It's hard to believe how quickly things are moving with the project these days. I can barely keep up. We should be done enrolling all 82 babies by Monday. Twenty-seven kids have already finished their 6 months of manba. We had our second "1st birthday party" last week and a third scheduled for this Thursday. The parties are definitely one of the high points in this project - the babies are beautiful. During the last party four of the nine moms started crying - most likely expressing a combination of thankfulness for their healthy children and a little fear about what will happen to them now that they are no longer receiving the supplement.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
getting closer
It's hard to believe how quickly things are moving with the project these days. I can barely keep up. We should be done enrolling all 82 babies by Monday. Twenty-seven kids have already finished their 6 months of manba. We had our second "1st birthday party" last week and a third scheduled for this Thursday. The parties are definitely one of the high points in this project - the babies are beautiful. During the last party four of the nine moms started crying - most likely expressing a combination of thankfulness for their healthy children and a little fear about what will happen to them now that they are no longer receiving the supplement.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Nap Goumen
Nap goumen – we are fighting. This was our team’s mantra for the last week – probably the most challenging work week we’ve had to date.
For me personally, the fight began as soon as Monday morning broke. As I got ready for work, I knocked a bottle of nail polish off my shelf which then shattered and splattered blue streaks across my bedroom floor. Then I checked my email and discovered that yet another something went wrong in my place back in New York. Since I’ve been in Haiti I’ve had to replace a roof, a major piece of the furnace, a washing machine and now a thermostat. It has seriously cost me as much to NOT live in my Ithaca place as it did to live there. Thankfully I don’t pay rent in Haiti so I can manage it just fine. As we drove to the clinic I thought about Alexander and his Terrible Horrible no Good Very Bad Day. Some days are just like that… no matter where you are. Unfortunately, events quickly escalated beyond personal mishaps fit for children’s books.
Late Monday morning we received word that a baby who had missed his two January study visits had actually died in late December. This is the third death so far in our study - this time likely due to dehydration related to diarrhea. Baby V died in his grandmother’s arms on the way to the hospital.
Tuesday brought more sad news. Last Sunday Miss M had seen one of our mothers sweeping one of the major streets near downtown. As she worked her little baby, our only confirmed HIV-positive child so far, was lying alone on the sidewalk. Right then, Miss M predicted that he would come in that week sick. She was right. On Tuesday morning the baby arrived with fever, diarrhea and signs of a respiratory infection. Our team fought to have him see a clinic doctor right away, be given a first dose of meds, and then referred to one of the better hospitals across town. We provided the mother with transport fees and found another mother to travel with her. We called ahead to the hospital and made sure they knew to expect him…but the mom and baby never showed up. The next morning we sent another person to check at the hospital and a field worker to the home address the mother had provided when she enrolled. Miss M has been driving by the street where she saw the mom and baby every morning and afternoon. Now, it’s almost a week later, and still no word. We do still have hope that the baby is okay. The mother can read and she was given bottles of meds at the clinic before being sent to the hospital. Hopefully the baby has received them. It’s common for mothers to not follow through on hospital referrals. There are a 1,000 reasons why this happens, often because mother has to go to care for other children or is worried about fees at the hospital.
The week continued with more sick kids than usual coming in on Thursday and Friday. We had to fight again to get referral to a cardiologist for a child who had been hospitalized a month or so earlier. Another baby in our program was sent to the hospital due to severe diarrhea and vomiting. This time a field worker accompanied the mom and we know she was actually admitted. In the midst of literally fighting for some of our kids lives, there were smaller battles to keep our supply chain moving – delays in production and delivery of the manba, an unexpected pause in new enrollments to the household food ration program that left me calling around to friends working for other NGOs to see if we could get some donated food , a delay in getting our petty cash request processed.
I’d like to say that I handled each one of these events with an appropriate balance of assertiveness and respectfulness. Unfortunately, by 3pm on Friday, when I received word that our urgent petty cash request had been delayed for 48 hours due to a small error in the way the receipts had been pasted to the paper, I lost it. I yelled at someone in the accounting office. I was shocked at how angry I was – at how the week’s worth of stresses and setbacks managed to explode in one moment.
Nap goumen – we are fighting. Nou pral goumen - we will continue to fight. Hopefully, there won’t we another week as intense as the last five days but there are certainly more battles to be fought - against sickness, against poverty, against bureaucracy, against apathy, against the endless series of obstacles that stand between our kids and a healthy hopeful future. I am also fighting within myself – to become wiser, slower to speak, less selfish, more patient, more compassionate, and more focused. Pafwa map goumen pou espwa - sometimes I am fighting for hope.
For me personally, the fight began as soon as Monday morning broke. As I got ready for work, I knocked a bottle of nail polish off my shelf which then shattered and splattered blue streaks across my bedroom floor. Then I checked my email and discovered that yet another something went wrong in my place back in New York. Since I’ve been in Haiti I’ve had to replace a roof, a major piece of the furnace, a washing machine and now a thermostat. It has seriously cost me as much to NOT live in my Ithaca place as it did to live there. Thankfully I don’t pay rent in Haiti so I can manage it just fine. As we drove to the clinic I thought about Alexander and his Terrible Horrible no Good Very Bad Day. Some days are just like that… no matter where you are. Unfortunately, events quickly escalated beyond personal mishaps fit for children’s books.
Late Monday morning we received word that a baby who had missed his two January study visits had actually died in late December. This is the third death so far in our study - this time likely due to dehydration related to diarrhea. Baby V died in his grandmother’s arms on the way to the hospital.
Tuesday brought more sad news. Last Sunday Miss M had seen one of our mothers sweeping one of the major streets near downtown. As she worked her little baby, our only confirmed HIV-positive child so far, was lying alone on the sidewalk. Right then, Miss M predicted that he would come in that week sick. She was right. On Tuesday morning the baby arrived with fever, diarrhea and signs of a respiratory infection. Our team fought to have him see a clinic doctor right away, be given a first dose of meds, and then referred to one of the better hospitals across town. We provided the mother with transport fees and found another mother to travel with her. We called ahead to the hospital and made sure they knew to expect him…but the mom and baby never showed up. The next morning we sent another person to check at the hospital and a field worker to the home address the mother had provided when she enrolled. Miss M has been driving by the street where she saw the mom and baby every morning and afternoon. Now, it’s almost a week later, and still no word. We do still have hope that the baby is okay. The mother can read and she was given bottles of meds at the clinic before being sent to the hospital. Hopefully the baby has received them. It’s common for mothers to not follow through on hospital referrals. There are a 1,000 reasons why this happens, often because mother has to go to care for other children or is worried about fees at the hospital.
The week continued with more sick kids than usual coming in on Thursday and Friday. We had to fight again to get referral to a cardiologist for a child who had been hospitalized a month or so earlier. Another baby in our program was sent to the hospital due to severe diarrhea and vomiting. This time a field worker accompanied the mom and we know she was actually admitted. In the midst of literally fighting for some of our kids lives, there were smaller battles to keep our supply chain moving – delays in production and delivery of the manba, an unexpected pause in new enrollments to the household food ration program that left me calling around to friends working for other NGOs to see if we could get some donated food , a delay in getting our petty cash request processed.
I’d like to say that I handled each one of these events with an appropriate balance of assertiveness and respectfulness. Unfortunately, by 3pm on Friday, when I received word that our urgent petty cash request had been delayed for 48 hours due to a small error in the way the receipts had been pasted to the paper, I lost it. I yelled at someone in the accounting office. I was shocked at how angry I was – at how the week’s worth of stresses and setbacks managed to explode in one moment.
Nap goumen – we are fighting. Nou pral goumen - we will continue to fight. Hopefully, there won’t we another week as intense as the last five days but there are certainly more battles to be fought - against sickness, against poverty, against bureaucracy, against apathy, against the endless series of obstacles that stand between our kids and a healthy hopeful future. I am also fighting within myself – to become wiser, slower to speak, less selfish, more patient, more compassionate, and more focused. Pafwa map goumen pou espwa - sometimes I am fighting for hope.
Monday, January 19, 2009
a weekendy weekend
Last weekend made me feel pretty optimistic about the way things can come together here. Friday night I attended a lovely baby dedication celebration for some Canadian friends who gave birth to their first son about a week ago here in Port-au-Prince. Then on Saturday morning my neighbor and I had one of the clinic drivers take us to a nice beach about an hour and a half north of the city. I unexpectedly ran into some friends of mine there and ended up spending the night with them in Saint Marc – a small dusty port town another hour up the road. We had a great time out with her Haitian colleagues - eating, drinking and dancing. I returned Sunday afternoon just in time to play some tennis with another group of people and then I capped of my whirlwind weekend by falling asleep on the couch watching The Wire. Lots of time with friends…and not a moment of work. An unusually active and fun weekendy-feeling weekend for me here.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Baby G
I’ve cried a lot over the last 18 months in Haiti, but I’m pretty sure that Tuesday was the first day I cried at work. It was just a tear or two and the only witness was a 12-month old baby girl - Baby G. From the moment we met Baby G and her mother 6 months ago our team knew that they would be very special to us. Baby G’s mother is extremely poor and has some obvious degree of mental impairment. She is the one mother in our program who frequently comes in with her clothes dirty, smelling like urine and with patches of sores on her arms and legs. She is tiny - with wide eyes and small face that looks both younger and much older than 23, her reported age. She already has 3 children including Baby G. She doesn't have a cell phone - a rarity here in Port-au-Prince where anyone who possibly can will find a way to buy or be given a $10 handset.Despite all the obstacles she faces, Mama G is trying to be the best mother she can. Baby G is a chubby baby – sometimes I am amazed that her tiny mom can carry her. Physically Baby G has developed well so far – she can sit up, crawl, and stand. She has been able to feed herself as long as I can remember - most likely a survival skill. One day, we encouraged Mama G to use some of her transport stipend to buy some food for herself. (We give mothers $2.50 to pay for transport for each study visit) She refused, saying she needed to use it to buy milk for Baby G. When she started the program, Mama G would arrive early on her scheduled visit and already be waiting when I arrived to unlock our office door at 8am. As the months went on, we noticed that she started coming one or two days late for her visits - especially on Mother’s Club days. We suspect she is too embarrassed of her situation to want to see the other mothers.
I’ve never seen a baby as serious as Baby G. Her eyes reflect an undestanding that life is hard. Getting her to smile is really difficult – laughing nearly impossible. That’s why I love the photo I’ve posted of her here so much. Despite her otherwise rapid development, Baby G can’t walk. Unless there is some sort of medical intervention I’m not sure if and when she will. When Baby G stands you can tell that one leg is significantly longer than the other. Her knees buckle to compensate. Her feet point out rather than straight. She needs corrective braces. She may need surgery. There is a hospital for developmental disorders here in Port-au-Prince that we plan to refer her to. I already know that Mama G won't be able to afford their $5-$10 fees. I need to figure out what more is possible from our side.
Those who know me know that I have a long history of orthopedic issues. When I was 8 I was hospitalized with a fairly rare condition that caused the cartilage in my hips to break down. For a brief period, my parents were unsure whether I would walk again. I spent the next several years on and off crutches. But living in Chicago, I had access to one of the world’s leading experts in pediatric hip disorders. I had a family with time and resources to see me through the extended treatment and rehabilitation process. Today, like Baby G, I do have one leg that is a bit longer than the other but I have access to everything I need to make up for that.
It’s rare that I recognize pieces of my own story in the lives of the mothers and children I work with. Our worlds are so different that I don't want to pretend to understand how they survive the day to day. Tuesday was the first day I recognized a small piece of what could have been my story - if I had been born in a different place to a different family. So what emotion was behind those tears? Empathy? Thankfulness? Anger? Compassion? I'm not really sure. I do know that Baby G's story has captured a piece of my heart.
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