Health Care, Dental Care, Education in Jacquesyl

Kris Beckman timing flouride treatments for the students of Notre Dame de la Merci.

School children performing a dental hygiene skit.

by Megan Cavanaugh

Tuesday, February 16

Early morning spent sitting on back porch of our little house, warm morning sun, field of tall yellow grass inside the compound walls. I'm watching two baby goats leaping and playing. The roosters are starting their morning chorus. It's my last full day in Haiti, last day in Jacquesyl.

When will I be able to return? People here always ask- will you return and when? I could never walk away from this, once you come I don't think anyone could. You can't ever go back to pre-life Haiti, pretending it's not here. Going home is always tricky- trying to reconcile myself, the land of abundance versus all this poverty and suffering. I try not to get bitter or to belittle life and problems at home, but I am grateful for the perspective this place gives me. I don't ever worry about eating or clean water or just surviving.

Sometimes I wonder if people here know what they are "missing"? All that is out there in the world that they are being denied? How would they react- would they be angry? I ponder and ponder and feel heavy hearted about going home when there is so much left that needs to be done and so much I still want to accomplish here. It feels like throwing a Dixie cup on a bonfire sometimes. But many Dixie cups right? :)

Papito was gone to Cap Haitien to catch a bus back to the DR first thing this morning. We all agree that the morning went less smooth without him. We troop into town, back packs and baseball hats, we weave through the mud puddles, slipping sliding and leaping muttering "ampil boule... ampil." " lots of mud- lots." and our Haitian partners murmur in agreement. You've got to plan your path way ahead of time or you end up balancing on one foot on a 3 inch patch of dry land surrounded by a small pond looking like an off balance flamingo.

Again, we contemplate the weather in Port au Prince. It makes me want to plead with the clouds- ok ok rain lots but rain here!

I walk and talk with Bensua, who works with Father Anescar. My Kreyole is infantile but he is patient with me and eventually I learn that he has seven children and is a grandfather. I congratulate him. He invites me to come see his house and meet his family. It's just the way people are here. Welcoming, kind, family-centered and proud of it. I frown thinking about how this conversation never would have occurred in America. I've got to be more friendly at home I tell myself.

Morning first thing we stop by the preschool- 30 or 40 kids are here in two tiny classrooms- run by Nancy and Ultide. The kids welcome us with a song. Beautiful singing. The teachers show us some of the they tell educational corners they have set up. They tell us how great it's been for the kids and how helpful it is to have the learning materials. They were able to attend a two day seminar for educators of young children that showed them the value of these teaching strategies. This was courtesy of donations made last year by Saint John's Parish.

The rest of the morning is fluoride treatments, coordinated by Kris. She has had the supplies donated from work. Usually we do all three schools in the town- Notre Dame de la Merci, the Baptist school and the three day Adventist school. Not enough time today so we can only do Notre Dame. It's a production but so important.

Sherman organizes a skit with the kids based on a simple story I came up with on the bus ride in from the DR. There is a good strong clean tooth that takes care of itself, battles a cavity and survives. A weak tooth that never flosses or brushes battles cavity and dies. The kids are again theatrical and throw themselves into it. There is laughter and applause.

Kris does some education on oral health. The kids put half the fluoride in their mouths, swishing for a minute with painful puckered faces before spitting in the buckets we bring around. Repeat. A few more classes and we are done about 2pm. It has gone well.

While we are at the school I take some pics of the kids with their new sets of text books also courtesy of Saint John's Parish. Smiling faces.

Jim spends the morning working in the clinic alongside Dr. Valval, the Haitian doctor that works in the clinic full-time. Dr. Valval has worked with Haiti Marycare for the last four years and he works unbelievably hard. He is a great doctor, shy with his English as I am with my Kreyole. We have been able to keep him as a doctor at the clinic, continuity is so important here, but his salary as far as doctors go, even in Haiti, is pretty bad. Every time I see him I think about how hard he works all week out here in the country all alone... And how it's on our list to raise his salary. I admire him greatly.

Late afternoon we walk home and have lunch. Delicious goat stew, fried plantains, coca cola. Father Dorcin joins us, making jokes he holds up a plantain as if it were a host. I'm stunned- I laugh- is he allowed to joke like that?!

Back into town Mary Lou, Sherman and I go to do some home visits. Jodelle as always leads us to the homes of the sick. For the most part Dr. Valval is really on top of everything, he and the clinic nurse, Elirose, are a thorough and formidable team here.

We see an 82 year old man with benign prostatic hypertrophy. A common ailment in the states, but we don't have a lot of good medications to treat it here. What was available in the clinic didn't work. Dr. Valval had to catheterize the man. He is lying on this crummy mattress in a house of mud and sticks with a dirt floor and I'm amazed at the fact that he doesn't already have a raging UTI. He has made it to 82 in Haiti his immune system must be top notch, resilient. He has a kind smile and nods when we tell him he needs surgery and we understand but we don't have the money to send him to have the surgery. It's something we need to discuss with Dr. Valval and Elirose.

A surgery budget. I've gotta look into this when I get home. I add it to my list. This man has no quality of life, and if he doesn't get surgery soon...

We see a 32 year old woman with congenital cataracts, she has just arrived in town 6 weeks ago with her baby. At home she would have has surgery when she was born and had the problem fixed. It's easy in the States. Now she is blind for life.

We see a 41 year old woman who has gestational hypertension and had a stroke 4 months ago while giving birth to her 9th child. Nine children. I examine her. She has some residual, right side weakness and muscular atrophy but her face is symmetrical, her motor strength and sensations good. We give her some physical therapy exercises to do that involve rocks for lifting and some simple ballet moves to gain strength in her legs. The family watches while I demonstrate. We laugh at the silliness of the movements. But she gets it and promises to do them daily.

We see her daughter who is about 9 and has infected wounds on her legs. We clean bandage and treat. We see her father and mother too. Hey why not, we are here. In this section of town we see severely malnourished children. I wish I could make a GNC appear here. Visits continue for a few more houses. We walk to the rectory through town with our usual entourage of children. I've got a different child holding onto each one of my fingers, holding my arms when there is no more hand space. I could get used to all this love.

We see some mothers and babies who are refugees from the earthquake. The babies are healthy, gaining weight and gorgeous. But there is a 4 year old I've seen toddling about. Whe tells us she remembers her house falling down and my breath catches. She whispers the words in Kreyole. We have a meeting with nurse Elirose. She has lost family in the quake and it has changed her world. We tell her how sorry we are and her eyes well up. She talks about her brother-in-law who died, how her sister was buried but now survives and is very fragile. Her brother came across town to dig them out of the rubble. I hug her tight and we tell her to take time away from the clinic if she needs it. Even though we would be lost without her, she needs to take care of herself and her family. She now has even more people counting on her, more mouths. We talk about a list of things- albendazole and de-worming the kids, HIV tests, clinic needs, our hypertension program which is growing in popularity so that people from neighboring towns come to our clinic for treatment. I'm proud of our growing reputation.

We get a ride home in the truck. It's about 8pm, pitch black with a starry sky. We eat dinner. We discuss finances. Throughout the week people give you notes asking for money for various things. Not because they are greedy- because they are poor. Some things are more important than others. Like one of the teachers who asks for money for bus fare to bring three family members (2 kids) from Port au Prince to Jakzi. They have been sleeping outside in a field since the quake.

Anyone we can help get out of Port au Prince. This is personal money we use for these small things to help individuals- not donations. I give some money to a few people who I think have really worthy needs. It's impossible not to. I read about the aftershocks that continue to terrorize people here. The latest earthquake occurred in Cap Haitien, 20 miles or so from where we are. A school building collapsed and three children died. There was also a mudslide. It's confusing which came first.

People talk about the quake like it's a living thing hunting them- chasing them down. It's understandable. Imagine leaving PAP for the north thinking you are probably finally safe and then you start having aftershocks in the north. It makes me uneasy. I start looking at ceilings again- every time I enter a building or shower or brush my teeth. I read emails and news stories on my phone that declare the high probability of a quake in northern Haiti in the next 6 months- a real one- not just an aftershock. I start to loathe unseen fault lines.

Electricity shuts off early so I can't charge my phone or blog or finish packing. Shower by lamplight. Headlamp on I brush my teeth with my bottled water per usual. I'm too freaked out to sleep with my earplugs in. I try to tell myself I'm being irrational. We have been safe all week. But the fear is real and we all feel it. We sleep with our doors unlocked in case a quick escape is necessary. I sleep with my flashlight, glasses and bottled water. Or really, I don't sleep. No one does. The fear is real.

I think about the people here who have lived through the quake here and will be living in fear of the earth collapsing around them for a long time. Rational or not the fear has caught up with me, with us. I debate sleeping outside on the porch and know this is a bad idea with the rain and mosquitoes and I'm being ridiculous and I just lie awake and listen to the rain. Baby goats from this morning are outside crying somewhere nearby. Crickets. I stare at the concrete above me. How do people ever sleep inside after this quake here? I guess they don't.

Even President Preval says he is afraid...

Megan