And lived to tell

Blog by Rick Radcliff

A few days ago our team took a 5 mile round-trip walk to Lake Trou Caiman (see below).   After some tough days of dealing with all the oppressive heat, the roller coaster of emotions, and the difficult extreme situations at each of the medical clinics during each day, many of us headed out to see something beautiful and peaceful to recharge and reset ourselves.  In the photo you can see our great friend and mission trip superstar Dr. Deanna Reinoso out in the water with some local boys from Chambrun who tagged along with us.

Only Deanna (out of the 15 of us that walked down there) would brave what is likely some very unsafe water at various levels.  There are surely microscopic organisms, bacteria, and potentially American crocodiles which inhabit some of the lakes in Haiti (but were weren’t certain if they are in this one).  Deanna was born in Colombia in South American to heroic missionary parents and actually lived amongst piranhas, anacondas, and (I’m not kidding) blowdart shooting natives as a child.  Some unclean water isn’t going to deter Deanna (that’s another full blog).

When our son Trey (19) watched Deanna walk out into the water, he said he thought it looked like someone was going to get baptized.  Like a baptism is symbolic of a saved life (or soul) our team was literally saving lives this past week.

In the photo below, we see my wife Kitty holding a special needs child as Deanna is kneeling on the rocks attending to the child.  This child was in fine condition on this day, but our team and Deanna probably literally saved the lives of 2-4 individuals.  On one day as I was working in our rural version of a pharmacy I observed Deanna pleading and begging for a mother to continue to nurse her child.  Deanna had given the baby (who came in very weak) some formula that we had brought with us, and then implored the mother to breast feed.  In Haiti mothers are often told that if they are sick or the child is sick or weak that breast feeding can be harmful to either the mom or child.  Deanna was telling her to breast feed or your baby is going to die. 

[Note:   This photo also depicts exactly how our mobile medical clinics work.  There are usually 4 folding chairs on rocks at each station under a circus tent pre-established by NVM.  In this photo, Annie (in blue) is the provider at this station (Annie is an ICU nurse from Riley). Next to her is a Haitian interpreter which we have at each station.  Next to him are the patients.  Deanna would often roam from one station to the next as needed for her expertise with children.]

When you go on a short-term mission trip you know you’re doing the right thing.  You hope you’re making a tangible difference — a lot of times the different seems subjective.  On these trips with the medical team we have, you know that God is working mightily through this ministry and our team in a fairly unprecedented way (Pastor Pierre setting that standard).  We have other team members like Deanna who have been equally gifted and called by God –

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon (them), he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor…He has sent me to recover the sight for the blind, to release the oppressed” (Luke 4).

Last Day in Haiti

By Ken Klotz

So much happened this trip.  It has been a great week here in Haiti with such an awesome team!  Today we started out at 7:00 AM in the Chambrun Clinic as Dr. Edmond was not going to come in until late today.  Several of us from our team went there to serve until we left later in the AM to go to the IDP camp in Lycee.  We even had Shelli Elliott, world’s smartest pharmacist, serving with us.  Marshall, Deanna, and I all saw patients at the clinic this AM that were heartbreaking.  A little boy that Deanna saw had Norwegian scabies in his groin area that had gotten infected and he had gas gangrene who we shipped out to the hospital in a taptap following a dose of antibiotics.  Marshall saw an elderly patient with severe hypertension who had a stroke this morning.  And I saw a patient with a probable intra-abdominal malignancy, possibly pancreatic cancer who had lost so much weight his clothes that once fit him well were now hanging on him.  Like all prior mission trips to Haiti as in other third world countries it is so frustrating to see conditions for which the diagnostic and therapeutic options are so limited.  That coupled with the delays in seeking care due to lack of available health care services and the lack of health literacy of the local people bring us conditions that are far more severe than we would otherwise see in the US.  We then do what we can to help them with what God has given us to work with.  This leads to God given creative approaches and solutions and by pooling the gifts and experience of our team members.  But most of all we pray and our dependence on God deepens.   At the IDP camp today we saw a young lady who fainted in line from dehydration and infection as happened to another lady earlier this week.  The young Haitian lady today was suffering from dehydration and infection and had not eaten in 5 days as her companion said that her boyfriend beats her and would not give her anything to eat for the past 5 days.  She also had her three kids including an 8 month old who were also ill.  Deanna and I saw them together with awesome nursing care provided by Krista and Kacie and others from our team who assisted in treating them.  The young lady was much improved with some IV fluids and antibiotics but our team was very frustrated to think of her going home to that abusive relationship and wondering if the boyfriend would take their medications and sell them.  A friend of the lady offered to help make sure they would be OK and be able to take their medications but there were no available resources in the camp or in the community that could assist this lady and her children to protect them and remove them from this abusive relationship.  As many of you know there are countless other young women and children here in Haiti in a similar situation.  Thank God for NVM and the other Christian organizations, missionaries, and teams from around the world who serve here and show the love of Christ to the Haitian people and are working to improve their lives and to seek to break the cycle of poverty and despair.  There have been so many God moments this week many of which our team members have shared with each other but many of which we hold inside and are continuing to process and pray about.  God is so good!  I know others like Diane and I would never even be here in Haiti if it were not for our loving and great God who has put on the hearts of our team a desire to serve in this very difficult environment to help those in need for the glory of Christ.  We come home tomorrow, God willing, but forever changed by what God has taught us here and with more open eyes and hearts to those in need around us, even closer to our Lord, and even more looking for the opportunities each day where we can stand up and say: “Here I am Lord, send me”.

Ken

In the Midst of Disparity

Blog by Austin Guevara

Our week is nearly completed here in Haiti, and it’s been nothing but a constant stream of “God moments.”  We ought to call this “God time.”  As I’ve discussed with my good buddy Austin Clemens, a week seems impossibly long for us to have been here; it’s gone by so quickly.  Yet simultaneously, it feels as though we’ve always been here.  Tomorrow will dawn with uneasy bitter-sweet feelings.  We’re ready to return, but it’s heartbreaking to leave this place we now call home.

My greatest personal character alteration has been my realization that I have nothing to complain about in my life.  I realize the insignificance of all my menial complaints and qualms.  What is a bit of tiredness throughout the day compared to the life of poverty and hunger lived by so many?  And what really bugs me is that the hundreds of people that we’ve seen in our short time here are a minuscule representation of all those living in similar conditions, not only in Haiti, but all over the world.

Earlier in the week, a discussion fell towards the feeling of guilt and anger accompanied with the return home.  Clinton said that when he returned home last year, he kept asking himself, “What gives us the right to live this way when there are others in such disparity?”  What makes me feel most guilty is that I keep wishing I could be home, where I have all my clean clothes, private room, and private bathroom.  Personally, I never could stand the whole “processing” and “debriefing” that accompanies missions  trips, and I really regret that now.  There’s going to be a lot to mull over after this experience.

Our group leaders encouraged us to take “mental snapshots,” of things we’ve seen this week.  I have far too many to remember them all. It’s unspeakably heartening to look into the eyes of a child here, to see their immaculate, brilliant smile, and see how they’re undaunted by the suffocating atmosphere of despair.  There’s hope in Haiti, and now hope in my heart.

Austin Guevara

Hoosier Hatians

Before our team even left, God was providing ways for us Hoosiers to get connected with our brothers and sisters in Haiti. With only 2 days on the ground in Haiti, many have said they feel at home; they feel welcomed and a part of a family. Its easy. Its real. And it is because of the Haitian people that we feel this way. How they can have such big smiles on their faces, welcome us “blans” into their lives without judgement, and love on us in a way that invokes the spirit and shows us what God’s love should look like?

Before we left, I received an email about Jean and his mother. Jean is a 2 year old with Hydrocephalus who’s mother used to carry him to church every Sunday. When she was 9 months pregnant last year, I asked her what she would do when they baby was born. She did not know how she would get all her little ones to church, and she did not want to leave one of them at home for someone else to care for. So we provided a stroller with small wheels that lasted about 8 months before breaking just recently.

After 1 email out to our team, we had 2 heavy duty running strollers ready to be brought down. When Jean and his mom came to campus to receive it yesterday, they remembered Brenda from almost 2 years ago, when she held Jean as an infant during church. We continually praised his mom for what a great mother she was, and she asked we continue praying for her. She was all smiles, like a kid on Christmas morning. She kept grabbing people and saying, “Men Jean!” or “Look at Jean” as he laid comfortably in his new stroller.

It seems simple, but I can tell you that this stroller will last years, and it is life changing and is so well deserved.

We had our first day of Medical Mobile Clinics, and it was amazing to see how each person’s weaknesses and strengths came together in the care for each patient. One lady had recently lost her husband and son, and in talking to Krista said the one joy she had left was singing in church. She had chronic pain in her left shoulder, and couldn’t even lift it above her head without wincing. She was older, but was still working hard every day carrying water, washing clothes and cooking. Marshall, our orthopedic doc, was called over to consult and after a steroid injecting in her joint, she was raising her arm over her head with a smile. This should provide her with months of relief. She then agreed to share a song with us. She started to stand, sat back down, and then once again decided to fully stand, straightened out her skirt and shirt and began to sing. It was beautiful and she sang a song about not being afraid, and not needing to cry if we have God. And she meant every word, and we knew she had to rely on God everyday for hope. In the face of so much struggle this past month of losing loved ones, she turned to her faith.

There are many other teams from Indiana here, and I’ve been lucky to run into many of the people who served with me during my previous year in Haiti. After hearing Pastor’s testimony, and him sharing about a few key “Hoosiers” who have played such a big role in his ministry and personal family’s journey, we feel privileged to say we have joined this Hoosier Haitian family in which God’s hand is clearly working.

Pastor describes himself as a turtle on the top of a lamppost. “I don’t know about American turtles, but Haitian turtles don’t climb. I am where I am because someone put me there.” He uses this to describe his journey from a young boy growing up in a mud hut, to one who has traveled the world and accomplished so much. But he takes none of the credit. And the Spirit shines through him, and everything he says is genuine.

Pastor’s prayer requests are:

1. For God’s continual guidance and wisdom in managing NVM’s rapid growth, to continue to make him good stewards of the investments all have made in this ministry

2. For God to call the right people to serve at NVM, specifically long ter,– possibly a project manager since there has not been one since Jay who had his accident 1 year and 4 days ago, who’s absence and expertise are missed on campus daily.

I would also like to ask that you pray for Jay and his family, as they await their beautiful daughter’s adoption to be complete. Their family is an inspiration, as each trial they endure is laid at the Lord’s feet; they do not anger quickly as I would, but strive to glorify God every step of the way, trusting in Him to provide and always use him as an instrument. 

Grace Team in Haiti

After a long day at the airport starting almost 24 hours ago, our team of 24 has arrived safely on Nehemiah’s campus, had a hot meal and are settling into our bunks for the night. Not a complaint was whispered today, despite the long delays at the airport and unknown itineraries… I think its going to be a great week.

Stay tuned!

Paradox

Ti gran moun. A Haitian proverb used in multiple scenarios: when a child acts as if she were an adult, a toothless 1 year-old’s chewing looks like a 90 year old toothless woman, or a barely middle-aged man acts as if old age is starting to set in. Young old man.

A paradox.

A wedding week. An undeserved calamity met with such grace; one new delicate life boldly hangs on and another finally finds rest.

I gladly jumped out of bed after a nightmare filled sleep and awaiting first in line among the other fifty-some patients was 1.4kg, 3 week-old Alfondia. We had first met on her 4^th day in Haiti, my 300 and somthingth day.  As her grandmother allowed me a small peak at the tiny newborn, two things registered—her jaundiced skin and her disguised size under the heap of blankets. I sat in the early morning sunshine and removed the layers of clothing and blankets, letting the rays reach her face and upper shoulders. Now 3 weeks later, she was once again laying in my lap sleeping soundlessly and healthy looking despite the lack of hospital care we had recommended.  How could this tiny delicate being still be here? And then she smiled in her sleep and stretched her arms and long translucent fingers up-above her head… ti gran moun, I thought.

The same day, I heard about Blanco’s death. He had been a couple months old, and abandoned by his mother. Neighbors had taken him in, but he was sick and they had nothing to give. We encouraged them to return, as one day of IV fluids left him still shriveled looking with a sunken fontanel. He had yet to show much interest in eating and was consolable to finally rest while being tightly held in our arms. Was he held? Was he comforted? Was his last, and only 2nd month of life that of suffering?

Get your fill

Francois and Maumie:

Francois is a 70-some year old man whose presence never goes unnoticed. The first time he walked into our clinic, my eyes went from his black round bowl hat, down his royal blue button up, to the LoisVitton shoulder-bag that I couldn’t tell you was real or not. A second look quickly revealed his supra-pubic catheter tube exiting the zipper of his black pants, and entering none other than the Louis Vitton(sp?). And to this day, he enters the clinic in the same fashion. Every time, I think to myself: You can’t make this shit up.

  
Since his first visit, Francois has shown an array of personalities despite his lack of costume change. Some days he comes and is a patient, reminiscent man; on other days we discuss an odd time-line he pulls out of his Bible, or every photo in his wallet while trying to finish his physical. . I remember the Saturday he showed up to a closed clinic in December, and his mumbling  story confirmed what I thought I observed from the bulge in his black pants- his testicular hernia was bigger. I wish I were exaggerating when I told you that for 5 months now, he has been walking around with a testicular hernia the size of my head. His catheter was attached to a zip-lock bag, closed with a twist-tie; he was urinating from both the catheter and his penis.

Francois never leaves without putting his sunglasses on, if he ever took them off in the first place, giving us a blessing and tipping his hat.

Sitting in church this past Sunday was unbearable. Up until the past month, I’ve seemed to hold everything together relatively well. Relatively, because my definition of tame and under-control arises from my sometimes melodramatic and always chaotic, yet deeply-loving household. Perhaps it is because I am nearing the end of my year that each pair of round beautiful babies’ eyes seem more beautifully haunting, or the tinea capitus seems to multiply, and the unattended wounds are suddenly being left uncovered. The mother who comes weekly to campus, just begging anyone and everyone for food for her and her baby, for a number to see the doctor even though it’s 9 o’clock and all the numbers were handed out at 6 o’clock am. Patients were turned away, asked to come back tomorrow… how could I give her a card when others had arrived 3 hours earlier? She’s been told this. She spots me, smiles and waves. I left after thirty minutes of trying to hold back tears or a breakdown, as my eyes wander the crowd of thin Haitians, holding their babies and gyrating their hips with their eyes closed worshiping Jesus. And I feel helpless, frustrated… pissed frankly, and sad. At the same time there is a man sitting to our right asking, actually pathetically begging, for medicine because he fell and hit his leg the other day. There is an unrelenting need. I feel like I’ve had enough.

I see Maumie walk in late, clumsily looking for a place to sit. She is alone… two of her seven children survived, and she comes to church every Sunday alone. She walks from far, and doesn’t carry water with her. When she comes to the clinic, she is usually the last one to be seen because she doesn’t show up until the early afternoon. So while we close up I walk her out, where she walks to a spicket just about ankle high. She hikes up her dress, squats down and starts cupping water in her hands to drink. I’ve caught on to this routine, and if I walk with her to turn the water on for her she thanks me as if I’ve installed running water in her house or something. As she finds an empty space on the wooden bench in church, she begins clapping off-rhythm and joins in the worship. I know if I could see her face, her eyes would look big behind her glasses, and she’d be smiling.

Rose, Gabriel, Marie, Lukner:

Becoming increasingly familiar with the twists and turns, the makeshift fences or seldom a painted house which distinguish one route from another, house calls are becoming more frequent. Rarely is my first stop not to Rose’s house for a quick bottle of ensure and bath time, and then onto see patients.

As today proceeded seemingly normal, I took notice of the details that make it anything but routine. As I am triaging patients, it is brought to my attention that one patient outside is experiencing exceptional suffering, and maybe he should be let inside? I go outside to take a look. The skinny, scruffy man with a teal rosary hanging around his neck between the missing buttons of his shirt is using every muscle in his chest to breath at a rate of 35 respirations per minute. I think he merits a bed inside, and a breathing treatment. And I watch him working for each breath, wishing the albuterol would get to working already.

Gabriel has smoked his whole life, and his lung infection has acutely exacerbated his condition. His lungs encaged by ribs I can count one by one, and yet he has exceptional muscle definition. These few qualities tell me about a life I begin to imagine he has led; one of resilience, hard work, suffering. And yet he has manners, shows incomparable patience during suffering.

Another elderly gentleman, 75 years old, is led in by his wife, Marie. I recognize Marie, because she is a bold woman, proud of her family and always watching out for people in Chambrun. There is something about her that makes you glad you are on her good side, though I have never seen the repercussions of what its like to cross her. Her husband is experiencing stomach pain, “tranchman” or “colic,” and vomiting. His blood pressure is high, and yet he is clearly dehydrated because his leathery skin that seems to barely stretch to cover his slim abdomen, is tenting (when you pinch an inch, his skin stands much like a tent instead of rebounding back as your skin would do).

Both men are added to the afternoon list of house calls in Chambrun. Along with Lukner, an amputee who did not come for a follow up appointment last week, which would have allowed Aubree to give him the large tub of protein powder she picked up in the States. As I begin walking down the dusty road, I see Lukner’s wife on the back of a moto and yell to her that I’ll be visiting.

Passing by Rose’s house, I am immediately stunned. She is standing by herself. And she takes up to five steps at a time. A bath and bottle later, I leave her on her momma’s lap sitting on the foot of Gabriel’s bed, the first patient of the afternoon. I swear he could have just put out a cigarette before I came in, but his breathing is less labored, and he reports that the “pump” I have him helped him earlier when he started experiencing shortness of breath. He seemed pleased, and much more comfortable than this morning. So I gave him cefazolin shot and began walking to Lukner’s house. As I round a bend in the route, I surprise two woman stand staring at a donkey’s rear-end, and they nonchalantly smile and look up as I pass. After I can hear them asking if he’s constipated…

Lukner is laying on a tarp under the tree in his yard, with his baby grandson by his side asleep. He is in high spirits, and says he is planning on coming to the clinic tomorrow. The protein powder is a huge hit, and his wife is very pleased. She walks me to Marie’s house, as today will be my first visit.

We walk through the rusty tin-sheet front gate, and she picks up a rock. I notice the many dogs in the yard, and know she’s done this before…

I spot Marie, her uncovered large breasts both hanging over the fire in a small pot in which she seems to be burning rubber tire pieces… and her husband is laying on a mat, with two pillows under his head. She greets me and quickly tells me he has begun vomiting again. I ask if she has given him his meds… No, he hasn’t vomited since this morning when I gave him the last dose. So the teaching begins again. We go through all the medications, especially the antiemetics. She is confident, and I don’t know if it’s her nature, or if she truly processed the regimen.

I guess I know where he lives, and I’ll be back soon. So we’ll try again tomorrow if need be.

Heaven knows, sometimes I think it’s overwhelming but I don’t know if I could ever get my fill of this. Walking around in the dirt, delivering comfort and care to such loving people, pulling up IM injections inside mud huts with 15 people crowded in a tiny dark room watching, and always having a child’s hand to hold.

A selection from “Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morissette

You’ve already won me over in spite of me

And don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet

Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn’t help it

It’s all your fault

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole

You’re so much braver than I gave you credit for

That’s not lip service

You’ve already won me over in spite of me

And don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet

Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn’t help it

It’s all your fault

You are the bearer of unconditional things

You held your breath and the door for me

Thanks for your patience

I’ve never felt this healthy before

I’ve never wanted something rational

I am aware now

You’ve already won me over in spite of me

And don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet

Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn’t help it

It’s all your fault