State Side.

Thoughts since I've been home (four days):

Holy moly is freezing.

I have so...much...stuff.

my cat in Haiti was awesome.

it's cold.

Oh God, why is LP still in jail?

What if I had stayed till Friday and been with that patient when he died Thursday morning?
...I knew I wasn't worried about him for nothing.

I haven't had anyone hit on me in like...four days.

Olives taste so unlike everything Haitian.

I'm glad we're all in the States right now, but who the heck's in Haiti?

Why am I still eating rice at almost every meal...I guess it's my new comfort food.

How much does it cost to call Haiti?

I wonder if I even like sweets anymore...they make my stomach hurt.

...Maybe my stomach ache isn't from sweets.

I have almost said "Mesi" to every holiday register girl.

I wonder if anyone I know speaks Creole....my cat certainly doesn't understand it like me-me does.

What are the translators doing!? There are no white people at the hospital.

I'm freezing.

The street is so clean.

I don't even like make-up, why am I wearing it.

Port-au-Prince needs MMRC. This is terrible. I wish I was with Big Paul right now.

I am so glad Sondy is at home.

They announce the election "recount" today. Interesting.

How much will my phone bill be...if I keep texting Farah.

I (like Sarah) had forgotten that obesity was such a problem.

I bet this is the first time there haven't been Americans at HAH since January 14th.

Why would anyone need this many clothes?

I miss the heat.

WTF. Why is LP in jail!?!?!?

Oh crap, she's not staring at me cause I'm white...why is she staring at me?

God's still in Haiti.

Healing is in Your Hands

This song is by Christy Knockels, written a year ago for the Passion conference I attended in ATL. It was my go-to song for the last six months in Haiti. I had the pleasure of singing it with David Harris during my first month there, quite a memory. Listen to it if you get the chance:


No mountain, no valley, no gain or loss we know
could keep us from Your love
No sickness, no secret, no chain is strong enough
to keep us from Your love
to keep us from Your love

How high, how wide
No matter where I am, healing is in Your hands
How deep, How strong,
And now by Your grace I stand, healing is in Your hands

Our present, our future, our past is in Your hands
We're covered by Your blood
We're covered by Your blood

How high, How wide
no matter where I am, healing is in Your hands
How deep, How strong
And now by Your grace I stand, healing is in Your hands

In all things, we know that.
We are more than conquerors.
You keep us by your love.
You keep us by your love.

my last Haitian post...

It's been far to long since I have posted. With Dr Scott's arrival, my wonderful sister-in-laws venture, and "civil unrest" in the county, things have been more than a little busy around here. That being said, AHI (my NGO) has asked that all ex-patriot volunteers be out of the country by today. The elections have seemed mostly uneventful so far but there is definitely strange air around.

The last several days have happened so fast that I doubt my brain will even understand that I'm leaving until I arrive in my parents home tonight. I am excited about going home. It is time. I don't know when or if I will be back in Haiti but God knows already and will straighten that out for me when the time comes.

As I walked down the street last night to buy my last dinner of street food I reminisced about what I will (and won't) miss:

WHAT I WON'T MISS:

1. cold showers
2. lockdown
3. cat-calls
4. people asking me for money
5. people asking me for my...everything
6. not having a key to anywhere
7. it costing $80 to get a car to go to Petionville and back
8. fake meat
9. living in a hospital
10. what is lost in translation
11. trash thrown on the street
12. language barriers
13. working with so many NGOs
14. the smell of urine on the sidewalk
15. cholera


WHAT I WILL MISS:

1. Sondy Jean
2. Street food
3. the hospital roof
4. simplicity
5. fresh squeezed sitwon juice
6. seeing crazy bone deformities fixed that would never have seen an MD if the earthquake hadn't happened.
7. my translators
8. me-me
9. the way the Haitian rain makes the air clean
10. pretending I'm a Peds nurse with parents who are so gracious
11. CBM
12. seeing Hatian children that look EXACTLY like their parents
13. working with so many NGOs
14. Brooke
15. having my laundry done for me

house arrest.

We have been on lock-down since Friday night due to the Presidential elections. Apparently it can get pretty violent but has seemed annoyingly quiet and boring to me. Despite about ten people walking down the street singing a song about their favorite candidate and banging on an empty water jug, I haven't seen anything. But then, I guess that's the whole point of being on lockdown.

Quiet streets means a quiet hospital when no one wants to venture out. We were afraid it would mean lots of traumas, but that hasn't been the case, though they are supposed to announce the "winner" or more likely "run-off candidates" tomorrow.

For the first time in over five months I have walked around the entire perimeter of the hospital property. There are pretty banana trees in two corners, although the ground around them is piled with trash they are still pretty. Millions of lizards dance at your feet and I was completely amazed that I did not encounter a single spider.

The grounds of this place seem to be keeping so many secrets. I often wish I had been here right after the earthquake to see what it was like, though I'm not sure I could have handled it. There are spaces in the grass where tents used to be and I wonder how many patients the trees have seen pass. There is rumor of the corner where they used to dump amputated limbs...but there is no evidence of it eleven months later.

There is a garden. It so closely resembles my Grandaddy Mac's yard in Miami that I feel quite at home in it. The air feels the same and swatting mosquitoes keeps you busy. Many plants...almost all in fact...remain in their pots (just like grandaddy's) and there are old pieces of machinery begging to be disposed of scattered about. I didn't spot any boats, but the rusted old school desks and treasures hanging from vines are picture perfect.

Our roped off cholera tent keeps the fourth corner from being explored. But you can smell it. I don't believe I will ever be able to smell bleach again without thinking of cholera. It's just how it smells. Like sour bleach. Thankfully our tent still hasn't been too busy and MSF is now scheduled in their transfer pick-ups.

Tomorrow, I hope, our sentence is lifted and I will be able to go outside the gate again. Although it is kinda nice having the boy at the gate hand-deliver my coca-cola.

We are all resting up anticipating Dr Scott's arrival next week, a repaired C-arm, and a busy schedule.

Seventeen days.

"I'm really just thankful for clean water" ~Azaria

"If nothing else it's good that you were happy to return to Diquini," Ruth said about my trip to the north. And she was right. I would like to say that I have returned with a very different attitude. Maybe it's because I'm going home in just a few weeks or maybe because there is some encouragement in discovering that nowhere else is any better than here.

It's been a constant theme in my time here and though sometimes it's scary, it's nice to know that the country, as a whole, is messy. It's not just my hospital. It was good to return to the support of my friends here as well. There are so many beautiful Haitians that make each day here a delight. Sometimes they are hard to please and their expectations are impossible to fulfill, but all in all they provide consistency and support. Even the patients that I see operated on returning to clinic is rewarding. This morning I was greeted in the hallway by our patient that had his leg amputated due to elephantiasis a few weeks ago. I always worry a great deal about the amputees. In an already difficult country, losing your limp (after managing to keep it through the earthquake) is always depressing. But this man had such a giant smile on his face! He knows that his life is better and he is healthier now.

And there is Jonas. What a story of thanksgiving! He was said to be a "stable" femur fracture sent from a town a couple of hours away. I wasn't here when he rolled in but his hemoglobin in the 3's and a grossly dislocated knee and broken femur (moto wreck) made him everything but stable. He was watched for a week or so, I think as many as three doctors hoping his leg would pull through...but the stench became unbearable even to him, and after many washouts and revisions he ended up with an Above the Knee Amputation for a dead lower leg. We were afraid that wouldn't be enough though, as he looked septic with high fevers and talking out of his head on many occasions.

He went home yesterday. A man with a beautiful wife and two small children stood on the balcony with me yesterday telling me he wouldn't forget me. "I know I lost my leg but I'm glad I have my life. There was awhile when I wasn't sure I would make it out of here," he told me. I told him that we felt the same way. He had been very sick.

For his life I am thankful. For Maffie's too. She's a 18 year old trauma who we all thought would die her first night. Four weeks and about seven units of blood later (in a country where it's hard to get one) she is still on bed rest but she is alive!

Yesterday Partner in Health's MD emailed me saying that they would treat Wilny (see earlier post). The pictures of his cancer lesions are too graphic to post, but I would love to show them so you all would have some understanding of what this means. I'm trying to be patient and not rejoice too much until he is scheduled for treatment, but everything is looking good.

Thanks to the God of messy places. Thanks to all of you who pray and support me in endless ways. Thanks to my family who is steady and unwavering in their love. Thank You for the cross.