Really? It's only Monday?

*I started this one yesterday, but got too tired to finish.  So here it is on Tuesday.

Is today only Monday?  Yesterday’s church service and relaxing time seem so very far away.  Jean Marc and I got to the orphanage late this morning because as we were leaving, he decided he was hungry.   I had planned to go see Sondy today, and Marie France wanted to go too, so we decided to go after lunch.  She told me that he was on oxygen and had an iv because he had a hard day yesterday.  This made me positive that we needed to go check on him.

My plan was to answer all emails sitting in my inbox before lunch.  I’m not sorry to say that it didn’t happen.  I fed babies, played on the floor with them, visited classrooms and was greeted by my favorite Gastin-who has no fear of speaking to me or other adults-“Bonjou Miss Angie! Komo ou ye la?”  He said it with such enthusiasm, I couldn’t help but laughing and telling him I was fine, and how was he.  “Tres byen ak Jezi!!!” was his reply.  My heart kept smiling the whole way down the stairs.  I started checking some emails, and then heard what sounded like the entire preschool class crying.  I went to check it out and found two little ones making enough ruckus for all 12!  They had chosen not to participate, so they didn’t get to sit on the ‘workers’ bench’ (for those participating).  In amazing 3-year-old fashion, they screamed at the top of their lungs, produced massive amounts of snot, and managed to disrupt the entire class.  I took out my teacher voice and asked them to stop.   The one did, but the other decided to turn it up a notch.  I picked her up and took her into the office.  She could scream in there all she wanted, and it wouldn’t bother me one bit (ok, maybe if it went on for a long time…).  As soon as we were in the office, she stopped.  I gave her another minute or two, and then took her back to class.  I didn’t even get back to the office before she had started again.  This time Teacher Frantz brought her to me.  I told her that her behavior is not acceptable, and she had to stop.  She did, and went back to class.  When school finished, she left the classroom crying the same way.  I went and got her, and Marie France talked to her.  She left the office, but a minute later the doorknob turned, and her little face appeared.  I waved her in and opened my arms up.  She climbed up in my lap, and snuggled in.  I said, “Do you just need some love today?”  She nodded (having no idea what I’d just said) and snuggled in closer.  I loved having her there, smelling her little girl outside playing hard smell.  I loved knowing that in the middle of her terrible horrible no good very bad day she trusted me enough to climb up in my lap and sit down.  She went and did the noon prayer with me, and when she’d had enough snuggle time she hopped down and off she went.  When I saw her later, she was smiling, and she ran up and gave me a quick hug.

I gave up on answering emails, deciding that sometimes (or should be all the time!) my kiddos are more important.  I ate a few bites of lunch and Marie France and I left to go see Sondy.

As we were taking a shortcut towards the hospital, I saw a woman and young woman helping a boy walk on the sidewalk.  I could tell they were struggling, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what the problem was.  I asked Marie France to ask them what was wrong.  The lady explained that they were trying to get home to Delmas 33, and that her son had a fever and was having seizures.  I asked if they had seen a doctor, and she said yes, but it didn’t help.  They turned to walk away, and I drove forward about 10 more feet, when I said, “Marie France, ask them if they want help.”  She asked, and they did.  Did they want help getting home, or help getting to a doctor, or did they want to come to MediShare with us?  They decided to come to MediShare. 

When we arrived at the gate to the hospital, the guard refused to let me in.  He refused to let Karl (the young boy) and his mother in.  I said, “He needs help,” to which the guard replied, “Is he with you?”  The guard had opened the gate just enough for me to begin getting in, but was trying to slam it on the poor boy.  In that instant, I saw so many things.  It was like in a flash, I saw this horrible prejudice and discrimination.  I saw the mother’s face begin to fall, as another door was slamming in her face.  I grabbed Karl’s hand, and said, “Of course he’s with me!”  This poor child has problems I can’t begin to comprehend.  He’s 11 years old.  When he was a baby, he had a fever, and that left him with brain damage, lack of muscle control, eye problems, muteness, and difficulty walking.  The day before he had suffered a seizure (one of the three or four he has daily) and fallen flat on his face.  He needed help with a tooth.  The American nurse I spoke with came out after a long time and asked if someone had been out to talk to us.  Nope, they sure hadn’t.  About five Haitian people came out of triage, saw the boy with obvious problems, and kept walking.  I.don’t.get.it.  She started piecing things together, and said she’d take care of him.  As I sat there gathering this information, I looked up to see my dear Haitian sister, Marie France, talking with the guard, trying to get in to deliver more supplies for Sondy.  The guard was not budging.  She pointed to me, explaining that she was with me.  She gestured to the things in her arms, obviously for a baby.  The guard didn’t move.  Now I was mad.  Like, the kind of mad I get when someone messes with my brother or sister.  I stood up, and at that moment the guard turned towards me.  I said, “Marie France, come here.”  She pushed past the guard, and met Mommy Mureiux right next to me.  This amazing woman has been with Sondy since Friday.  I’m not sure she’s left yet.  This woman is incredible.  She sits with all of our sick babies, sometimes for weeks on end.  Please treat her like the kind, caring, gentle woman that she is.  Finally, I walked back to the pediatric area.  Sondy had been moved over to the ICU part of the unit, because he had a little oxygen tube in his nose and an iv in his sweet little head.

His nurse, Heather, informed me she had held him most of the day because he’s just so sweet and snuggly.  All the nurses were talking about our sweet Sondy.  She assured me he’s doing alright, and is getting better; hopefully he’ll come home later this week.  I held him for a few minutes, Marie France held him, and then I went over to check on the babies with hydrocephalus.  That’s a post for another time…

We picked up the mother and Karl.  I literally picked him up.  He’s 11 and I’m guessing he weighs 60 pounds.  I couldn’t bear to watch him struggle through the muck and nasty garbage to walk to the car.  I only had to stop once, put him down, and start again.  He can’t hold his upper body steady, and he kept flinging himself backwards in my arms.  Finally, we had everyone in the car, so we began the drive home.  We stopped so Marie France could buy me some mangoes (my first in months!) and we drove the family all the way home.  After navigating the streets that were difficult for my car to go up and down, I was so exceedingly thankful for being able to take this sweet boy to his door.  My heart ached for him.  I haven’t taken time to process this one yet.

Marie France and I went back to the orphanage, gathered our things and headed home.  On the way we saw one of the nannies’ daughters, with a bucket.  She was going to walk a great distance to get a bucket of water from our well, and then walk back.  This young woman, maybe 13, was going to carry 5 gallons of water on her head, for a great distance.  We put her in the car, drove to the well, filled the bucket, and drove her back to her house.  Her brothers jumped in for a ride to church, which is right by my apartment. 

By the time I arrived home, I was exhausted.  It was only 6:30, but I was ready for bed. 

As I lay there waiting to fall asleep, I started thinking about all the things I’m thankful for…there were enough in one day to fill a book.