Letters from Amanda, Day 6
Our last full day in Hinche found us bleary eyed from the night shift and full of emotion.
Day 6
Our last full day in Hinche found us bleary eyed from the night shift and full of emotion. We returned to the house and debriefed with the group from Ohio State Medical Center only to find out that on their visit to the hospital in Cange, they discovered the 28-week infant we delivered this week then transferred had died shortly after arriving.
While not surprising, it was heartbreaking nonetheless. Did delivery help his mother breathe? Yes. Will she now likely live to raise her 4yr old? Yes. Did we do the right thing in resuscitating this baby? Not sure. What does one do with photos of a now dead baby on my camera roll? Not sure… We made our way upstairs, showered, lifted our mosquito nets and drifted off to sleep on our tear stained pillows.
A few hours later, I heard my name being called through the post call ether. “Dokte Amanda…. Dokte Amanda…. I’m so sorry to wake you but the ladies with the pessaries have been waiting for you.” The voice I heard was that of Gladias, my wonderful interpreter through whose words I had been speaking Creole all week. I jumped up, pulled on my scrubs and stethoscope to project some sort of image of professionalism and headed down to see the patients.
With multiple childbirths being such a common experience for young Haitian women, prolapse of the uterus is all too frequently seen in their older counterparts. Another Midwives for Haiti OB-Gyn MD volunteer had recently fitted a couple women with pessaries, plastic dishes worn in the vagina to keep the bladder and uterus in place with the hope that future colleagues could follow up. I agreed to do so.
Gladias and I constructed a make shift exam table with patio benches, pillows and towels then rummaged through the mobile clinic supplies to find exam materials. He led the two sixty-something’s and their daughters in. After reassuring them that I was indeed an MD and took care of this problem regularly in the U.S., I cleaned their pessaries, examined the women, answered questions and made suggestions on use. I then convinced the daughters that they could most likely do this at home and not have to pay friends to ride in a barely road eligible jeep to get to MD care. Both daughter-mother dyads listened, watched, then practiced and were delighted at their newfound competence.
By the end of our visit with these lovely ladies, my spirit was lifted and my energy returned. The rest of our Kaiser Oakland Labor and Delivery gang was awake and ready to spend our last full day in Hinche delivering the gifts we had assembled from wonderful donors. We had given outfits and supplies to many of our patients in the hospital the night before and had sent a load of gently used children’s clothing to the feeding center. Our last stop was to be the girls’ orphanage.
Brittany, our Midwives for Haiti coordinator, arranged for moto transport but, just as they arrived, we remembered our other planned destination, the Red Cross. The drivers agreed to the pit stop despite the rain sprinkling. Upon arrival we encountered the most tidy, organized interface we had experienced with any health care entity in Hinche, comfortably sheltering us from the now downpour outside. Given that our travels to Haiti will prevent us from blood donation in the U.S. for years, we decided to all give blood while there. Within an hour we had equaled the entirety of the donations for the last 3 days. The rain slowed. We left our blood behind, mounted the motos and headed for the girls orphanage.
I didn’t realize that when the driver told me that the orphanage was at the UN compound, it was actually inside the recently vacated UN buildings. As was the case with many other groups, urgent stabilization in Hinche was no longer deemed necessary and the UN presence markedly declined. We passed through the powder blue and white barbed wire topped gate and were warmly welcomed by a flock of around 40 6–13-year-olds eager for treats.
We were led into an unadorned room with wooden benches to meet with the girls. Sister Victoria examined our gifts and approved. My huge hearted colleague, Amina, started the excitement by distributing photos of some of the girls she had encountered when in Haiti 2 years prior. Many of the girls were still in the orphanage and delighted to see themselves captured in print. Others grabbed for the 3x5 glossies just to see one of their own. The other 5 of us followed, posing for Polaroids, painting fingernails, doing side walk chalk, singing and practicing dance moves.
The weather started to clear and we moved outside. No toys, sports equipment, arts, entertainment, planting, bright colors, nor fitting clothing in sight, yet they vividly showed off their little girl spirit. I developed quite a following after making short videos of them singing. I was able to engage in tween conversation thanks to my all girls school upbringing and tutelage from my 9 yr old niece. They asked me about Justin Bieber, how many kids I had, did I wear a white dress at my wedding like Cinderella, did my parents accept my first boyfriend, why had I cut my hair, why was I wearing a long skirt when the fashion really is shorter skirts… I felt I could stay there for hours laughing and smiling with these parentless children so eager for attention and so full of joy in the face of unbelievable scarcity.
I still haven’t processed why the visit to the girls orphanage moved me so much (I can barely write about it now on the airplane >24 hours later without weeping). While my colleagues went on and on about me being such a positive image for the girls to see — a black woman doctor making time to hang out with them, I was struck by how happy I felt in my brief visit with them. In those moments, I was able to be completely present and unencumbered by the trappings of propriety and professionalism. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but my heart was so full of sorrow from the week’s events that I too was yearning for attention, love and the joyful diversion of the trivial.
We decided to continue in that same vein after dinner and packing. We set out to try the local disco. Led by our 21-yr-old trip coordinator, we ventured out with a group of her peers, including my interpreter, Gladius, and the one male midwife student, Roderick. Having no expectation of what could possibly go on in a club in the middle of Haiti, we drove in the back of the Jeep through the dirt road of the village through a crumbling doorway into a dirt floored garden with a few trees overhanging and a smattering of folding chairs. The first thing I noticed, however, is that, besides 2 strings of Xmas lights, it was pitch dark. Given the restrictions on electricity use, there was to be no wasting. I teased the 20-something’s about how they knew who to talk to with such difficulty seeing. They informed me that they “check out the shape” then scan the crowd when a song comes on that leads the DJ to turn on the light (the qualifications for which did not seem to follow any appreciable pattern).
In a motley combination of French, English and Creole, the 10 of us drank, laughed and danced, intentionally blinded from the suffering all around. Moving to the techno-salsa, making light chit-chat and seeing joy on the faces of others, I felt fully grounded in my body and incredibly alive.
After a couple hours, midnight neared and fatigue began to set in. It was time to leave and prepare for our long journey back to the US starting early in the morning. Wet dirt roads, seatbelt-less jeep benches aside, we arrived safely at the house and said our goodbyes as we closed the book on a very long and memorable day.
With love to ALL (because every human deserves it in abundance)
Amanda
