November 7 KC->Dallas->Miami->Port-au-Prince->Fonds Parisiens

Long, long travel day today.  We made it into Port-au-Prince about 4:20 pm locally (same as Eastern Time), and made our way through immigration.  All the team members and all the bags made it safely.  We paid $60 to bypass customs.  Even then, I got grabbed by a customs guy who wanted to inspect my bags.  That wasn't happening, I decided, so I crept away from him when he was distracted and merged with the crowd.  We paid another $40 for baggage guys to help us navigate through the phalanx of people trying to "help" us with our bags.  $40 bought some ferocity from our protectors, and it was probably worth it considering the value of the meds and equipment we had.
Then we waited for our ride, and waited because only one van and one truck showed up, not enough to carry all of us and our baggage.  Finally another truck came from PAP, and we were off.  By that time it was dark, so I couldn't see a lot of Port-au-Prince as we drove.  This was probably a good thing for a lot of our first timers.  I don't know if they would have been prepared for the site.  I was pleased to see some bustle in the city streets at night.
I wasn't prepared for the rush of emotion that I got as we drove through.  Last time, in January, just after the quake, the devastation was so immense and so raw and so immediate, that my mind just refused to process it.  All I could do was focus on what was in front of me, the patient at hand.  When I came back from the trip, people would ask me how it was, and I didn't know how to describe it.  "Intense" was a usual answer, but that was vague and unsatisfying.  The truth is, it had to be vague, because I never really allowed myself to let it soak in.  Today, I could really feel the loss, all these people who were still left standing.  For the first time, I am afraid.  I am afraid of what I am going to see, afraid that it will cause me despair.  I know I can help the people I  see,  I have the tools, the meds, and the experience to do take care of a lot of children.  But I guess i feel like I am wrapped up in the story  now.  It's hard to separate, and I don't really want to.  I want to feel it this time, but that makes me afraid.
This place is so insane--ridiculously hopeless, but at the same time holding so much joy.  It's hard to express in description, so this week, I think I'll try to focus on stories.  I think that's the only way to encapsulate the experience.
Doug, from Fonds-Parisien