Earthquake Reflections-Diquini Part 1

Thursday-post earthquake day number three. In many ways the hardest day for me and the longest. Because the team didn't plan on seeing medical patients I decided to go to the Diquini hospital where the reported need out distanced the medical personal.

I packed up my backpack and a second small bag of medical supplies. Following breakfast with the team and making arrangements that when they returned to the Villa that afternoon they would check for me and come looking for me if needed I set off on foot.

The most amazing aspect of my stay at the Villa was listening to the voices of thousands of Haitians united in song, praising the Lord. I could distinguish four distinct locations where the singing was coming from with the largest being in the direction of the Seventh Day Adventist compound were a reported 40,000 people slept and lived outside.

In less than two blocks my guide lead me though a broken area in a wall as we crossed into the campus. The young man guiding me asked if I could see a couple of his family members. While I replied yes-I do admit to having some misgivings about the wisdom of honoring this request. With supplies and staff stretched at the hospital, what could occur if 40,000 people realized that a doctor with supplies was in their mist?? A sobering thought.

But with a quick prayer I stepped over people, pushed through bushes and made a couple of quick 'tent' calls. Not that I remember seeing any tents. Most people used sheets and blankets to fashion small 'tent' like living spaces. Soon we continued on our way to the Diquini hospital.

Directed to someone in charge I handed over my bag of medications. I recognized some of the supplies on the table as being some that I sent over the day before. Thankfully before they sorted through my donations I overheard a reminder to the staff to watch for expired medications. Careful not to draw attention to myself I slipped a bottle of pain medication and one of an anti-allergy drug back into my backpack. I knew I could find someone who would not mind the relief provided by slightly expired medications.

No need to show ID or prove my training. They provided me with a prescription pad. Later in the day someone decided that some charting would be helpful so small blank white sheets of paper appeared to write diagnosis and treatments upon before handing it back to the patient.

I spent the day leaning over patients or late in the day-plopping my tired body down beside them on the ground as only the rare patient possessed a bed. Patients continued to arrive, found a location on the ground and waited to receive care. All day family members waited patiently, or not, for me to complete seeing a patient but as soon as the prescription left my hand-gentle hands would grab my arm and pull in the direction of their loved ones. I don't have an idea how many patients I talked to during my 9 hour stay. Some only wanted reassurance, some received dressings or IV's without any additional medications, others had just arrived and needed immediate surgery.

The operating room consisted of tarps up near the hospital building. The tarmac became the floor. A bench attempted to keep the sides from bellowing up in the breeze-allowing the gathered crowd a view of the masked and gowned staff hard at work. Unfortunately for the patients awaiting amputations for rotting hands, feet and limbs, mother's needing Cesarean sections to save both mother's and babies lives took precedence.

Fevers, gangrene, open compound fractures, newborns, expectant mothers in labor, everyone dealing with pain and the need to receive help. Hundreds of people sitting and laying under trees, tarps, sheets. Wounds, flies, dirt, noise, cries and yelling set my head to pounding. I did not see another foreigner during my hours at the 'hospital'. I knew that the helicopters frequently flying overhead heralded that help would be coming but would it be in time for the thousands who needed IMMEDIATE help?

Some order existed with sections for children, expected mothers, adults, and post surgery. Early afternoon a young lady came who needed a script for her mom who as a nurse knew exactly what medications she wanted as a fresh post C-section patient. After getting care for her mom she took me under her wing and spent the rest of the day leading me from patient to patient. I gratefully let her take charge of the decisions who to see next. Heartbreakingly she lead me to several young children, each alone. She took the responsibility of getting the medications and food that they needed. I wounder what will happen to them.

Not knowing who needed to be seen next complicated my life. Not knowing the weights of the many kids I consulted and wrote medication doses stressed me out greatly. The first rule of medicine is 'do no harm'. I NEVER dose kids without knowing what they weight. But to let them die suffering because they didn't receive pain medications or antibiotics would be more harmful-at least that is what I told myself. I also told the Lord to protect them from any mistakes I may make. [Yes, I TOLD Him, didn't ask]

Graphic medical story to follow

A special little girl I'll remember and wonder about for a long time. While I'm sure that I saw her name on the top of the script I don't remember it. I'll call her Jewel. The dressings on her right hand and left arm told that someone treated her prior to her arrival. Before her dad even laid her on the ground he came to me for help. The sickening smell of her bandaged hand did not bode well. Peering under the dressing at the mangled flesh, green puss and visible tendons and bones confirmed the worst. He gently lowered her to the ground where to my dismay I noted that the fingers tips of her left hand peeking out from the bandage were black from lack of circulation.

Jewel's spirit and personality shown out through her pain. You could just tell she possessed intelligence, a sweet spirit and a mischievous streak normally. I wrote the medications, told her family to have the dressings redone by the dressing team, and that the paper said she needed surgery ASAP.

Later in the day I heard the ear piercing shrieking and begging of Jewel and wandered back to her area. The IV team's attempts to put an IV in her foot were not going well. I gently held her shoulders in such a way that I also stabilized her head from jerking from side to side. I looked deep into her eyes and started to talk to distract her. At my request that she sing for me she sang the ABC's in a sweet but weak voice. I learned that Mr. O and Mrs. A were friends of her's at school. My mind noted that if she lived it would be without either hand and very doubtful that she would ever again write her friend 'Mr. O' or Mrs. A again.

Wiping the sweat that poured down her face I reassured her time and time again that I, as her friend, would let her know before the painful poke of the needle came again. To often she had been reassured no more shots only to realize the lies a few minutes later. By the time the IV fluid flowed into her small foot all involved were grateful and exhausted. I wondered would she be present in the morning?