A tiny baby on Oxygen with a bluish tint to her skin.
Grade schoolers with open fractures, spinal injuries or burns.
A man who's leg I looked at when asked to decide if he needed an amputation. The leg above the ankle, no longer resembled a leg. But on closer exam he could wiggle his toes on command and could feel me touching him. My mind argued with reality-one saying that in the USA his leg could be saved, but the reality remained that it would be removed. I shifted the decision by asking the surgeon for 30 seconds of his time-the vast majority of that time was used walking to the patients side-and less that a second to look at the leg and declare the verdict of amputate.
Again my skin color made it impossible to blend in the crowd during my two days of work. Late on day one a request came for me to help by removing dead and dying tissue from a lady's leg. Her daugther worked for the hospital-I never did catch her job title but her worry and love for her mom shown brightly both in her actions and voice. While I prepared to tackle the job for her sake-knowing I'd want someone to help me if I was ever in the unfortunate position of treating my family and friends-the surgeon walked up and took over. Thank you Lord.
I'm thankful as well for a good IV and dressing team. While many in Haiti assume that doctors know how to give shots and put in IV's I never practiced the skill much as I've always been around skilled teams of folks. Thankfully the Lord continued to provide skilled help.
One of the young men that I visited late on the second day lay in the farthest corner of the yard. While he remained close to the gate of the hospital his location did not assure that he would see a doctor soon. The lady next to him moved over on her mattress and encouraged me to sit on the edge. This act of kindness I appreciated, anticipating that this visit would not be easy.
The bricks fell, crushing his right arm and leg, miraculously missing the right lungs and abdomen. The odor raising from his bandaged upper arm clearly indicated he too needed to see the surgeon as soon as possible. Examination of his leg confirmed a second pressing need-to see an orthopedic for a femur fraction-thankfully closed. He appeared to be Eli's age. He answered my questions bravely. I spoke to his family in front of him-trusting that he would want to hear the truth.
I could and did write for both pain medications and antibiotics but in doing so knew that the medications would only prolong his death. My advice to the family -move him to where the surgeon would have to step over him, to where they could have a chance to pick up the boy, uncover the arm, and block the path of the surgeon even for a few seconds. I knew that the surgeon made his discussions fast and once made the boy would be added to the surgery list. If only he could be added fast enough.
His story is one of hundreds that I wonder about. Did they move? Did somehow he come to the attention of the surgeon in time to save his life? Did my medications and words make a difference? Did the foreigners, medications, equipment and skills arrive in time to prevent him from becoming another sad statistic in the grim history of Haiti? Sadly, I don't even remember if I prayed with him.
1 comment:
Kris - thank you for sharing their stories, giving us specifics to hold in the light. I'm so grateful for your skills and willingness to go where you were needed.
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