Tidbits

A more recent conversation with a short-term team member:

Team Member: Oh wow! So you are like a real live missionary?

Me: Um, well, I don't know. I guess?

Team Member: You know what really gets me going? When missionaries live in big houses with big screen TVs. [SIDE NOTE: that is very specific, lady] I mean, aren't there better things they can be spending their money on? I mean, I have a big screen TV, but I'm not a MISSIONARY.

Me: ....

You know what really gets me going lady-who-shall-remain-nameless? Your double standard. Your condemnation. Your big screen TV. If you really believe the Gospel and want to see it take hold of this world, I think your attitude needs to change, because right now you don't get it. Thanks for coming for the week. Go home now.

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A look into my last "day off":

Drive to a tent city to drop off our two prosthetics patients = 1.5 hours

Drive to the airport to drop off a team member = 1 hour

Drive to Carrefour to drop off two of our orthopedic patients for ongoing care = 2 hours

Drive back to the Mission = 2 hours

As far as post-quake injuries, orthopedics is the name of the game. Want to know how many places are still doing orthopedic surgeries on a regular basis?

TWO.

Two places, one a tent hospital, have the capabilities to do orthopedic surgeries. Imagine the amount of people needing ongoing, follow up care. Imagine the amount of external fixation devices needing to be removed. Imagine the bone infections that are popping up now, requiring days of IV antibiotics.

Imagine dropping off your two patients, young girls with their whole lives ahead of them. Imagine seeing them look at you and ask when you will return to pick them up. Imagine their looks of sadness to realize that you are leaving them there, to find some way to get home the 3+ hours on a tap tap with a broken tibia. Imagine the frustration for being able to do so little to help.

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A patient from last week:

20 year old from a local village has had a mass growing on his leg for over a year. He comes in to have it looked at. Some doctors call it cancer. The next doctors call it benign and cystic. He needs pathology to look at it. There is no pathology in country. I have another doctors appointment scheduled for him next week for a third opinion. If it is discovered he has cancer, the reality of treatment is grim. He would need to get to the States soon.

He calls me almost daily asking if I know what he can do yet. He asks me if I will go to his doctor's appointments with him. He is scared, and so am I.

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A joy from last week:

Andre, an older man, ragged and smelling strongly of marijuana, comes to the clinic for a follow-up appointment. He gets his external fixation removed. He wears the same hat every day and has to remove it for surgery. As soon as he comes to after surgery, he asks me for his hat. I put it on and a complete look of satisfaction comes across his face.

Andre leaves and says he will come back tomorrow. The following day he shows up with a big bag of corn. He gives it to me as a thank you. He's got a grin missing most of his teeth, still smelling of marijuana, a salt and pepper long beard, and his conductor's hat on. Once again he asks me for money because he is hungry. I tell him to eat some corn, and he laughs. Then I give him a few dollars for a tap tap home and off he hobbles.

Between that and Haitian radio that plays Celine Dion and Colbie Caillat, you can't help but enjoy life here sometimes.