Small Miracles

It was a Friday afternoon, one week ago. The clinic had closed around noon and we were home getting ready to leave for the prayer service at Frè Dieuna’s house, which was a long walk away. Sure enough, as it usually happens, there was a knock on the gate at about exactly the time we needed to leave. It was a woman in labor. We ushered her onto the porch to do our initial assessment, and she told us she was only 34 weeks along and had been having pain for several hours already. Our assessment confirmed that she was in labor, which made us quite concerned due to her early gestational age. We felt like she should deliver in the clinic where we have better capabilities to take care of an early baby, so we arranged that the other nurses would go to the service and I would take the patient to the clinic and monitor her.

I scanned the mom with our Butterfly IQ+ ultrasound and according to measurements she was around 31 weeks along. We didn’t have much hope that the baby would make it, but there are very few affordable hospitals within driving distance that would be able to care for a baby born that early and besides, it was already too late to transfer her. Fast forward several hours, and she was progressing very slowly. The other nurses came to the clinic when the service was finished and we started swapping out, some staying to monitor the mom while the rest went home for supper.

While we were keeping an eye on the first mom, a second lady came to the clinic in labor. This was a younger girl who was pregnant for the first time, and unfortunately she had drank ginger tea, which is a folk remedy commonly given here to “heat up” labor pains but which usually ends up causing a myriad of problems, including nonstop abdominal pain even between contractions. Thus this girl was in a lot of discomfort even though she was quite early on in her labor. We assessed her and sent her home to continue laboring on her own.

Finally around 9pm we started oxytocin on the first lady to speed things up a bit, and at 10:00 she finally delivered. Her baby was born “en caul”, meaning she was still wrapped entirely in the amniotic sac. In addition, the placenta was delivered at the exact same time as the baby, something I had never seen before. Imagine our surprise when the baby let out a nice loud cry immediately and began breathing on her own with no problems! She weighed only 1.57 kg (3.45 lb.), but was otherwise in good shape. Our biggest concern was her hesitancy to breastfeed and some grunting she was doing while breathing. We did what education we could and gave her an appointment to come back the following Friday. We sent her home not knowing if we would see her again or not.

The baby on Day 1.

Friday morning came and we scanned over the patients gathered at the clinic, but there was no baby to be seen. Our hearts sank as the morning went by without them showing up. We assumed the worst, that the baby had obviously not made the week. We were finished with consults around noon, so the nurses and I went home for lunch except for Ang, who stayed to work a bit in the pharmacy. It took her a while to get home, and when she walked in, she announced, “Guess who showed up to the clinic right after you left?” Yep, you guessed it. The baby!

Apparently the little girl is a little fighter and is doing well! She weighed 1.49 kg (3.28 lb) so had lost a few ounces, but that is to be expected for the first week. But she is breastfeeding and developing normally. Praise God for small miracles! Like Ang said, “It was worth staying late over lunch for that!” We will continue to monitor the little girl and hope that she continues to grow and develop.

After one week.

God Set You Here

One Thursday morning in August, a young man came to our clinic carrying a bundle of blankets. Inside was a tiny baby, only 24 hours old. It was a little boy named Jhonky, and the young man carrying him was his proud daddy, named Augustin. It took us only one glance at the baby’s face to see why he had come to us: he had been born with a cleft lip/cleft palate. In North America, this would have likely been detected on prenatal ultrasound and plans made for referral and surgery as soon as possible, but here it came as a total surprise when he was born. Dad was a simple mountain man, 24 years old with one older child. He came from an area called Gwo Cheval, about a 30 minute motorcycle ride away from our clinic. He was looking for help.

Our first concern was whether or not the baby was able to breastfeed. A cleft palate can make it very difficult for a baby to coordinate the critical sequence of suck/swallow/breathe that is so vital to nutrition and survival. Dad assured us that the baby breastfed fine, and the baby did appear comfortable and well-cared for. That took some of the urgency out of the situation, but it remained very important to get this baby to definitive care and scheduled for surgery as soon as possible. We knew that Bernard Mevs Hospital in Port-au-Prince has a cleft palate program, so I put in a message to the head nurse, a woman named Maggie. She replied that yes, the hospital was able to take care of this baby, but unfortunately the volunteer medical teams from North America that have previously come into the country and done these operations are no longer coming in because of the unrest and volatile political situation in Haiti. Therefore, the hospital is no longer able to offer this service free of charge. The operation itself would be 30,000 Haitian gourdes, or about $300-$350 USD at the current exchange rate. There would be office visits and laboratory fees to consider as well. Such a small amount of money compared to what we are used to paying for medical care in the States, but a price still far too high for this dad to come up with.

My heart knew what the right thing to do would be, but I also knew that offering to help this family would invest our clinic for the long run and may end up costing more than expected. I reached out to our board of directors in North America, seeking approval to sponsor this child and to look for donors to help cover the cost. They agreed that it was a worthy cause and they felt the way was open for us to move ahead and help this family wade through the hospital and operation process. I had planned to post the case to our website in hopes of finding some funds, but within a couple of hours the board came back to me with the news that they had already found enough pledges to cover the entire amount! I was amazed and humbled by the quick response and was so glad I could let the dad know that help was on the way. We made plans to take the baby to the hospital the following Monday for a consult with the pediatrician and meet with Nurse Maggie to be enrolled into the cleft palate program.

Early Monday morning Augustin met me in front of the clinic, carrying baby Jhonky all wrapped up against the morning chill. We made it to Bernard Mevs in good time and were number 6 in line to see the pediatrician. As usually is the case with Haitian healthcare, the visit ended up taking a good share of the day, but I won’t bore you with details. In the end we covered the important bases: we met Miss Maggie and received instructions for the cleft palate program, consulted with the pediatrician, and got labs drawn. They want Jhonky to be several months old before scheduling him for the operation, and in the meantime he can follow up in our clinic to ensure he is gaining weight appropriately. We packed up and headed back out of town, visiting as we drove. Augustin promised to keep in touch until his next appointment in our clinic, and he has done so. One week ago he called to tell me he wanted to bring us some fresh cow’s milk, and before long he showed up with not only a jug of milk, but also a sack of potatoes and some fresh field corn. He had walked on foot, carrying all this on his back. He assured me it wasn’t too far, if you take the shortcut through the ravine. He sat on my porch and we visited for a while before he set off to walk home. He expressed his great thankfulness for the help he was receiving, and he repeated over and over how he could have never managed to pay for the surgery and wade through all the bureaucracies of the hospital visits without us. All I could say was, “That’s what we’re here for. God put me here in this time to help people like you.” It makes me think of the song that repeats the phrase, “God set you here, God set you here…”

Today was Jhonky's first follow up appointment in our clinic. Augustin showed up right on time with him, all bundled up in the same blue blanket as the first visit.

He was awake and alert and appeared well cared-for and well-developed. He is still breastfeeding well and takes a bottle occasionally, and his weight had gone up from 3.2 kg to 3.97 kg. His vital signs were normal. We sent him home with a follow-up for the 8th of October. We hope and pray that he will still be doing well and gaining weight.

We sincerely thank each of you, even though we don’t even know all your names, who reached out and helped this family in their time of need. You can be assured your funds are being received with thankful hearts. We will keep you all posted as we move through this process together. Please continue to pray for Jhonky and his recovery.

Pa Ka Pale

An American nurse working at Confidence Health Center learns that some things aren’t what they first appear. Or rather, some things aren’t what they first sound like. Like any other language, Haitian Creole has many figures of speech and nuances. It’s only a matter of determining what these are and what the real meaning behind them is. This is a continual learning process, and even after working in the clinic for a year or two, one still has to sometimes sit back and say “Excuse me? You say what?”

Here are a few examples:

L’ap manje mwen. The literal translation of this is “It’s eating me.” As in: “I was chopping grass with a machete and accidentally sliced my foot open. Now it’s eating me.” Ok, exactly how is your foot eating you? Further questioning reveals that the foot is, in fact, hurting. It’s hurting bad. It’s eating me. What I need is some pain medicine and a bandage and maybe it won’t eat me anymore.

Depi anvan ye. This reply comes to the question, “Since when have you had this rash? (or this pain, or this wound, etc.) The patient frowns and thinks. Finally the answer comes: “Depi anvan ye.” Well, directly translated this means since before yesterday, so it is very little help to the nurse conducting the assessment. Yes, I can see that this foot has been infected for a long time. Definitely since before yesterday. But when exactly? A week ago? A month? A year? The patient nods. Yes. All of the above. Sometimes they clarify: “Pou plizye jou.” For many days. Ok, never mind. It’s not that important. We’ll forget about trying to find out exactly how long it’s been. Sigh.

Doule anba kè. We hear this multiple times per day. Almost every patient complains of this, both young and old. It means “under my heart is hurting.” Sometimes under my heart is “burning” specifically. I need Tums and omeprazole. I have heartburn.

Li poko gen laj. This is the occasional response we get to the question, “How old is your baby?” Mom frowns and shakes her head. “He doesn’t yet have age.” Well of course he has age, he’s right there in your arms! What age is he? When pressed for details, mom might be able to remember the date of birth. Calculating off of this, you can deduce that the child is 2 months old. But in the view of the mom, he doesn’t have age yet. He’s just a baby. A newborn. Nothing more and nothing less. Age doesn’t matter.

Pa ka pale. These words seem innocent but they usually carry a story. Translated, this is simply “cannot speak.” As in: “We were in the market and left our sister home alone. When we got back this afternoon, we found her lying in her bed like this. She can’t speak.” You bend to examine the patient, and indeed, she is lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, not speaking. Whether or not she actually can speak is not argued. You can try to coax words out of her, but the family is quick to assure you it won’t work. You’re wasting your time. She simply can’t speak. Her breathing is normal and unlabored. Her vital signs are normal. Her eyelids flicker when her eyelashes are brushed, giving the indication that she is conscious and aware. But nothing you do or say will get her to speak. What is the deal? The first time the American nurse encounters this, many wild possibilities come to mind. Has she had a stroke? Seems unlikely, considering she’s 18 years old and in apparently good health. Did she have a seizure and is now in a post-ictal state? She has no history of seizures. Was she poisoned? Is it tetanus? You question the family, as they are the only ones currently able to contribute to the story. They shrug and maintain their story that nobody was home and therefore they have no idea what happened. However, as you continue questioning and probing the issue, the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. The details come little by little, but in the end you get the gist of the problem. It seems that the girl was not, in fact, alone all day. She had a visitor, a neighbor girl who does not get along with her. They had problems between them, and the conversation got hot, and words were flung around like rocks. There were a few blows exchanged. And then the girl became like this. She can’t speak. Hmm… is she just angry? Yes, the family nods their heads sagely. She is angry. That is all? She can’t speak because she’s angry? Um-hm. Yep. Looks like it. Ok. Well, not much we can do about this! We can give a little something to calm her down, but this is a personal problem and medicine isn’t going to cure it. Yes, the family agrees. It is a mind thing. A problem with her spirit. She needs to forgive her neighbor. We give a little sedative and some gentle counseling and send them on their way. Sometimes the “pa ka pale” sickness strikes because of grief. I recently went to the house of a neighbor lady that had recently buried her son. She was lying in bed, staring at the wall. She couldn’t speak. I checked her over and eventually gave her a injection of diazepam, a sedative. A few hours later when I passed by, she was sitting up, smiling and able to speak again.

Mwen pa ka monte mòn. This complaint usually comes from an older person. The average age in Haiti is startlingly young, but occasionally we’ll get a patient who has passed the mark and is still with us. They usually don’t know their age exactly, but their hair is gray and their normally smooth face is lined with wrinkles. They peer at you with rheumy eyes and squint when you speak to them, having difficulty understanding your American accent. You ask what is wrong? The answer: “Mwen pa ka monte mòn.” Um, excuse me, you can’t climb mountains? “Exactly. When I’m walking home from work in the evenings, I find that I can’t climb the mountain. I get short of breath.” Well, that certainly is a problem, considering that you would be hard pressed to find 100 feet of level ground within walking distance of here. There is literally nothing but mountains here, so if you find that you suddenly can’t climb mountains, you’re in a hard place. But we patiently educate the patient on the natural process of aging, that maybe when you’re 70 years old and have done hard manual labor every day of your life, it’s normal to feel a little tired when hiking these mountains? I mean, I’m in the prime of life and I still sometimes feel like I’m going to give out, hiking up a particularly steep place. They smile and nod their understanding. We give them vitamins and some oral nutrition solution. Go home, papa. You’ve earned your rest. Maybe you will be able to climb a few more mountains yet.

Life Happening

Surprises in the Night

One evening as it was getting dark we noticed some activity outside our gate at the house. I could see the blue flickering of a phone light and murmuring of voices. I didn’t think much of it because the road past our house is a main route to the next zone, Oplimèt, and people pass at all hours. However, around 10 pm I went out to lock up the gates and noticed that there seemed to be some people milling around in the road, not going anywhere, so I shone my light through the bars of the gate to see what was up. In the dimness I could make out the forms of one or two people shuffling about, wrapped in jackets and scarves against the night chill. But what caught my attention was a large angular shape on the ground at their feet. I squinted through the bars to try to figure out what it was. It seemed to be a large object covered in some sort of a plastic sheet, and parts of it glittered bright gold in the light of my flashlight.

Slowly the thing came into focus and I realized, with no small amount of surprise, that it was a coffin. The shiny gold parts were the decorative molding around the handle. It was just sitting innocently in our driveway as though there was nothing at all strange about a coffin on the ground at 10 pm. I immediately thought of several questions I needed answered, so I caught the attention of one of the ladies standing beside it and asked what was going on? She explained that someone in Oplimèt had died and this was their coffin. It had just been brought up from a coffin shop in Port-au-Prince and our driveway was as far as the delivery vehicle could go. Therefore they had unloaded it and were waiting on someone to come from the house of the dead to pick it up and take it the rest of the way. My next question, of course, was whether or not anything or anyone was inside? She was quick to assure me that no, no! It’s empty! Somewhat placated, I left the ladies and their coffin where they were and made sure everything was closed up for the night.

A while later we heard raucous singing and chanting coming up the road. It sounded like quite a crowd of people had left the house of the dead and were coming to fetch the coffin. Side note: the night before a funeral in the Oriani area involves a veye, or a “watch”, wherein the body of the deceased remains in the presence of the family and assembled friends for the whole night. The only way to keep your sanity and stay awake while sitting around a coffin all night is, apparently, to drink alcohol, so the booze flows freely and by the morning of the funeral there are usually several people fairly soused.

By the sound of the crowd coming up the road in the pitch darkness, there had already been no small amount of alcohol consumed, and it was rather unnerving to hear their boisterous chanting and singing shattering the night stillness as they clustered around our gate, arranging the coffin. Presently they assembled themselves and headed off, their funereal marching song fading away into the night as they disappeared back down into the Oplimèt ravine.

The Vow

Recently we had a lady show up to our gate after hours in labor. She was accompanied, as usual, by a crowd of ministering friends and family, none of whom happened to be her husband. In this culture, the father of the baby is usually not present for the birth, or if he is around, he is skulking in the shadows outside, unable to handle the sight of his wife in discomfort. So the fact that this dad was not around was not surprising.

Our initial assessment of the mom gave us hope that it wouldn’t be long before the baby made his appearance. Therefore we assembled the necessary supplies and got ready to deliver a baby. But then things got a little weird.

Contrary to our initial prognosis, the baby stubbornly refused to be born. After quite some time of letting mom labor on her own, we got her up and encouraged her to walk around for a bit, hoping that would speed things up. Nothing happened. The baby’s head remained in the exact same position as when she had arrived. In addition, mom seemed to not be handling things very well and was in discomfort somewhat greater than normal. We did everything we could but there is not much that can be done to encourage a baby to come down, and finally the mom started to ask if she could just go home and have it at home. Usually with a lady in labor this far advanced, we don’t let them go, but she kept insisting and it was obvious that we weren’t doing much to help her anyways, so we packed her up and sent her out the gate.

And that’s where she stopped. She sat on the ground immediately outside and leaned against our fence, making an undue amount of noise and attracting a huge crowd. Neighbors of all age and size stopped to watch the spectacle of a lady apparently near delivery, sitting on the gravel outside the house of the “doctor” with no nurses helping her. Her family huddled around her and everyone involved gave lots of advice about what to do. Finally the whole scenario was getting a little out of control and it was apparent that they were not going home like they said, so I went out to see what I could do.

When my neighbors saw me coming out, they met me at the fence and wanted to talk. I explained that we had not just thrown this woman out on the street, but she had actually requested to go home. This was apparently news to everyone, and they were all amazed and shocked to hear that she had done such an unwise thing. Quickly the news spread around the crowd: “She ASKED to go home! They didn’t send her away! She WANTED to leave!” Judgement was quick and final: it was unanimously agreed that this woman had lost her mind and in fact, the wise thing to do would be to take her right back inside and deliver the baby appropriately. Meanwhile, everyone continued to encourage her to “Push!” and one man even tore off a tall stalk of grass and commenced to act like he was going to beat her with it, apparently in an effort to encourage her to stop being so dramatic and just get the baby born.

I decided we needed to take this into our hands and cut down on some drama. I explained that we would take her back in and continue to monitor her, but we would only let a select few of her family inside and everyone else needed to go home and not stand around the fence staring. Everyone heartily agreed with this plan, and they helped the lady to her feet and she staggered back inside. Slowly the crowd dispersed and silence reigned outside once more.

However, things didn’t move any faster than before. The baby was stubbornly in the same position. Even though dad had finally shown up and was giving his support, it didn’t seem to make any difference. Finally things started becoming more clear and the pieces of this mystery started falling into place. It seems as though the family was involved with the dark magic world, an all-too-familiar system in this culture given the blanket term “mystic.” They had apparently made a sèman, or a binding vow, that this woman must have the baby at her house, surrounded by her own people. The details were hard for me to grasp, but this vow was made in dark circumstances and it was preventing her from delivering the baby with us. The idea that this power exists and actually has control over someone like this is hard for an American to wrap his mind around. But in this country and with someone who believes in it and puts their faith into that world, things like this are very real. My Haitian nurses accepted it without question. The family has made a sèman and therefore this matter is out of our hands. We will not be able to deliver this baby here. She has to go home, according to the conditions of the vow.

It wasn’t long before the family again made the decision that it was time to go. We again cleaned up our supplies and sent the lady packing. She disappeared down the road, surrounded by her family. We never heard from her again. Just another example of just how sheltered and clean our life is in America, and how many other beliefs and powers there are in this world.

Changes, and an Open Door

Our American nurse Kay went home the middle of July. We would have gladly kept her on, but her new job at Mayo Clinic in Rochester was calling her name and she didn’t seem to want to stay! To replace her here in Oriani, Angela Toews from North Carolina came. She is an RN with years of experience as a pediatric nurse, and also has previous experience with this clinic; she spent a year working here in 2014. A lot has changed since then, but much has stayed the same and she was able to hit the ground running and fill the position well.

However, Ang is only committed to staying through October, and as of now we have nobody to fill her shoes. We are actively searching for a North American nurse, preferably an RN with experience, to come replace her. Surely there is someone out there who is looking for a change of scenery! We can promise you, this job will be unlike any you have ever had before. It is never dull and occasionally terrifying, but always fulfilling. You will stretch your horizons farther than you ever imagined. You will learn to eat new food, talk a new language, and make new lifelong friends. You will see things that make you laugh and things that want to make you cry, sometimes both in the same day. Open your heart and mind, and if you or someone you know is interested in becoming a part of the team here at Confidence Health Center, please get in touch with one of the board of directors. You can find contact information by going to our “Contact” page at:

www.confidencehealthcenter.com/contact

Send this on and spread the word! We would love to hear from you.