All Things

This morning I was feeling fragile. Like the waves of the ocean were taking me over. And the bottom of the ocean was getting closer and the surface was getting farther and farther away. No reason in particular. Just feeling swept away by serving. Worn out.

I convinced myself to take a day off running and let my weary feet rest only for a few minutes until I found myself slinging sweat on the treadmill and running off the emotions.

Hi. Low. It's kind of like that here.

The mid-morning sun was out and I was in the middle of the backseat watching the tap taps and the billows of dust kick up behind them. Sitting snug between two mamas with two sick babies. One mama on the left had 3 lb baby Madelene, born last week and in need of some consistent care and attention. The 16-year-old mom was without expression. No words. No touch. Just quiet and still. She and her mother had brought the grandmother in for the gunk in the baby's eyes, not necessarily because the baby was two months old and was literally starving to death because she couldn't nurse. Turns out the baby has more fighting to do... STDs from utero and infections of all kinds. Madelene has a fighting chance though. The other mama was not the baby's mama. She was the grandmother. The baby's father's mother. The mother abandoned the baby. This little guy was suffering from pneumonia at 4 months. Labored breathing, high fever, diarrhea, and no improvement after four days of antibiotics.

Both mamas have their arms resting on my legs. No exchange of words. Madelene's grandmother and uncle were in the back of the pick up riding in as well. They said they were going to Croix de Bouquet but then asked to go on to Port Au Prince. We were meeting James, the driver, from a hospital that specializes in NICU care. We meet James by the airport and he will be driving the three Haitians - the mom, uncle and grandmother along with Baby Madelene. They climb in the van with James and look so afraid. I say bye and Alex exchanges words with James. Off they go. Five minutes later, the phone rings. It's James. He talks to Alex and says that the family doesn't want to go anymore. They want to turn around and go home. The care at the hospital would be free. How could one refuse it? And Alex had asked if they brought money with them. I'm not sure what happened but we did not see them again. I pray they opted to take Baby Madelene to the hospital and it was a God thing we didn't give them money to travel home and chicken out. I've come to terms that Haitians often don't have the capacity or often don't want to fight for the life of a child. Like there is too much energy exerted or resources required. It's a different mentality I can't quite come to accept. I want to understand but a sick baby and free care seem like they go hand in hand.

We take the second baby to Bernard Mevs Hospital and I have to fight a security guard to let me in the door with the fussy guy who is out of sorts. We walk in and wait for help. The grandmama has left the paperwork in the truck and the truck is outside the gate. Sigh. The grandmama can't communicate well. She is poor and from the mountainside. Alex nor I know exactly what is wrong with the baby. It's all a little vague. They want to know what hospital we came from because the little guy has an IV still in his hand. They agree he needs care but they say they don't have room. Pneumonia isn't sick enough. Sigh. Alex and I run around trying to see what we can do to help. Honestly I'm feeling much closer to a breakdown in the hospital. It's like watching dead men walking. It's a gloomy place. I can't help but think of all the nights waking up in a sweat that Ava died in there. I had them over and over. I wonder today if it will trigger nightmares. I walk into the NICU room and see Baby Elijah. He's still there. He has breathing apparatus and tubes down his throat. He's alive and I think that's a miracle. I get to the line to start a chart for the grandmama and I don't understand what anyone is saying and I feel the lump in my throat seeing people lined up with crying babies and crippled limbs. I can't stand there any longer. It's too much for my little heart to absorb. Too dark to see the light. Alex asks me something and I can't answer. He says, "Oh no, are you going to cry?" I try my best to refrain but the tears spill over and I just open the floodgates and here goes the water works. Alex asks with a hint of suggestion, "Why don't you go sit in the truck?"  and I walk away sobbing. A man asked me for money and grabbed my backpack on my way out. I had handed out the last of my cash and my pockets were empty. My heart felt like it was seeping out of my shoes though. I got outside the gate and saw the truck but Meresse didn't appear to be in it. I hesitated. I walked back in to ask Alex to find Meresse. After a lot of back and forth I walked to the truck and saw Meresse with the seat all the way back sound asleep. I climbed in the truck and Charles called. I wish I could describe Meresse's face when he saw my try to speak through the tears. I'd say I was close to hyperventilating or so it felt. I had bottled it up since Tuesday when I was there with Baby Elijah and I just couldn't be in there one more second. I told Charles I can't go back in there. It's too depressing. Too many sick people who I can't help. Too many.  I stayed in the truck and waited another hour or two for Alex to get back in. My tears slow and both Alex and Meresse look at me and wonder what my tears are about. They know this hard life and I'm just learning it. I feel like a new student. We went and got money changed to give the grandmama for food and such. They were going to admit the baby and she would be staying overnight. We started on the road back to Hope Center. I'm back on the phone with Charles. Wayne and Odlin, the visiting BGM board member and the music guy at church have stepped in and are at General Hospital with a patient in cardiac arrest. Wayne's been on construction all week and has the bus key in his pocket. The team will have to walk to the construction site. The generator is almost out of fuel. It's another day at Hope Center. I think back to yesterday's VBS and the song Alex was teaching the kids that says, "Bondye kap fe tout bagay, tout bagay, tout bagay pu mwe." God can do all things, all things, all things for me....