gerry- Edmonde and Vanel's children. They now all know and love and recognize me and visiting them is a great pleasure. They all consider me their family, and vice versa. Hope you enjoy them. Please, keep your eyes and hearts on Haiti, the beautiful, tragic and beloved island that I have come to love so much. I hope there will be many years of service and joy working there ahead for me. As always, thank you all for your love and support. -Alison This afternoon as I was coming back from realizing I couldn't get to PID and one of my cholera patients was probably going to die, I heard this amazing music coming from the little chapel. I was feeling especially low, and walked over and stood in the doorway. A Haitian man was playing the most beautiful soulful mournful powerful trumpet music I had ever heard, on and on, his eyes closed, alone in the chapel. As he continued, I saw that there were several other musicians on the far side of the chapel and they joined him- another trumpet, some drums- all so lovely, so spiritual, rich and echoing. I silently wept there in the doorway, it touched my heart so deeply. There are times in Haiti when one can just weep at the sound of a trumpet. I can't explain this way that my heart flies open. There is so much profound sadness here, so much that is real, that is meaningful, that touches my heart. I realized there was a casket in the center of the chapel and when they finished, I clapped and laughed and cheered them on. They told me they were practising for the funeral of a child who died in surgery yesterday. Kepsy had told me about it, and how upset they all were that they had lost him. The song was How Great Thou Art, an incredibly well loved song in Haiti that I have been working on learning in Creole. I realized that if my day had gone as planned I never would have come across this lovely experience. A seemingly bad thing allows something else so sweet and beautiful. This is the way it is in Haiti.
I finished my last shift in the cholera camp. I hope there is not another time I will be needed there. I hope it will be over by the next time I come. My time working there is probably the hardest job I've ever done. Many of my shifts were alone, caring for way too many patients, 40-50 people, running, flustered, trying to be kind and loving in the face of way too much to do and not enough hands to do it all.
Today was no exception and Alesia, the current Italian doctor in the adult camp, and I realized at the end of the day that an elderly woman had fallen through the cracks. Throughout the day I checked on her and she had consistent diarrhea, was lethargic, and I kept her IV running, cleaned her up and changed her. She responded each time and I carried on, similar to the way it has to be with everyone. As I have said before, I barely have time to really assess anyone, unless they are obviously dehydrated, cold, in shock or have a high fever. Mostly I focus on the new admissions because they are the most obvious risk- we have to get IV lines in them immediately, they are often cold and clammy to the touch, sometimes nearly unconscious and barely responsive. Sometimes they need 2 IV lines and they have to be monitored while they receive 5 or 6 bags really fast. So I felt really bad when after working 9 hours all by myself, she asks me why I didn't tell her this woman was so bad, why didn't I get her to come see her? I said- you were here. too. I have been working my butt off. It is too much responsibility. Then I felt so sorry, as if I hadn't done good nursing care, as if it was my fault. I hope so much she will not die. It is really a matter of survival here now, so dificult to do much more in these conditions. And to make matters worse, I had planned to go to PID and to see the little boy I sponsor and meet with Gale and because we had to transfer this woman, I couldn't go and they were all there waiting for me. Sigh....not the best last day for me. I know that I have worked really really hard here, but it is hard to let people down. I make jokes that I am here to cure the cholera and with a few more days I am sure i can do it. And I'm not even Catholic with all this burden of responsibility. I have been thanked for my efforts here many times and as I quietly leave tomorrow, I will know that I have made a difference. Sometimes the expectations I place on myself are just too high, and sometimes the needs here are just too overwhelming. I try to do too much. I have to be grateful for what i have done, and know that I have done my best. I had an absolutely wonderful visit with Alison and her family last night. They are the sweetest family, besides mine. And later I spent time with Kepsy and JJ and some other Haitian friends- eating, drinking, and learning to dance compa. They really know how to have fun, the Haitians, and they are the greatest jokesters. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. Leaving Haiti is bittersweet. Hi Everybody at home:
JJ and I are trying to find a ride to go see Alison and her family. It was another long work day- only so long because I went in at 3 in the morning. I work alone until someone else comes; today a nurse from Holland came around 8. There were 4 admissions as the sun came up between 5 and 6 am, an early start today. You know someone is bad if they are listless and cold. These people need the IV's in the fastest and they are the hardest IV's to start. I couldnt get one in on a man in this condition. I just kept trying and I started to feel panicky; he was not responding, his veins were cold and dry and I kept poking him. Take a big deep breath, try again. Finally I got a line in after maybe the 5th try. It's amazing how quickly people perk up after maybe four bags of Lactated Ringers run in very fast. A 95 year old woman came in today also very emaciated and sick with her 3 grandsons who sat by her bed and held her hand and cleaned her up. It was a sweet sight. It is wonderful to see how so many of the Haitians care for their families, especially to see sons doing this kind of care for their mothers and grandmothers. Can't picture Milo sitting vigil at my bed and changing my sheets and helping me on and off the bucket. He's a good kid, but ???? I went to visit PID last night and seeing Maxim was wonderful. The country at unrest continues with the return of the old violent dictator Duvalier. The people seem confused by his return and many people don't remember how bad he was, just that he is a celebrity of sorts. JJ says he was arrested today and that he will be brought to court. There has been no oficial statement about the election and the country has a lot of tension around all this. We continue on here taking care of people and fighting cholera. One more long shift tomorrow and I prepare to head home soon. It seems in some ways like I've been here so long, but only a couple weeks. Always bittersweet. Lots of love your way. PS- I did get to go to the beach with JJ, a Haitian American friend I've known since my trip here in October. He and his Uncle Petreuil and another friend Jude took me to a beach in the north. It was quiet there, a small strip of sand along a bay near the village where Jude lives. The water was warm and beautiful and we swam for a couple hours and beachcombed and relaxed and forgot any troubles. It is possible to do this here sometimes.
They have a plan to open an orphanage in Port au Prince and are really excited about it and now have me on board to try to help them. Another awesome humanitarian project in Haiti. Hi Everybody, I think its Sunday? It's so easy to lose track of days. I just got off a 12 hour shift in the cholera camp. I woke up at 3:30 and worked for 12 hours. The doctors make the rounds and Father Rick and Conan check in a couple times, but mostly it's just me now that a lot of the volunteers have left. I wonder how I will staff the unit for 24 hour shifts. Maybe I won't sleep for the next 4 days. Ha ha, just kidding.
It is very busy there, mostly just running from room to room, keeping IV fluids running, cleaning people up, taking admissions, sending people home when they recover. The hardest part is when people don't recover from the cholera quickly or develop pneumonia or seem to have a larger underlying problem like tuberculois or typhoid or HIV. I am now an expert IV starter and was actually the only one who could get the IVs into the little crippled children from the group home that is now rampant with cholera. Every day they send more children. They are crooked and contracted and many of them so skinny and bedbound, but very sweet. Lots of patients went home today which was very rewarding. No one has died in several days, also a huge blessing. I lost count but I bet I started and /or restarted 30 IV's today. My feet are swollen and tired. The unit consists of a long corridor of sorts under tarps, on one side open to the adult hospital but one can't get in there from cholera- and the other side lined with the five temporary houses for the sickest adults with cholera. Each house has approximately 10 beds, everything is open to the air and heat and mosquitoes. We were pretty full this morning and for most of the day I worked alone. Talk about unsafe staffing. I run up and down the corridor and I wish I had one of those pedometers to track how many miles I walk in one day. I often forget which house which patient is in and go in and out trying to remeber where I was. There is little time for assessments like vitals or blood sugars or labs. As [is] often [the case] in Haiti I don't have all the supplies I need, or run out and have to wait while someone goes to fetch IV bags or tubing or medicines. The Haitian staff are very helpful and readily do this kind of thing, as well as provide clean linens, new charts, clean floors etc. The Haitians rarely complain that they are lacking or suffering or waiting or afraid to die. Although one tall strapping young man of 21 bawled like a baby all day, afraid that he will die, praying to God, his mother at the bedside singing. I love this, the singing. I tried hard, but could not convince him otherwise. I look forward to seeing him get better over the next couple days and celebrating his life with him. Two evenings ago while I was working, one of the NPH folks, a Frenchman named Alain, came to ask me for help. A man had been hit by a truck while riding his motorcycle and had a terrible head injury. He was bleeding from one ear profusely and needed many sutures on his head and face and body and his eyes were swollen shut. I could palpate the blood pooling under his scalp. I had no idea what to do, so just started cleaning and bandaging and asking Alain to get help. He said there was no doctor about and asked could I do the sutures while we waited to get him a CT scan. I have watched this a number of times, so i figured ok, I can do this. When in Haiti, answer YES. As I prepared to start suturing, Conan came and said we had to transfer him immediately to the Miami Hosptal near the airport where there is a neurologist. So I found myself back in the ambulance mopping up blood and trying to reassure this man as he went in and out of consciousness. He vomited all over me and the ambulance, and by the time we got there after being stuck in traffic and driving a long way on the wrong side of the road, I felt a lot like vomiting myself. Life in Haiti is so crazy and unpredictable and chaotic. Sometimes I am not sure how I, or anyone here, can really tolerate it. We just need to, so we do. It's all about being strong, courageous, a presence of love and calm and strength, and doing the part we are able to do, whatever we can, whatever it may be. Today as I was running up and down the corridor, another one of my 20 or so IV's had blown and the only doctor in sight off on a photo shoot, the tourniquet on the IV I was starting popped off and snapped me in the face and at the same time, I lost the IV I had started and blood went all over my legs, I thought- I think I need a new job. They don't pay me enough here. Wait, they dont pay me anything. I do this out of the goodness of my heart. Ok. I think I'll come home soon. I do think the cholera numbers are dropping, and I so hope and pray that it is permanent. Send your prayers if you haven't already. I did realize I'm heading home pretty soon. Just in time for Sadie's birthday. Double shifts for the past 2 days. I have been working all day until 2 pm with the babies and then working in the cholera camp until 11 or so. Sister Judy has now said I cannot work in both areas because of the fear of cross contamination. This does not make sense to me because I would never go from the cholera area to the babies. Father Rick says I am more needed in the cholera camp right now in the critical adult area so that is where I am working today, and probably for the duration. I'm a little sad because I was making such progress with the babies. In exchange for Enfamil every 3 hours and clean diapers I had almost gotten Jolina St. Vil to agree to head the reconstruction of Haiti in 17 or 18 years. And Charles Tema is seriously contemplating the presidency, although he is torn because he thinks he may have a spiritual calling. I tell him he can definitely do both. With a couple more days I think I could have had the whole cabinet lined up, as well as a director of free education, as well as a reformed health care plan. Alas, I can only hope they can work it out on their own and finish the plans we have started.
The cholera camp is not nearly as pleasant. Last night I was there late with a pregnant woman named Exama. She is in the thick of cholera, vomiting relentlessly, liquid diarrhea, belly cramps. So sick. She told us she was afraid because she had not felt the baby move yesterday. After much waiting in fear, the Italian OB GYN arrived with a portable ultrasound, and confirms her fear. She has not one, but two babies, who have died in utero. She didn't even know she had twins. The sadness was almost unbearable. She had to be transferred to another cholera center where they can induce the labor so she can give birth to her dead twins. She clutched my hand and would not let go. So I went with her in the ambulance but it was on the far side of Cite Soleil in an unsafe area and Conan would not let me get out of the ambulance to even say goodbye or give a report. All I can do is send my prayers and love and blessings with her. I was sending her Reiki the whole time, I am sure thats why she wouldn't let go of my hand. We have now close to 70 people in the cholera camp. I work in the small temporary house/ hospital where the wost case adults are. It is hard work and I never stop or sit. The IVs run quickly and often if they run dry, they quickly clot off. There are not flushes or even hubs on the IV lines, so they have to be restarted if this happens. The people with the worst diarrhea are often weak and cannot get themselves up to the buckets and soil themselves and are so ashamed, and then so appreciative of being cleaned up. We have some cholera beds- with an opening under their bottoms to collect the constant diarrhea, but there are not enough for everyone. I am supposed to track down the Haitian young men who help us to do these dirty jobs, and they are often busy with something else. Can you imagine leaving these people like this? The other volunteers tell me the helpers will do these jobs and yesterday I saw them sit around until a bucket of pee, poop and vomit overflowed all over the floor. I am trying to set new trends here. At times I think because there are language barriers and the people are in such of state of sub-humanity, stripped of all their dignity, completely at the mercy of this illness, (and us)- that staff have to separate themselves in some way. This is not possible for me. I am simply unable to sit and chat or snack or flirt with the handsome Haitian men while people are in such a condition. Please send me my team from Franklin Medical Center. Send Linda and Sue and Nicole and Melinda and Jamie and Kate and Sharon and Don and Saralynn and Angela and Cindy and all of you. Let me know when you are coming. I'll pick you up at the airport. I miss your loving care and example so much. Last night 2 men died in the cholera camp. One older man had started having seizures and later died alone. His girlfriend had gone home for the night. Another man came in nearly dead with dehydration. It was too late. Father Rick sits over each loss with grief and regret and wonders what we could have done differently, how we could have saved them. This morning a beautiful woman of 71, Charlite, who has been sick for 5 days, stood up at her bedside and smiled at me and said she was ready to go home. We hugged and laughed and thanked God. I think many people are afraid they will die when it starts, and I'm sure it feels as though they will. I try to tell everyone they will only be sick for a few days and then they will get better, and then they will be fine. Really? they ask, just a few days? Really. For most of them, this is the case. IV fluids, serum orale and some loving care. Grace a Dieu. It is time for lunch and then back to work. I miss you all. Love, Alison Dear Friends on the anniversary of the earthquake.
I am just getting off work in the cholera camp but wanted to write after this incredible day. I went this morning to the memorial mass downtown at the fallen cathedral. There were thousands of people there. I rode in the back of the truck with the priests who came from Italy and the States, and Father Rick. It was a beautiful day. The ceremony was long and full of prayer and singing and many people crying. Some of us saw that we could climb up into the tower of the cathedral that was still standing. We climbed up through rubble and broken stained glass and up the falling spiral staircase and spent the last portion of the service up there with the most amazing view. Out past the cathedral yard full of people there was a sprawling tent city, the downtown area of Port au Prince, and then out to the ocean. It was hot and windy and we could hear the singing and see the long procession. I wish you could see the pictures from up there. When the ceremony was over the Haitians began singing and praying and dancing and I felt this was the most spirited part of the ceremony. When we got back to St Damien, Father Rick had his own service here in the chapel with some of the leaders of NPH. My favorite part was the singing of the hundreds of children who were orphaned after the earthquake and now taken in by the new orphanage at NPH. There were drums and trumpets and they all sang in unison all kinds of songs. I wanted to take many of them home with me. His message, as always, is about hope and solidarity and courage. I felt honored to be here today and to have been here after the earthquake. As Sister Lorraine said, with all its hardships and pain and beauty, I would never trade that experience of being here then. It was truly amazing. I then worked until now in the cholera camp with one of the American teams. They were an easy going and pleasant group to work with, but I found them willling to settle for less than adequate care for these patients. I bustled about and worked hard to provide GOOD care and they kept asking me- is everything ok? what are you actually doing? As in cleaning people, keeping their IV's from running dry, getting them new sheets, helping patients wash up, walking with them to the bathroom, empying their buckets after vomiting and diarrhea (a lot of this), tucking them back into bed, telling them that tomorrow will be better. They are so incredibly appreciative of the small kindnesses in their weakened and humiliated state. Cholera is a horrible debilitating indiscriminate illness. People are reduced to the most basic state, bodily fluids without control, weak and at our mercy. I want them to know I am here for their comfort, not just to rush by them, or pass them by, I want them to know I truly care. Because I do. Time and time again they prove to me they are the most resilient, strong, dignified, cheerful and beautiful people ever. It breaks my heart to see them suffering still. Time for shower and then to bed. My little cot awaits. Your humble and faithful servant, Alison |