Day Twenty-One: Life in the Tents

One of the first things people notice when when they arrive at Good Samaritan Hospital is how desolate and isolated the hospital seems from the rest of the town. Indeed, it is located up on a hill, about a kilometer away from the city center of Jimani. The terrain around the hostpial is dry and dusty. Mountains flank the area on either side, leading one to an even greater sense of being landlocked and lonely.

Currently, there are a total of three patient tents at Jimani. Each tent is located outdoors and has approximately 15-18 patients. Conditions inside can get pretty crowded, especially since each patient usually has 1-2 family members staying with them to tend to their every need. Whereas in the U.S., nurses are responsible for cleaning and feeding their patients, as well as helping them use the bathroom, the Haitian families insist on doing everything themselves. Just sitting back and watching the interaction between each patient and their families and friends is touching in and of itself.

Ana and I were able to go to visit the tents briefly in the afternoon, immediately following our pharmacy duty. We helped take vitals and did a couple of wound dressing changes. It seemed that almost every patient there had very extensive orthopedic surgeries as well as amputations. Many of them also had numerous skin grafts put in place as plastic surgeons attempted to debride and treat wounds. It is heartbreaking to watch them scream and squirm as we pull away their dressings and clean their wounds. What is more humbling is the way the Haitians always seem so grateful amidst such pain, even muttering "merci, merci" to us as we pull away pieces of dead skin from their wounds.

At one point, I was asked to help a woman out who said she needed something for her child. She turned to Ana and said one thing, but in the next moment, she turned to me and said something completely different. With an animated gesture at her chest, the woman started saying "pompas" over and over again in a mix of Creole and Spanish. Somehow, I took this to mean "breast pump" and scampered off in search of them. When I came back with containers from a breast pump kit, she burst out laughing and got the Creole interpreter. I soon learned that she really wanted "diapers," and that this is what she meant when she asked for "Pampers." I think I was the laughingstock of the whole tent that afternoon...

I almost hate to say it, but I'm starting to wonder what Ana and I will really be able to do once we fully transition the pharmacy over to others. In the tents, it really seemed like there was an overflow of overly-qualified people who could changed IVs, wound dressings, and provide effective triage. But, we shall see what tomorrow brings. It seems that there is no shortage of work here at least...