I can feel the anticipation as we arrive around 9 AM. They flock to us and assume we are all medical staff. They point to their deformed toes and blood shot eyes and skin rashes. They show us their infections. They gesture stomach problems and take our hands to feel their lumps.
We quickly set up the clinic and the first patient is called. An old woman saunters up to the triage table and states her problem. Diabetes, high blood pressure, STDs, vagal discharge, blurred vision and toenail fungus seem to be competition for the disease of the day.
Two young men translate for us. I am impressed with their poise and maturity as I hear them explain ever so softly, "she has a pain in the vagina." And Beth, our nurse, responds, "Does it hurt or is there any discharge when she urinates"? The translator receives a "yes" and then tells the woman that it is ok, she doesn’t have to show us.
We came prepared to set up a private corner of the room for those who do need to undress and expose themselves but this effort proves to be unnecessary as everyone is unabashed about taking their clothes off and showing us her breast or dropping his pants to show us where it hurts.
We have several hundred pounds of medicines, all donated by hospitals around the Wilmington area. We have mostly pain killers, neoprene and antibiotics. We could use more vaginal cream, eye drops and asthma medicine. There is nothing we can do for the people with diabetes. For high blood pressure, the medical team does what it can to convince people to reduce their salt and MSG intake and to stop eating so much fried food. It is not even suggested they eat more vegetables. Other than plantains and coconuts, not much more is available to these poor, poor people.
One woman comes in with a flesh eating rash. An old man has a growth on his forehead the size of an apple. A man is stopped at the door because he came too late to get a card. He calls out to anyone who will respond. He catches my attention and I catch his panic. He desperately begs me to give him "the asthma medicine with the blue pump". I look to Beth and she tells me he has to be seen by the doctor first. "I got it here last year," he yells to me. "No money to go to the doctor. Please. Please. It is the blue pump". I ask Beth if she knows this medicine. She tries in vain to calm me down but I am unnerved by his desperation. "Please, the blue one. I just need the blue one." Beth calls to him and tells him to come back tomorrow and I give him a ticket, guaranteeing that he will be seen. That appeases him and he leaves.
A mother comes in with her infant son, Joseph. She is worried about her fever. But Beth is worried about her son. Joseph is seriously ill. He is dehydrated and lifeless. The mother has stopped feeding him because she was afraid he would catch her fever.
Joseph now becomes the critical patient of the day. We don’t have any formula to give him. So breast milk is the only and best options for him. But the mother has no milk. She is highly dehydrated herself. I find a 1/2 bottle of juice someone didn’t finish yesterday and we offer it to her. She drinks it down. I fill this bottle again with water and she consumes this drink as quickly as well.
We ask her to begin feeding Joseph. She protests a little. She is still not sure he can’t get her fever. But the translator does his best to convince her. She surrenders and lifts up her blouse. As Joseph is sucking on her prune like breast, Beth gives him a sponge bath. She rubs his head with a wet wash cloth. He begins to respond ever so slowly. Life is coming back to him. We give the mother medicine. We hydrate her and give her food. Yet we recognize that we have only dodged a crisis and there will be many more during his fragile life. This mother does not have the intellectual capacity, the financial means and the family support to raise a healthy child.
Some of the patients are seen and asked to come back the next day. Their symptoms are so unusual the doctor wants some time at the end of the day to do some internet research.
We attempt to close the clinic at 1pm as the staff is exhausted. But every day there is a new request that can’t be ignored. A mother shows up with a sick baby, someone broke a finger, one of the campers split a lip and there is lots of blood. It is usually 2:30 or 3:00 by the time we close the door. And when we return the next day, we start all over.
For more stories about my time in Haiti, please of to Bridgetkellyinhaiti.blogspot.com
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