Day Three

This morning I had my usual breakfast of greasy, dense pancakes in the shape of a spiral jetty and tropical juice. I actually look forward to breakfast because it is a nice break from the rice and beans I have for lunch and dinner. We rode in our tap tap to the hospital. A tap tap is a form of public transport. It is a colorful truck with a shell and bench seats. It often has words like "Thank you Jesus" or "In God We Trust" painted in bold letters. (I believe it is the faith of the Haitian people that helps them endure). When you want to get off you "tap tap" the roof. One tap to go, two to get off. As soon as the tap tap turns in the opposite direction as you want to go, you "tap tap", hop off and wait for another tap tap that is headed in the direction you desire. They are quite amusing to ride in, especially on the torn up, bumpy streets. I love to ride to and from the hospital. I really get a feel for the culture riding in the open back truck. The children typically smile and wave. I'm sure we are a novelty, our team of twelve Americans all in scrubs. The joke is, "How many people fit in a tap tap?" The answer, "one more".

Leaving our hotel "Auberge de Quebec", on our way to the hospital.

Sondi went home this morning. I am happy for him, but sad for me...I love that little guy. Dr. Rubbo and Derek did an AKA this morning. I circulated, it was interesting trying to describe to the Haitian staff what instruments we needed. I found myself playing charades to locate an instrument. Bonom was wonderful, the two of us on a mission to keep the case going. There is a saying in Haiti, "nothing works, make it work". We did this many times! (I found myself underneath the hospital searching for an allen wrench in the maintenance area. We found one and sterilized it for a case.) It was surreal to watch this young man (Joseph) lose his leg. My heart went out to him. The halls of the hospital were packed today with hundreds of people waiting to be seen. It was 100 degrees today and the halls wreaked of body odor. I went outside to the Canada tent for some fresh air. I held an adorable baby, who was in a pink onesie...I later found out she was actually a he. Derek rounded on one of the little patients in the tent, Denise. She screamed at the sight of Derek and Dr. Rubbo. She is my project for tomorrow. I want to get her more comfortable with the staff. I also visited a healthy baby boy named David. He is living in the tent with his young mom. David's Dad died in the earthquake, their house crumbled and buried him. David and his mom are healthy and only here because they have no where else to go. David never met his dad because he was still in utero when the earthquake happened.

Me and Cindy in OR 2

Joseph's leg before the amputation.
The large bump is a bone tumor, you can see his knee above the tumor.

Dr. Rubbo and Derek making the first cuts on Joseph's leg

Little David and his young mom. We brought a box of baby food from home, she was so grateful.

Denise

This evening I rounded with Derek on the post-op Ortho patients. We went to see our AKA patient. His eyes were closed when we sat down next to his cot. He slowly opened his eyes and in broken English asked Derek his name and how to spell it. With tears in his eyes he said, "pray for me". Derek told him he would. Then he requested, "right now" in a soft humble voice. So Derek picked up his hand and said a beautiful prayer asking God to bless him to make a full recovery and live a long life. I held his hand and told him God loved him. With tears in his eyes he whispered, "I know". I'm not sure I would have the same faith if I were in his place. Joseph's mom died in the earthquake. His sister stayed close by taking care of him. I love these people. Our next patient was a gunshot wound to the thigh. We told him he could walk tomorrow and he all but jumped out of his cot. He was thrilled with the news. He raised his arm straight in the air and shouted. "my savior" in Creole. I have never once heard a Haitian complain. They have sat on filthy floors for hours waiting and hoping to be seen, and never a complaint that I saw. They are always so gracious. We have a lot to learn from these people.

Gunshot patient

I found this beautiful woman in the halls of the hospital, I don't think she was a patient. She is just living here because she has nowhere else to go.
She is the oldest person I saw in Haiti. Life expectancy is only 52.

This is young Jean Baptiste. He was so happy to color. One of the only lines I mastered in Creole is "Eske ou vle colore?" which means, "do you want to color?"