Today was the most emotionally challenging day in Haiti so far. So many different things, one after another, kept burdening my heart. Even writing about them causes the feelings to well up again.
First of all, Vicki and Nadine went back to Canada after they had been with us for 2 weeks. It has been so much fun getting to know them through the clinic and just hanging out, playing UNO/dutch blitz, and watching movies. It was sad to see them go, but that wasn't the hard part. After all, we can still keep in touch via facebook/email, and who knows, we may one day see one another again. They both have a heart for medical missions, so I will most likely be in touch with them.The really hard stuff started with the very first patient we saw today. It was a 6-year old boy who had been having difficulty breathing since Friday night. When he came in, his respiratory rate was about 30 breaths per minute (normal is 12-20), and his heart rate was way up around 160 beats per minute (normal is 60-100). He was breathing so hard that, his chest cavity sunk in every time he tried to breath, just like the baby we saw over two weeks ago. Through auscultation I could here loud turbulent noise during inspiration. Even without using a stethoscope, we could hear a loud noise with each breath. It sounded like his upper respiratory tract (airway above his lungs) was blocked. We could not take a look down into his throat because there was a big risk of further irritating the airway, causing a complete blockade.
We took him to our emergency room (formerly operation room) and put him on oxygen and nebulizer with various medications to open up his airway and gave him several shots of epinephrine, but nothing seemed to work. At some point his respiratory rate was up to 50bpm. I had to auscultate his heart to count his heart rate. I couldn't distinguish the pulses on his wrist because they were faint and beating so fast, even up to about 170bpm. It was horrifying to actually hear a heart beat that fast.
The boy was struggling so hard just to get a descent breath that he would try to take the nebulizer off of his mouth or move his arms around. We all had to work together to hold him up and still. It was especially hard for me to watch him struggle because he resembled Oliguch, one of the orphans with whom I spent 4 months in P-au-P last year. It was heart-wrenching to think that he could actually die if he didn't get his breathing back to normal. We prayed so many times for him as we waited for the medicine to work.
After 3 hours (8:30AM-11:30AM), despite all our efforts, he wasn't getting any better, so we had to take the risk of transporting him to Justinian Hospital, which is over half an hour away. Gavin, Evan, Amy, and Dr. Stefan went to the hospital, while Laura and I stayed at the clinic. Dr. Stefan used to work at Justinian Hospital, so Gavin figured he would be a great help there.
Meanwhile at the clinic, there was a woman lying on a mattress just outside the emergency room. She seemed very sick, and people were gathered around to see what was going on. Soon after we sent the boy to the hospital, a couple guys carried the woman away and left the clinic. Just as they passed by Laura and me, Ms. Prudence came up to us and explained what was going on.
The woman had been diagnosed HIV positive, but she did not tell anyone in her family nor her boyfriend. Now, she was so sick with AIDS that she couldn't even walk. The two men that carried her away were from her family, and they were taking her to a witch doctor because they didn't believe in western medicine. I had heard various things that witch doctors do to their patients, most of which are rather harmful if they did anything at all. It was dreadful to think what they might do to the woman, and how the family could also suffer the consequences of HIV because many of the rituals involve mixing blood or making cuts on people with razor blades.
Then Ms. Prudence told us about two little girls, 4 and 3-year olds, that were brought in by their grandfather a few minutes ago. Both of their parents had died of AIDS, and the grandfather brought them to the clinic basically to say that he doesn't want the kids because he can't feed nor clothe them.
The grandfather said the younger one is HIV positive, so Ms. Prudence had them both tested for HIV. The kids and the grandfather were waiting for the results while she told their story. Then Laura remembered that Gill, one of the long-term missionaries, has a stash of donated clothes at the office, so we went there and brought some down for the girls. I didn't know what to say to the grandfather, so I just walked up to him and handed him what we had. He said, "Mèsi," so I said, "Padekwa," but I still didn't know what else to say, so I just walked away. I felt sorry that this was all we could do for them.
After lunch, the results came back, and it turns out that both of the girls are HIV positive, and the younger one also has syphilis. They were both put on the HIV program and the feeding program, so at least they have access to palliative care and some food. Although, HIV program has been affected by budget cuts from the government, so I don't know what will happen to it in the near future.
Later on I asked the grandfather their names and ages, and he told me that Enya is 4, and Lovely is 3. They are both beautiful and innocent little girls. Ms. Prudence gave them some food to eat here before they went home. As I watched the three of them share a little bowl of rice and beans, my heart ached to think that the girls would have to suffer the consequences of their late parents' misbehavior. And they have no idea what is happening to them.
While Laura and I were still waiting for Gavin and others to come back from the hospital, the two of us assisted Lizette, one of Haitian nurses who works in the treatment room, change the dressing on Madelene, the girl with the machete wound. Augusma, the old man with broken elbow and torn hand, had also been waiting to have his dressing changed since the clinic opened this morning, but his case is more complicated so we waited for Gavin.
Gavin and others finally came back around 3:30PM. It turns out that the boy has, of all things, diphtheria. If you are like me or most people in developed countries, you know that you get vaccinated against diphtheria (usually with tetanus and pertussis) as a kid, but have no idea what diphtheria is. It was quite shocking to know that what I saw this morning was something I would never see in the States. Even Gavin, who has been working at the clinic for 2.5 years, had never seen diphtheria before.
Fortunately, the boy is now intubated (has a tube down to his trachea for ventilation) and stable. However, besides blocking the airway with the formation of false membrane in the throat, diphtheria can cause fatal heart and nerve damage by the toxin released by the bacteria. Antitoxin is being administered, but we really don't know what will happen to him, especially because he has already been very ill since Friday. We'll have to continue praying for him.
Since diphtheria is highly contagious, and we had been in close contact with him for 3 hours in a confined space with no air-conditioning (plus he was on nebulizer, which makes water droplets that helps the bacteria travel through air), we need to be concerned for ourselves and those who come in contact with us. As a precaution, all of us went straight home, rinsed our shirts, and took a shower. Thank God we're vaccinated.
At dinner there were just the three of us: Laura, Evan, and me. It was a bit quiet and lonely, but I'm glad I still have the two with me. Afterwards we invaded Amy's house, which we'll probably be doing most of the nights from now on, and watched Spanglish. I was doing stuff on my computer (writing email, catching up on blog writing/reading) so I didn't pay much attention to the movie, but it seemed like a good movie from what I got out of it.
Today was a very long and emotionally draining day, but a kind of day that I would never want to forget.
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