haiti (part 2)

Saturday, January 23, 2010
(from my journal)

"Peds again today-Yay! I love these kids. I truly love them, and I tell them I love them, and I kiss them and hug them and kiss them some more. They are special little souls, these children of Haiti. So strong, so valiant."



Ninety-eight percent of the children that visited our clinic presented with complaints of vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, fever and cough. Most were not actually sick; moms were seeking food, formula, pedialyte, and diapers. Those that had legitimate ailments were given medication, (antibiotics for ear/respiratory infections, tylenol and motrin for fever, decongestants for stuffy noses) sometimes breathing treatments if respirations were a struggle. All babies were given diapers, many were given formula and food. Ill or not, every child was dehydrated, and to all we gave Pedialyte (thank you Abbott Medical for the endless supply of lifesaving Pedialyte!).











Most of the children we saw in the clinic had concerned, loving parents caring for them, keeping them safe. Even with the devastation surrounding them, these babies and children were happy, content, and CLEAN...so very very CLEAN! These families live in tents, have no running water, and yet their clothes are spotless!





If a baby seemed quite sick, the doctor or nurse in triage would bring him back to us right away. Such was the case with a twenty day old, tiny little angel of a boy. He was brought in by a desperate father who explained the baby's mother had left two days earlier. Nobody knew where she had gone, or if she was coming back. The baby hadn't eaten since she left. "He won't stop crying," dad said, "I don't know what to do." The baby was starving.

We had no bottles, so I started feeding him formula with a syringe. He stopped crying once the sweet taste of Similac hit his tiny little mouth. He seemed content with the feeding until he decided he wanted to suck. He moved his head side to side rooting for a source of comfort to accompany the much needed nutrition. He started crying again, fighting the syringe, but grasping for it at the same time. My heart was pounding and I began to slip into that frustrated, breath snatching mode. My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears and I watched this innocent little baby struggle in distress over my futile attempts to comfort him.

At that moment I realized...I was here in Haiti for a reason, a purpose. I was here to help these people in any way I possible could. If I gave in to frustration what would they do? I had more to offer this baby at this time than his homeless, forsaken and forlorn father.

With that I put on a latex glove. I held the baby in one arm and alternately gave him a bit of formula from the syringe, then put a gloved finger in his mouth to suck. Back and forth, for about an hour. I was able to fill his little tummy and rest him in sweet snoring slumber on my shoulder.

When I finally handed the baby back to his father along with more formula than we were technically supposed to give one person, I looked him in the eyes and pleaded "please find his mother." The formula we provided will run out...he needs his mom, he needs her milk.

I pray for this little baby and so many others...my babies, my Haitian babies, every single day.



I did have a favorite.

A baby that seized my heart from the moment I gazed into his beautiful brown, endlessly-lashed eyes.



His name was Stanley and he was just over eighteen months old. Dressed in dapper (spotlessly clean!) overalls and a smart, striped t-shirt, he looked at me with a puzzled expression as I drifted in his direction entranced by his adorableness. I looked at him and started my usual oohing and awwing that I could not hold back while in the presence of these incredible children. Though none of these little ones could understand my language, they understood my tone and recognized my smile. They would smile in turn, and shyly duck into mom's arms grinning coyly, flirting and peeking to make sure I didn't slip away.

Stanley was different. When I spoke to him in my sing song voice he looked me right in the eye, and without any expression at all responded..."huh?"

Stanley's mother allowed me to take him for a walk around the clinic and camp. I showed off my new friend to everyone around.

"Talk to him," I'd say.

"Hi Stanley!"

"Huh?"

Every single time. He never cracked a smile. It was priceless.

I was in love...

His mother sensed I had fallen for him and before she left the clinic whispered a request that brought tears to my eyes. "You will take him? To the America?"

Oh how I wish I could.
(What a good mama--she wanted the very best for her sweet baby.)

(from my journal)

"...I love Stanley, I love all my Haitian babies. I love Haiti. I love the people I am working with and those we are serving. How did I get so lucky to have this opportunity so unexpectedly come my way? I will be forever grateful that it did."