Hope

Piti-piti zwazo fe nich.

This was a Haitian proverb that patients said to encourage each other as they practiced walking on their new limbs, and I heard it many times over the past two weeks.  It means, "little by little, the bird makes it's nest."  I love this because of the emphasis on patience and a hope for a positive result of hard work.  On a broader scale, there is an overwhelming amount of work to be done in Haiti on fundamental levels in order for things to change.  Individual efforts by the government, the UN and NGOs are generally disconnected and loosely organized at this point, and I think it's easy to resort to feeling despair.  I'm hopeful that change will happen through the cumulative efforts, little by little, and I am anxious to see good happen for Haiti.      

Goodbye, Deschapelles!

Today is my last full day in Haiti.  Yesterday, the community celebrated the 51st anniversary of the hospital, which also happens to be the 100th birthday of Larimer Mellon, the late founder of the hospital.  The whole day was filled with festivities, including a ceremony, live music, and soccer matches with the neighboring town.  The patients at the clinic were the guests of honor, and one of them, a very talented young guy named Leon performed a rap song that he wrote and produced.  His hope is to promote awareness and understanding on behalf of people that have disabilities.  Leon lost his left leg to cancer two years ago.  The performance was awesome.

This morning, I went to the local Baptist church with our clinic translator that is also a believer.  He is actually studying to be a pastor.  Although the sermon and songs were in Kreyol, it was good to pray and worship together.  "Great is thy Faithfulness" was one of the songs, and I sang along in English.  I loved how everyone sang full-force.  It brought to my mind a moment in the clinic this past week.  It was late afternoon, and most of the patients had already departed.  A sad, bluesy song came on the radio, and all activity stopped as everyone joined in to sing.  Some people closed their eyes.  The only word I could recognize was "alleluia," but I could feel that they were singing from the depths of their souls.  I felt like my heart was breaking as I reflected on how much pain these people have gone through--they lost their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, homes, jobs, and limbs.  In spite of horrible tragedy, there's incredible faith.

Alumni house

We have a pretty sweet deal at Alumni House, the hospital’s dorm for volunteers and hospital staff.  We have (cold) running water for showers twice a day for one hour, three quite tasty meals prepared (today we had stewed goat and okra over rice), shared rooms, laundry, and an awesome pool.  We have 3 PTs, 1 PTA, a midwife, a general surgeon, an epidemiologist, and an RN sharing the house, and it’s interesting to work with people from different backgrounds and parts of the country.  We teach each other phrases in Kreyol, discuss patients, and share funny stories about our days during meal times. 

Random creatures wander around the front porch and yard.  There’s Sally, a sweet dog with some kind of hernia, an orange tabby that eats spaghetti, baby goats, various types of lizards, roosters that climb trees, hens and chicks, and small horses.  We all wear ear plugs at night because the roosters crow at all hours.  In spite of mosquito nets over our beds and spraying bug repellant three times a day, I have a multitude of bites covering my arms and legs.  I saw a fat tarantula in the hospital, which is another motivation for me to use the mosquito net. 

Last day at Hanger clinic

As another one of the therapist so aptly stated, two weeks was a short time to be in Haiti but a long time to be away from home.  I feel so privileged to have been part of the work here for this short time.  It's hard to adequately sum up this journey, so here are some pictures.

Above: the concrete walls of the clinic are painted with beautiful murals by local artists.

Above: Anna at work in the Hanger lab, shaping a plaster mold for a prosthesis.

Above: These prostheses are ready to be fit.

Above: Graduation day. When people are ready to be discharged to go home, we give a parting speech with info regarding prosthetics fit, remind them to come in for follow-up visits, and give them a certificate and a medal to celebrate that they completed the program. His prosthesis is covered, and he's ready to go!

Above: So inspiring to walk with this guy.  He was born without legs and walks very well with prostheses and forearm crutches. 

Above: This is how hard it rains here! 

Sunrise hike

Few things would compel me to voluntarily get out of bed at 4:30 am.  I was told that I shouldn’t miss the hike up the mountainside for the sunrise.  We scrambled up the rocky path along side barefoot boys and herds of goats.  Glad I did.

Back to PAP

Wednesday: Went back to New Life Orphanage in Port-au-Prince.  The 2.5 hour drive wound down the mountain side, past fields of corn and sweet potatoes, and through small towns.  Tent cities lined the road in Port-au-Prince. I can't imagine living in a tent for 5 months--no electricity, running water, or privacy.

 

When we arrived at the orphanage, a crowd of about 20 people was already there waiting for us.  People just kept coming and coming.  There were probably around 50 people in the chapel at one point.  I did some education regarding phantom limb dysethesias and desensitization, checked on fit of existing prostheses and checked for pressure wounds, and exchanged crutches in bad shape for new ones.  Some people came in with some really cool home-made crutches.  

We barely had time to eat our rice and sauce for lunch.  Returned back to Deschapelles around 8 for dinner, a quick swim (too late for shower), and right to bed.

L'Escale

New patients arrive to the clinic on Monday and Thursdays.  The patients travel from up to 3 hours away to get their prostheses and therapy.  If they are not from the local area, the hospital provides temporary housing and food while they are here. The place is called L’Escale, a former TB sanitarium.  The shelters are simple cement block structures grouped together, and accommodations are very basic—mattresses on the floor and a few chairs make up the furniture. 

I was amazed to see how rough the terrain was—the patients have to navigate these uneven surfaces with crutches and one sound limb.  Patients usually stay for 1-2 weeks before they are discharged, and family members are welcome to accompany them.  It was nice to meet some of the family members, and see the patients in a more relaxed setting. 

We brought Nahomie’s limb to her after some adjustments.  She had the brightest, sweetest smile when she received her prosthesis.  It was great to see her practicing her walking.  We hoped that some of the older ladies would take Nahomie under their wings.