The Journey Home - Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, February 5-7

Friday was our last day in the clinic before the return home, so we tried to make the most of it. The lines were impossibly long, but we attempted to deliver as much care as we could as efficiently as possible. Three hundred twenty eight patients later, our day was complete.

One patient was a 70 year old gentleman who sat patiently in the hot sun for four hours to wait his turn. When his time came, he was too weak to climb the stairs and had to be carried. His story was a familiar one: his house was destroyed in the earthquake and with it his clothes, food, and medications. By Friday he had been several days without food or medicine, and his heart was failing. We treated him as best we could, and soon he felt stronger. Then he pulled out several pennies. “This is all I have,” he said. “I was hoping to buy one of the suckers you gave the children.” I placed the pennies back in his hand, and we gathered food from our personal supplies to give to him. “Thank you,” he said. “I am sure God has sent you to Haiti to care for me and my people. You have given us hope.” I got busy after that with another patient, and at that time he was discharged. I never got to say goodbye.

After the final patients were seen, we left the medicines and other supplies and packed up our gear. I had come down with 4 large duffel bags and an overstuffed backpack…I was leaving with a backpack, a couple pieces of clothing, five dollars (which I had overlooked), a credit card, a passport, and a book on speaking Creole. Also about 200 mosquito bites and several intestinal parasites.

Saturday we returned to Santa Domingo. First, a 3 hour ride to the border, then another 6 through the Dominican Republic countryside. We arrived at the Marriott Courtyard Hotel haggard and unbelievably dirty: I had not showered in a week. That was remedied moments after reaching my room, where the sensation of warm water never felt so good. I hit the bed (a bed!) and was out in minutes.

Sunday morning I was taken to the airport for my early morning flight out. I remember little of the return flight, as I was doing my best to make up for lost sleep. I dreamt of my patients again and again. I missed them already, but I was certainly ready to return home. Landing in Madison brought me a tremendous sense of relief and a serious chill…it was COLD. Fortunately, my family was waiting with a warm coat and warm hugs. I WAS HOME.

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Pain and Suffering Everywhere - February 3, 2010

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


Sorry there was no blog yesterday, but I was just too tired. There is pain and suffering everywhere here, and even our small corner of the medical effort is exceeding capacity. In four days we have now had 877 patient visits; the number is even more amazing given the fact that many are quite ill and require significant time from one or more of the physicians here. The acute injury phase is nearly over, but now we are seeing the previously neglected and ignored: children with no families, the elderly with “minor” injuries (although major to them given their health status), and chronic illness.

Also, infectious disease is becoming more visible. Today a gentleman came in complaining of white urine and fever; he had been treated for Typhus without improvement. I realized the description of his urine was due to proteinuria, and made the (correct) diagnosis of malaria. His antibiotics have been changed.

I toured some of Port au Prince today, and saw the degree of devastation of the buildings. Most are unsafe if not rubble, and people are everywhere in large tents in the streets. They are going to have to level most of the buildings and start from scratch, a tremendous and depressing undertaking. Nevertheless, the city is beginning to come alive again. There are small signs: the merchants selling stuff on the streets, a basketball game in a rubble filled courtyard, small amounts of food being cooked over open fires.

It is amazing, at times overwhelming, but definitely a fulfilling experience. Everyone here, including me, is rapidly becoming burnt out. Nine days is about right, before a fresh set of personnel are needed. I am now sleeping routinely on the roof. I don’t think I can convey to those who have not experienced it exactly how beautiful it is to hear a city singing itself to sleep.


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