I want to apologize for it taking so long to get Part II out. I got caught up in school as well as an injury to my shoulder that had me in a sling for awhile. But better late than never. I hope you can find some meaningfulness in this post. Part III will be out within a couple weeks. Also, I know that I said I'd include the story of the baby I helped in Haiti in Part II, but I've decided she deserves her own post because I have a lot to say about that story, as well as the incredible people who run the orphanage that she lives at.
Click Here to Read Part I
Round 2
I was feeling rather refreshed (albeit also rather sun-burnt)
after our day off on Tuesday where we got to see a side of Haiti that I've
never been able to see before; the luxurious, touristy Haiti. We went to an
incredible hotel where we swam and laid out in the sun for a bit too long. So
long that when I was woken up Wednesday morning at about 4:00AM to assist in
relocating a dislocated hip, I nearly passed out from dehydration. If I hadn't
recognized I was about to pass out, I would have become a patient myself.
Touché Haiti.
Haiti:2
Jesse: 0
But like I’ve said before, no matter how many times Haiti
knocks me down, I get back up. This time though, that statement was a lot more
literal than figurative. After a couple minutes on the ground, I drank a lot of
water, went back to sleep, and arouse for my shift a few hours later feeling
much better. As I stepped out for my shift, I was looking forward to getting
back to what I truly came here for; to try to help people and win a round.
Unfortunately, like I mentioned back in my first post, sometimes there’s
nothing we can do to win. Round 3 against Haiti was exactly that.
Round 3
Wednesday and Thursday were two of the busiest days that I've
ever had while I was in Haiti. To be completely honest, in my mind those two
days are blended into one very long day. So I’ll be honest, I don’t necessarily
remember the order that these events happened or if they happened on Wednesday
or Thursday. With that being said, I do clearly remember this next round
happening around noon on Wednesday. It was the heat of the day (around 100
degrees outside) and I was sitting on the ramp outside of triage when an
ambulance came driving up through the gates. At first I thought we were going
to have another patient, but they just needed the CT scanner, which is at the
back of the hospital complex. A Haitian EMT and I helped direct the ambulance
to the scanner. When I went to help get the patient out, what I saw was not
very comforting. Anyone who is in the medical field knows that you can walk
into a scene, see the patient, and within a couple seconds, determine whether
this patient is in critical shape or not. The second I saw this woman, I knew
she was in critical shape. The first thing that I noticed was the “foam” coming
out of her mouth. Next I noticed she was completely unresponsive and appeared
to be seizing uncontrollably. She was in bad shape. And it really didn’t help
that she was outside in extremely hot weather. We needed to get her to the CT
scanner as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the scanner was in use at that
moment. So the patient waiting in the blazing hot ambulance until the scanner
was ready. Once the scanner was ready we brought this woman into the room and
left. I figured my job was done. The ambulance drivers were with her and she
was only here to get a CT. After the CT they were going to take her back to the
hospital she was originally at. But this is Haiti. And in Haiti, more often
than not things don’t go as planned. So as I was taking a break in my room and
a Haitian EMT came in looking for “Dr. Abelson”, I knew something was wrong.
What he said next was exactly what I was hoping I wouldn’t hear: “The patient
has stopped breathing”.
Instantly
I sprung up. My break was over. I was ready for the fight. I left my air
conditioned room and went back out to face Haiti. Round 3 had begun. I quickly
found Dr. Abelson and we ran to the CT scanner where sure enough, the patient
was no longer breathing. Immediately Dr. Abelson ordered CPR to be started.
This was no longer their patient. This was our patient and our deal now. We
were responsible for her. Her life was in our hands now. As we struggled to
find the BVM to give her respirations, someone started performing CPR. But there
was no crash cart in the CT room. This patient needed to be in the ER, which
was across the complex. At least 100 yards away. And she needed to be put onto
a stretcher to be moved there. And she had to be lowered from the scanner. All
of this had to be done while we served as her heart and lungs, delivering chest
compressions and breaths through a BVM that we finally found. It was the
definition of chaos. But as I have now seen so many times, in times of chaos
and split-second decisions, there is always one person who stands out as the
voice of calm and reason. That man happens to be my role-model and a rather
wise man, Dr. Abelson. Oh and did I mention he’s also my dad? Dr. Abelson
quickly ordered one person to continue doing compressions and another person to
keep delivering breaths while the rest of us moved the patient to the stretcher
and down the lift from the scanner to the ground. As we rolled the patient
across the courtyard with my brother running next to the stretcher doing compressions,
it felt like I was in a movie. Except this movie didn’t have a happy ending.
Despite our best efforts, there was nothing we could do. This one was out of
our hands. After about 20-30 minutes of our best efforts of CPR, we pronounced
her. What we didn’t realize until later was that just a couple weeks earlier,
this woman was living her life and expecting another kid. Tragically something went
wrong with the pregnancy and the fetus died. This most likely caused this woman
to have an infection and ultimately pass away. 2 deaths. 2 deaths that could
have been avoided with modern medicine and health care. How do I know that?
Because the maternal mortality rate in Haiti is 15 times higher than in the
United States and 190 (yes that says 190) times higher than in Israel. I think
Haiti gets 2 points for this round.
Haiti: 4
Jesse: 0
Round 4
I think that this round has to be the most heart-wrenching
round that I experienced in Haiti. It was the busiest day I've had in Haiti and
for some reason, the pediatric ward was extremely busy. So busy that by
mid-day, there were absolutely no beds left. So when a child, who was the most
malnourished child I have ever seen came into triage, we had no options. I don’t
exactly remember how old this child was but she was at least 1 year old yet she
looked like a newborn. I’d say this child was easily less than 24 inches in
height and probably weighed about 10 pounds. This child needed fluids. And
food. And a bed. But there was nothing that we could do. All our beds were
full. Her breaths were shallow and short. She needed oxygen and antibiotics.
But we couldn’t take her. Every part of me wanted to help them. I wanted to
scream. I was sad. I was angry. But worst of all, I was helpless. There was nothing
I could do. And that was the hardest part. So we had to turn them away. We told
them of another hospital that may be able to take her in but we all knew. As I
watched this family walk out, I think everyone knew. No one wanted to say it,
but that child wasn’t going to make it. I wanted to cry. Later, I did. I think
we all did. But the worst thing about that, is that what I had experienced wasn’t
unusual. In fact, it’s pretty common. As Paul Farmer would say, that’s a ‘stupid
death’. One that’s completely unavoidable. I will never forget the faces on the
family as they walked out. The expression of helplessness and desperation. I
get it Haiti. You’re the stronger one. But please, can you just once let me win
a round?
Haiti: 5
Jesse: 0
I’m going to end this blog post
here. I’ll have a 3rd one (I promise it’ll be less depressing) in
the next couple weeks. I just wanted to end by saying, if there’s one thing to
take away from these posts is that I want people to realize just how lucky they
are. I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad that they’re well off compared to
the much of the world. What I want is for people to realize that and appreciate
it. Appreciate that you have a roof over your head. Appreciate that you have
access to clean water. That you can take a hot shower whenever you want. But
most of all, appreciate the people around you. Because you never know when they
won’t be there anymore. Sometime I want you to just stop what you’re
doing, put your phone or laptop or IPod down and take a good look around you. Realize how lucky
you are and how much of a fragile gift life is. And then keep going about your
day and appreciate the fact that you’re alive and well. I promise, it'll make your day a whole lot more meaningful.
R.I.P. Jerry
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