House Call

Today one of my students approached me at CONASPEH. She wanted her mom to have a consultation, but thought she was too weak to make the long trip by tap-tap in to see me. "She is coughing hard, has had 4 days of fever, and is very weak. What medicine should I give her?" she had asked me. Instead of playing a guessing game and diagnosing based on hypotheticals, we decided to drive together to make a house call.

M lead me through a neighborhood labrynth of concrete, past houses for the employed and barely employed. We drove down roads lined by walled in homes complete with mango trees and yards, cars in the garage and heavy gates. Next door, skeletons of homes-that-once-were or never-could-be stood like crumbling lego-block structures. Often, even in these remenants of homes, a line of laundry colorfully swung in the breeze, a cooking fire glowed, and children played.

M's home was modest, but clean. The two-room home had a roof, walls on all sides, a front porch and modest furniture. No great wall separated their home from their neighbors whose accommodations were a bit more sparce, but the wall-lessness created a warm neighborhood feel: women lounging in the shade of a tree, children playing all around with balls or empty cans, running with or without clothes in the sun. We parked the car in front of the house. I had Solomon with me as Patrick was traveling to a seminary in Leogan. M promptly handed the baby to the neighbor woman who was glad to entertain him while we went and checked in on her mom.

I had to smile. There aren't many places in the world where you'd let your baby be handed to strangers and trust completely that he was in good hands. He was.

We entered a dark home and found M's mom lying on a simple cot. She was tiny, thin, and shivering with fever. But despite obviously feeling horrible, she sat up and greeted me, welcoming me into her home. A history and exam made it clear she was likely suffering from a pretty big pneumonia at the least. With M there, we examined her mother together so she could hear how the lungs didn't fill with air in the right base, but rather sounded like bubbles underwater.

Glad to have one of my best students as the caretaker of this very sick woman, we went through instructions for the antibiotics, the tylenol, the breathing medication.

As I packed up my stethescope and med bag to leave, I told the sick woman that her daughter was a good student, one of the best, and she was going to make a fine nurse. Through her feverish haze, the woman flashed a beaming smile. Clearly she was proud of her daughter, a daughter who despite it all was getting an education and would work for people in need.

I found Solomon outside the house, surrounded by the neighborhood children who were dancing and tickling him, delighting in his reaction. The woman tending to him asked me if I would give Solomon to her as a gift. "No, I love him too much." She seemed very pleased with such a response, and handed him back after two kisses on his chubby cheeks.

Driving home at the end of day, tired Solomon crashed out in his car seat after entertaining an entire neighborhood for some time, I was struck with what an amazing adventure we are on, what an incredible opportunity we are afforded.

The evening traffic was slow but steady as the tropical sun made its sleepy way toward the horizon. The golden light of evening illuminated the silhouettes of women and children on the banks of the river, washing clothes, washing bodies and splashing in the water. Along the banks of the river, lush bushes and trees rose up out of the dust, creating a cool, green oasis in the heart of the city of concrete and cars. The streets and sidewalks were filled with people heading home at the end of day, roaming through markets for an evening meal, playing dominos under an awning of a barber shop, closing up food stands and chasing away stray dogs. I became amazed all over again at the variety of things that can be carried on the head; I can imagine a great version of "I spy" to be played with Solomon when he's a little older. "I spy utensils! I spy mangos! I spy milk/fish/bread/charcoal/spaghetti/milk/water jugs/car parts!"

Over the last few months, as the newness of our placement in Haiti has worn off, we have struggled to define the work we are here to do and our place in the community we live in. We've struggled with finding a common ground in the expectations of our partners and our own expectations. We've had to readjust goals and plans and realities.

But from time to time, like driving home tonight, I am struck with awe at the adventure we are on, the incredible place we have the good fortune to get to know. Career aspirations, humanitarian efforts and spiritual growth aside, the here and now puts it all in perspective.

A blogger I follow wrote something that really spoke to me. He wrote, "“This whole thing is my own creation, and it is because of me that I am here. If I ever feel scared, I just kind of smile and take the jump. I would rather take risks and live my life in a way that’s worth protecting than to spend all my time safeguarding something that I can't enjoy.”—www.ryanrunseurope.blogspot.com.

When I remind myself that we are here because we chose to be here, that we are taking some risks for this experience, whatever it may hold, I am able to once again take ownership of the here and now, putting plans aside, goals and expectations in the future where they belong. Because life is about what we see, who we meet, the moments we spend, the spirit that catches us on a drive home and reminds us of the incredible beauty of life all around us.