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Saturday, July 16, 2011

Reflections--Jeanne Boudreau

Myriad emotions sweep over me upon returning home on Sunday.  I am happy to be safely home enjoying the simple pleasures of clean water, hot shower, cool air and my own bed.   I have put my life on hold for an incredible week in Haiti and feel sad the experience was over so quickly.    It is going to take some time to process all that I saw and experienced.
My expectations going into the trip are open ended and influenced by what I have seen on TV.  I am not prepared for what I see in Port-au-Prince.  The reality of the earthquake’s impact is still evident,  even though some of the rubble is cleared.  The seething mass of humanity living in such squalor overwhelms me.  I will never forget the smell of the rotting burning garbage mixed with diesel exhaust. Nor will I forget what I see: the knotted traffic, the dusty roads,  the pathwork tent cities, the press of people, ehe brightly colored Tap-Tap's loaded with passengers , or the motorcycles, often triple or quadruple loaded weaving in an out of traffic.  It puzzles me how they all are able to survive.  I try to imagine living in a tent and what a normal day is like here.  Interspersed in the crowds are well dressed people, women in bright colors, and men in clean white shirts and ties.  I wonder how they are able clean their bodies and wash their clothes.  We drive through the market where the semi trucks from the Dominican deliver goods to the people.  People are everywhere buying goods to resell.  Women carry their purchases on their heads.  The streets are lined with individuals selling their merchandise.  I wonder where people get the money to purchase these goods to sell and how their customers have money to buy them.   They appear to be very resourceful and able to survive. They go about their lives and seem content.  This is so much for me to absorb and understand!
Once we leave the city, I am surprised by the vast expanse of land and the beauty of the countryside with the mountains, lake and ocean. I observe many contrasts as we journey through the land.  There is the treeless side of the mountains vs. the forested side of the mountains. I see small villages with cinder block houses and then elegant homes in the hills.  The tent cities cluster in the midst of affluent areas.  There is so much evidence of extreme poverty everywhere, but   somehow  people have cell phones, even in the poorest of villages.   I feel anger at those people who have acquired wealth at the expense of the poor people and the corrupt government unable to help their people.  To me, it seems so hopeless.  I wonder how the Haitian people feel about the situation.
The highlight of my week is my experience with the Haitian children.  As a non medical person my responsibility is to oversee Vacation Bible School.  I am informed before I leave that I could expect anywhere from 200-400 children.  This is a bit of a surprise to me since I am only planning for around 50 children.  I take a duffel bag full of supplies which I hope will be enough for everyone.
The translators and some of the medical team join me and my 2 granddaughters for our first session. We journey up a rocky winding narrow road to a remote farming village in the mountains.  These villagers make their living growing vegetable in terraced gardens on the steep hillsides.  The mountain side has the appearance of a patchwork quilt.


  We are greeted by about 40 children on the steps of the church.  I think to myself, this will be a piece of cake.  This all changes very quickly as word of our arrival spreads rapidly as we are setting up. 

The children pour though the doorway and make their way to the wooden benches.  They are amazingly orderly.  The translators assist me in telling a bible story.  They sing one of their songs to us and I think I will teach them “Jesus Loves Me”.  To my surprise they already know it and sing it to us.  I do teach them one song.  We pass out coloring pages of various Christian symbols and one crayon to each child.
  They all share their colors and produce some very colorful pictures.  We also make a large circle and play pass the “hot potato” with a soccer ball.  Everyone loves the game and do not want to quit.  We leave the first day feeling we had a successful day but began making plans to meet the challenges of the second session. 
Once again we made the journey up the mountain.  This time we are better organized.  We keep the children outside until we have set up separate work stations in the church.  We divide the children up by age groups and let each group in one at a time.  They are very orderly and waiting patiently.  Each person on the team is assigned to a group and does some simple crafts with each group.
 
The last of the groups consists of about 40 older children, predominately young boys, who I take to an adjacent building.  I have to quickly come up with an activity for my group.  Thank goodness I brought lots of tissue paper and pipe cleaners, string and balloons.   Believe it or not these children enjoy making  folded tissue flowers.  They also have fun playing “Stomp the balloon”.  Each child blows up a balloon and ties it around his ankle.  We allow 10 people to play at a time.  I join the group with another team member for the first round.  Thanks goodness my balloon is popped quickly before I got hurt.  It was a rambunctious group.  The translators and the pastor do a good job of controlling the children. 
After all activities are over, we gather in the church.  One of the translators is a great singer and leads the group in song.   We offer a parting prayer and leave.  The women of the village have prepared roasted fresh corn for all of us.  As we are leaving, I felt the presence of God in this beautiful place.  His spirit has truly been with us all during these 2 days in the mountains of Haiti.  I feel at peace.  I will never forget the experience.   I hope to return, God willing!
Jeanne


 














Perspective--Lindsay Otto

One week has gone by since returning home from a trip I have always longed to be a part of: a mission trip to assist other people that are less fortunate than me.  The medical mission trip to Haiti with the Ke Nou Haiti Team is a truly unique and eye-opening experience. I am fortunate to have been accompanied by my sister and some of my CRMC co-workers/friends.
I will never forget the scenes outside the bus window as we make our way to the Haitian Christian Mission (HCM) on our first day. Despite trash in the streets and tent cities, Haiti is a beautiful country. I am surprised to see a picturesque mountain view with a lake as well as pretty flowering trees.  I am feeling anxious to see where we would be staying during our time here, since I know running water and electricity are scarce, but as we arrive at HCM, I am again surprised to see such a nice place.  After meeting Betty (Ed. Note--Betty Prophete, who, alongside her husband Pastor Etienne Prophete, founded and maintains Haitian Christian Mission) and seeing the kindness and peace in her eyes, I know that we will be safe staying here as we complete our work.

We unpack, take a tour of HCM, walk through a small tent city, tour a woodworking shop, and ride up on the mountain to see the new HCM project: housing facilities for families that lost their homes in the earthquake. After seeing how people lived: crammed up in tattered tents with no privacy and no escape from the weather conditions; the homes the HCM is building seem like what every family in Haiti longs for. It means a roof over their heads and some sense of safety. It is really humbling to think about what a “nice house” means to an American compared to what a “nice house” means in Haiti. Americans want a two-car garage, extra bedrooms, walk-in closets, etc. The Haitians feel so lucky to have a concrete block home with three small rooms, open windows (no glass), no electricity, and the hopes of running water to come soon.

  We meet some children who are fortunate to belong to a family living in one of the new homes. This is our first contact with Haitian children. They are so happy! It is so hard for me to be unable to communicate with them through words due to the language barrier. But, I soon realize that a smile is universal – I smile at them and….. they smile back. Yes! It is great to see them smile!
Our first day of clinic goes well. I work in the pharmacy and quickly learn how to make-do with what we had for medications and supplies. I am able to interact with some of the patients by applying creams, giving shots, teaching mothers how to administer medications – all via assistance of our wonderful translators! I feel like we are positively impacting the lives of the patients we cared for, and I am uplifted and ready for the rest of the week!

The best experience for me on this trip is on Wednesday.  While half of our group goes on a mobile clinic trip, the other half heads up into the mountains to a small church building to have “bible camp” with the children. We arrive to see a large group of children waiting for us. The group quickly grows to about 200 children. Jeanne, Doug’s mom, has activities planned for the children which they thoroughly enjoy.  It is not easy to keep them organized, but it’s great to see them having fun.  I have my camera and take pictures of the children. When I show them their picture on the camera, their eyes light up! I wonder if they had ever seen the image of their face in a mirror before or had ever seen a picture of themselves.  With the help of the translators, we teach them how to sing a new song, and WOW! I almost have tears in my eyes when the children’s voices rang loud throughout the church. They are so happy!
The following days include another clinic at the mission and a mobile clinic at a church in a remote village.
 Patients that appear 80 years old have never seen a doctor before and don’t know their birthdate. Farmers are farming crops on steep mountain-sides in the heat with no machinery, only manual labor and a shovel. A patient whose hand is severely cut does not even need pain medication after having to drive for 2 hours to get to a medical facility. Women (and sometimes men) are carrying loads of goods on their heads for miles and miles.  Children are playing soccer and running on gravel with no shoes. These people are tough!

As our week comes to an end, I begin to realize that while we are helping many, there were many others we could not reach. The patients that receive medical care are the lucky ones. Not many get access to healthcare.  Riding in the bus on our long trips away from HCM and looking out across the fields of tents, ill-appearing animals, and earthquake destruction; I begin to feel so blessed to live in America. On our way home from a clinic one night it’s getting dark and I can see people around their tents and walking down the streets without any lights. I feel my heart sink and I feel a sense of sadness and loneliness that I have never felt before.

But, when speaking with the people and talking with some of our translators, they voice they love their country and do not want to leave.  I guess they are happy, they don’t know any different way of life besides what they are living now - survival.


I know that this trip has changed me.  I will never forget these images, and anytime in the future when I am having a hard day or feeling down, I can count on these images to help me realize that there are people – not only in Haiti, but MANY throughout this huge world- that are not as fortunate as me. I feel that this mission trip has opened my eyes to what it really means to be happy.  Things cannot make you happy. Truly it is relationships with people, being loved, having peace in your heart, having faith, being healthy, and giving to others that makes a person happy.  The Haitian people don’t have to have all the luxuries that we Americans take for granted to be happy. 

I really believe that the HCM is a wonderful organization who is doing great things for the country of Haiti. I hope that they continue to receive sufficient funding to continue their work providing medical clinics, supporting the orphanage, and constructing the much-needed homes. 
Well, this is my first time blogging…..and I cannot believe that I have written this much already and still have so much I could say about this trip. I thank Ke Nou Haiti for allowing me to participate in this trip and I am glad to have made some new friends with some of the team members.  I hope that I can participate in another mission trip again soon, but until then I will keep the Haitian people in my prayers that they continue to survive, prosper, and keep smiling J
Lindsay

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Change--Ashley Doyen

There are few experiences in life that you walk away from a completely changed person. The week I spent in Haiti is one of those experiences. 
I was told to have no expectations and go on this trip with an open mind. I really have no idea what to expect, even if I try. I have never been out of the country prior to this trip. 
As we walk out of the airport, Haiti hits me head on. The warm weather, the faint smell of charcoal in the air, car horns blasting, and most of all, the overwhelming number of people all speaking loudly in a language I don’t know. I instantly feel very vulnerable. Stimulation comes at me from every angle.  It is all I can do to keep moving and not just sit down to take it all in. 
The translators from Haitian Christian Mission are with us, guiding us toward the vans waiting to take us to the mission. I don’t know it at this point, but I will come to know the translators as my guardian angels acting not only as my link to this unfamiliar land, but also as protectors from any naive cultural mistake I might make. 
We make it to the vans and pile in for what will be one of many very close, very bumpy rides. The ride through Port-au-Prince brings all the images from the television to life. The devastation left in the earthquakes wake is still present a year and a half later, not only in the piles of rubble, or tents pitched along the side of the road, but in the eyes of the people who watch us intently as we pass by. The sharp realization that I know nothing about loss and suffering compared to the people of this country tightens my chest and takes my breath away. 
Already my perspective on the concerns of my everyday life has changed and I have been in Haiti for less than an hour. I start to worry I am in way over my head. I take a deep breath and start to pray. It is this technique that carries me though the rest of the week as I am pushed to grow in more ways than I thought possible. 
The first day of clinic at the mission I am thrown into the role of triage nurse. I am physically shaking as I sit down with my translator and he calls the first name. Sure--it’s simple--take a set of vitals, talk with the person for a minute, get the chief complaint, and send them to the line to see the doctors. It sounds easy enough, but it is made complicated having to work through a translator. 
I get to know and trust the translators I work with very quickly. They help catch the little things that could be the difference between diagnosing a cold or something more serious in the early stages. 
It’s intimidating seeing so many people so quickly. The doctors only have limited time with each person.  I feel responsible for getting them enough information to help them make a quick, yet accurate, diagnosis. I am still feeling a little timid when a man sits down with his 2 year old son. The boy is asleep, it’s very hot outside. Most of the kids, even if they are sleeping, stir or fuss when I take their temperatures. Not this little guy. He doesn’t move. I learn though my translator that he has had diarrhea and a fever for the last 5 days. I take his temperature, 104.6 degrees. I take them back to see Doug (the pediatrician with our team) right away. He is severely dehydrated and an IV is started in him right away.  Maybe I know how to triage after all. 
When we don’t have clinic at the mission, we head out to towns that have no means to seek out health care, so we take it to them. 
The most memorable trip is our journey to Jacmel. This is a town way up in the mountains. It takes us over 5 hours to get there, so we are up and on the road before the sun comes up. I squeeze into the back seat squished in the space between the two actual seats making it 4 people in a row meant for 3. To say the road is bumpy is an understatement. All things considered, my heart is filled with joy as we drive through the beautiful Haitian land. The scenery is breathtaking. 
It is uncomfortable conditions such as the back of the van that push me to dive in and get to know the members of the team really well. We bounce feelings and emotions off each other, share stories, laugh, cry, and before I know it I am developing friendships that will last long after the smell of burning trash leaves my nose. 


4 people in a row meant for 3
I am honored with a first hand account of what it was like during the actual earthquake. A strong sense of pride for the country shows through in every story I hear. 
By Friday we have really figured out how to work together well.  It is our busiest, most successful day. It is a mobile clinic in a smaller farm village. We see almost 200 patients. They are all so kind and grateful. Really, looking back I don’t think I come in contact with one angry person all week long. Everyone, no matter their circumstances is just content.
I leave Haiti feeling very much the same. It is hard for me to leave. Sad goodbyes are said at the airport in Haiti, and again in Florida, and then again when we all part ways in Kansas City. 
God called my heart to Haiti, and then He opened my eyes to all the opportunities to do good there. Words can simply not explain all that I learned, the ways that I grew, and the unforgettable memories, the confidence that I have gained and connections that I have made. 
Haiti touched my heart. I long for the day I am able to return.
-Ashley

Monday, July 11, 2011

Friday, July 8th, Droulliard

Mobile clinics are our team's house calls, on a whole village.  To prepare, we have to pack with us all the medicines that we think we might need, without packing the whole pharmacy.  We leave behind our oxygen and lab and hospital beds.  We can and do start IV's and give medicine IV or by injection.
We pack the night before, then get up early depending on where we are going.  For Jacmel, that meant 4 am, for Droulliard, it's only about a 45 minute drive. Once we get to the village, we set up in the local church, which is the only place that has enough space to accommodate that many people.  The pews are long wooden benches with backs.  The village pastor sends people running for desks from the school for the triage nurses to interview and collect vitals.  In triage, the nurses speak through their interpreters, asking about why they are here, what problems they have had in the past, and the other things that put the visit in context.  We depend heavily on our interpreters.  It is more than knowing how to speak both languages.  When a patient says "Mwen gen grip la. (I have the flu.)", the translator has to understand and convey that she is not diagnosing herself with Influenza A, nor is she saying she has nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, which is what people in mid-Missouri mean by "the flu".  She is saying that she has been having congestion and drainage in the nose.  The translator has to pick up on that.  They have to have enough medical knowledge to know what we are asking and enough facility with the language to get someone who has no medical knowledge at all to understand.  It can get very frustrating, and they are not perfect, but they do a good job.
    We rearrange the pew benches to make L shaped sections where patients sit in line waiting to see the provider, a physician (me or Gracia Nabhane) or nurse practioner (Sabine), and set up the pharmacy at the altar, blockaded by benches.  The pharmacy itself is medications spread out, organized by kind with IV start kits and supplies for mixing things.
Once the patient slides towards me on the bench, 
"Avanse. Avanse."  
"Papye, SouplĂ©. (Paper, Please)"  
I skim it. "Li gen lafyèv? depi ki lè?"  
The mother looks at my translator Max, clearly I have a horrible accent.  Max says "Li gen lafyèv? depi ki lè? (She has a fever?  For how long?)"
  "Depi twa jou. (3 days). Epi li gen grip la. (and she has the flu (runny, stuffy nose)" 
Me again "Eske li gen yon vant fè mal? (does she have a belly ache?)" 
"Wi, li gen vant fè mal. (yes she has a belly ache) e li gen vè. (and she has worms.)"  
"li te gen vè nan twalèt li? (She had worms in her poop?)"
"Wi, e (several words I don't understand)" 
I look at Max.  "She said she is coughing up the worms, also."  
I examine the girl, telling her what I want her to do: "zòrèy,lòt zòrèy (ear, other ear), louvri bouch ou (open your mouth), respire, anko, anko, anko (breathe, again, again, again)"  She has an ear infection, I prescribe an antibiotic, worm medicine, Advil for pain and fever, and chewable vitamins.  Always vitamins. Even in this village, which looks relatively well-fed compared to where I have been. I write it on the paper.
"pote papye a nan famasi a. (take the paper to the pharmacy.)"

"Avanse. Avanse."  
"Papye, Souplé."....
As always, there are a couple that throw me.  One is a two-year-old who looks healthy, although her face doesn't look quite right, not quite normal, and she is the size of a six-month-old, and she can't walk yet....and she has a whopping heart murmur.  Imagine someone with a lot of saliva in their throat, making a hissing sound, 60 times a minute.  That is what her heart sounds like. I ask her mom if she has been hospitalized.  Through the interpreter, I get that she was in Port-au-Prince hospital for a month after being born because mother had been thrashing so much in labor that she fell out of bed, and when she did that, she hit the baby's heart and made it not work well.  They did an x-ray, but is was normal.  I ask about an echocardiogram, then have to describe it through the interpreter, and it doesn't sound like one was done, but the doctor assured her that the heart would heal.
I don't know how to put together her story, and I don't know exactly what she was told, but this baby has a heart malformation and probably a genetic syndrome.  She certainly didn't injure the heart with her thrashing,  I don't know the next time Dr. Serge Geffrard, the pediatric cardiologist, with Project Haiti Heart, will be down seeing patients at HCM, but I take her name and information so that we can hook them up, giving the mother all kinds of precautions that I pray she will remember. and some vitamins, and some worms medicine.

"Avanse. Avanse."  
"Papye, Souplé."....
At some point after three, the bus must have unloaded more children.  At about 4, a 12 month old, who is not wearing a diaper, empties his bladder on my shirt and scrub bottoms.  This is not altogether unheard of in my everyday life, but I usually have some way to clean up and a fresh set of scrubs on stand-by.  I have neither today, and 25 patients still lined up to see me.  I keep going.  I see the kids with colds.  The teens there for entertainment.  I see them all, happy both that I am busy, and that they are not particularly ill. Everyone gets their meds.  Everyone gets their vitamins, their worm medicine.
And mumps...Did I mention I saw a boy with mumps?

Doug





Wednesday, July 6, 2011 Simonette

Yeah about the delay in the blogs, The Internet connection has been playing a cruel game with me.  It only seems to be active when I don't have time to sit down and blog.  or when I am too tired.  I guess the good news is that the events of this trip have not been as life and death compelling.  I think I may have lucked into a "normal" mission trip.  In Simonette, on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince, near Cite Soleil, the notoriously dangerous slum, we have our trip today.  We came here in November.  In fact, we were the last team here.  There are ways to tell how poor a village is. In Haiti, dogs aren't often personal pets. They aren't eating Puppy Chow. They hang out in the village and live off scraps.  The less food the people have the less scraps.  the less scraps, the skinnier the dogs.  There are some skinny dogs here.  And red headed children.  The hair color is significant.  These are dark skinned people.  The hair on the head is naturally dark.  That color comes in the form of melanin.  Melanin is dark from, or black, if there is enough of it.  There is one absolute requirement in the body's production of melanin: protein.  No protein, no melanin.  In people of Irish descent who are redheaded, they simply lack the genes to produce melanin.  Here, they lack the protein in the diet.  It's called Kwashiorkor, or protein/calorie malnutrition. If you see a child with spindly legs, big belly, and red hair, they are not getting enough protein rich food.  Fortunately, there is no child here in extremis, none that is starving to death, none with terrible infections.  Most of the children, though have scabies, and we liberally coat them with permethrin cream, which kills the scabies mite.  I get scabies, too.  I have picked it up at some point this week.  Permethrin cream is used liberally by the team tonight, as well.
Today, I find some recompense for the tragedy of our November trip.  I diagnose a girl who has malaria, and she is not that sick yet.  She will be cured.  This won't come back to haunt another team down the line.
It is a bittersweet day.  On the one hand, despite being hungry, the people here are not that ill.  On the other hand, they are hungry, and today, we didn't bring any rice, which means the day is far less chaotic for us, but there will be empty bellies tonight for the children in the village.
Doug

Friday, July 8, 2011

July 5th Jacmel, Sud-Ouest, Haiti

Today we awoke at 3:20 to make for Jacmel.  Jacmel itself has a population of about 150,000.  Although it was spared the major damage of the 2010 Haiti Earthquake, it did sustain damage, including the collapse of half of its hospital. It was a long drive, 6 plus hours.  On the way there, Ali, my baby, my 15-year-old baby, was tired, so she snuggled.  In my experience, 15-year-olds are good for a quick hug if you are lucky, but not much into snuggling with their Daddys, so I was happy that she used my shoulder for a pillow.  I could remember so clearly  Ali as a newborn, sleeping in our bed.  I would lie on my side, curled up around her, hyperaware of any movement she makes, not sleeping much, but content to protect and keep her.  I feel much the same today.  By leaning on her, I am not resting, but keeping her head from flopping forward. I am content.
Did I mention the trip is long?  The scenery, though, that we pass through is amazing, up over the mountains.  It is beautiful, a totally different world than the city below.  This is where you can understand where terms like Mountains Beyond Mountains come from.  The air in the mountains in chilly, upper 60's.  the road is a rollicking 1 1/2 lanes of switchbacks,  sheer drop-offs and blind turns.  All taken at 50 mph. Dramamine is used liberally.
In Jacmel, proper, we buy rice at the market 80 pounds.  We then travel to the church.
Haitian churches are not the same as the church you attend.  They are open air.  In the smaller towns and villages, they are spare.  Although Jacmel is large, we are in what I guess could be called a suburb.  Not a rich one.  The timbers are all roughly hewn from the logs they started as.  The post and beams and benches look like some Hollywood prop designer's exaggeration of rustic.
Today we are giving out rice.  This means that we will be busy later on, once everyone has heard.  These kids are cute.  There are some ear infections, a lot of colds, a couple of kids with pneumonia, almost everyone has "vent fe mal" or stomach pain.  Towards the afternoon, I get the teenagers who aren't really sick at all, they just want some entertainment.  They goof off and are silly about my limited Kreyol, but we have a good time.  Since none of these kids is particularly sick, I have time to reflect that a large part of my purpose here is to sift through all the healthy kids and find the ones who are truly ill.  Without a lab.  Without X-rays.  So the ones who are in extremis are not difficult to spot.  It's the ones that may be starting to get something serious that I am concerned about.  Early malaria, early typhoid.  I don't want to miss those.  I may be the last to see them before they really get sick.
Then there is the two that will haunt me: the 9 month old who is the size of a 4 month old who otherwise looks well, and the 12 month old with the heart murmur that sounds abnormal, but otherwise looks well.  At home, both would be referred, both would be worked up.  Here, I talk to the mother of the 9 month old for about 20 minutes through the interpreter, talking about all the things I want her to watch for.  With the 12 month old,  I take the name and number down to put on the list for the next time the Pediatric Cardiologist  comes down on a trip.
The rice is gone.  We've seen about 100 patients, not too much of a workload, but with the drive starting at 4 am, by the time we get home at 8:30 pm, we are exhausted.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Made it, unpacked, culture shock

I forget how strange it is to step out into a Third World country the first time. To me, the chaos of making it through customs, the throng at the airport, the smell of charcoal smoke in the air--even the rubble and trash and dizzying bustle of traffic and people--is familiar, but there are a lot of heads on swivels. Haiti is different and shocking, especially Port-au-Prince. I notice the little things: how everyone is curious, unselfconsciously so, about us. Not in our face at all, but everyone takes a look at us, only the children shout out "Blan!". We are here. With all our baggage. The ventilator, a piece of equipment that is $30,000 new, is safe. We tour the campus of the Haitian Christian Mission, then we eat, beef stew. It's delicious with potatoes, plantains, and dumplings. I've already broken a food rule: I bought fried plaintain I'm Port-au-Prince from a street vendor. It was incredible. I think hotboil kills all germs ever, right? After lunch, we unpack and clean the pharmacy. The pharmacy is a mess. It takes us hours, then dinner, then we eat again: roasted chicken. After dinner, we meet as a team, talk about the next day, and everyone scatters for bed. Except Sabine and me. She finishes the pharmacy, and I reconstruct the ventilator. Then I blog. I'm falling asleep as I do it. I'll sleep under the stars tonight, clinic starts in the morning.
Doug

On the plane

We made it. Everyone, all the bags. Next stop: Port-au-Prince.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Today is the day

Okay, so it's still late Friday night for me.  I'm finally done packing.  I got a ventilator today!  I hope I won't have to use it, but I am glad it will be there.  It is taking up all or part of 4 duffel bags, but it is totally worth it.
I guess I don't know how I am feeling right now.  I am excited and a little nervous.  My last two trips were very stressful and emotional. so now I'm drawn to my first trip when it was all new, and I felt so inspired.  The first impression is always the lens through which you look.  I want to see Haiti like I did that first time.  I know Port -au-Prince will still be a wreck.  I will look at it again through fresh eyes, or maybe eyes that remember what is was like when they were fresh.  The voices and faces of those who have joined me in the past will again be with me.  I wish they were there in body. That said, I am very excited about this team. Sabine will again be leading and has already done a great job, and I have my family here who will get to see what I have come to love, and a big, excited, Capital Region contingent. So maybe they can all help me see it anew. Last time I wnated to tell stories, I want this time to be about drawing the scene, bringing you here not only visually, but viscerally.  That is what I will try to do this week.
As promised the team that will accompany us:
 Julia Asmar -- Student
Quinn Ayres -- Med. Assistant
Alyssa Borchelt -- Nurse Assistant
Ali Boudreau -- Student
Doug Boudreau -- MD- Pediatrician
Jeanne Boudreau -- Arts
Melinda Dessieux -- Nutritionist
Sabine Dessieux -- FNP
Ashley Doyen -- RN-CC
Amanda Helton -- RN-CC
Molly Magoon -- RN-CC
Gracia Nabhane -- MD-Pulmonologist
Judy Njeri -- RN Student
Lindsay Otto -- RN-CC
Kelly Prenger -- RN-CC
Olwyn Ross -- RN- Wounds

Chache Lajwa!
Doug