Emergency Call

Today was interesting, to put it blandly.

I had a nice and busy clinic this morning that was dominated by visits from little children around the community. Just as I was prescribing my last bottle of Amoxicillin, Patrick and I received a call by Molout--the teenager who works in our apartment complex-- with an anxious message to "come home quickly," because of some urgent problem. Patrick couldn't get the hyped-up teenager to clarify what exactly was wrong and thus turned to me and said, "either the pipes have broken, Silvia or maybe Solomon was in an accident or someone else in the apartment building is hurt." Are you kidding me???? (insert worry-inspired explicative here) I closed clinic, Patrick canceled his afternoon classes and we drove like bats out of hell. On the not-so-quick-thanks-to-Port-au-Princ-traffic-jams drive home, my mind was racing through the worst case scenarios, wondering what kind of trauma I'd walk into, scared to death. I admittedly had a moment when a calm came over me as I pondered, "I wonder if I will think back to this drive as the moment before it all changed." Morbid, I know. But what am I supposed to DO with such limited information???

We finally arrived home and rushed into the apartment to find Silvia sitting on the floor of the bathroom, her foot in a pool of blood, holding quiet and stoic Solomon in her arms. My son looked like a little bird concerned about his babysitter. Silvia looked relieved that help had finally arrived.

Solomon was fine. Meci Bon Dye! I would have loved for someone to have said "Solomon is ok" specifically in their "come quick" call, but I just thanked God for happy discoveries and moved on to the injured.

Silvia had been in the bathroom, slipped in some water on the floor, fell, grabbed the sink on her way down which promptly ripped out of the wall and came crashing and shattering down on her foot. The result was a hugely lacerated ankle exposing fat and nearly bone. So of course she bled like crazy which scared her as much as it hurt, I imagine.

Patrick grabbed a tranquil Solomon out of Silvia's shaking arms, and I got busy inspecting and cleaning the wound, dressing it and helping Silvia up. We got her things together, helped her hobble down the ridiculous amount of stairs we have, piled her into the car, and took off to the Doctors Without Borders Hospital around the corner which is open for minor and major traumas. They had her cleaned and stitched up in good time.

While I waited for Silvia in the waiting room, I was entertained by fellow family members-in-waiting. In true Haitian style, everyone commenced in conversation together as if we all were old friends at a bar. Today, people were sharing battle stories. One man said he had to be sewn up once without anesthesia because the hospital had run out. Another man reported he had to have 4 shots all at one time. A woman winced a reaction and stated she didn't like shots. "Oh, then you've never been sick, because when you are sick, you WANT shots." They came just short of showing each other their scars. Silvia emerged all stitched up shortly there after and I bid farewell to the war heros around me. :)

Silvia was obviously shook up. Thanks to medication donations, I was able to give her some good pain medicines since that cut is going to THROB soon. I told her not to come to work, but she insisted on sending her daughter to finish the washing and to watch Solomon for us for the rest of the week until she is back up and on her feet again. She has a beautiful family, and after I helped her hobble into her home, I felt her surrounded with love and concern. She got teary only then, probably relaxing and letting the stress of the afternoon go. After all these months, Silvia is starting to feel like our Haitian family. She takes good care of us, brings us fresh avocados and mangos from time to time, cooks up beans and rice every now and then and loves Solomon like her own family. He adores her in return. In fact, she continued to take care of Solomon this afternoon while bleeding on our floor. Last Saturday I sent her home because she had a fever (flu season is upon us here), and she worked late on Monday to make up for the work lost "because I helped her." Sick days aren't heard of here, and for us not to garnish her wages for a sick day off was sort of a surprise to her. I could see the concern in her eyes after the accident; it took some convincing that I understood it was an accident and we'd patiently wait for her to get better, no matter how long it took. Her job isn't going anywhere. She wouldn't (and couldn't) be replaced. We've come a long way together.

While Silvia and I were at the hospital, sweet Patrick, who has also been struggling with the flu, fought back dry heaves as he cleaned up the blood spill that looked sort of like a crime scene. We are hoping the landlord can replace the sink in good time since our water has been shut off and we are now hauling up water in buckets in which to bathe, and wash dishes and hands. Nothing like a cup and bucket shower. Ahhhh freshness. Like a daisy.

Ever the drama and adventure, even outside the clinic. :) But I'm happy to report tonight that all are well, safe, stitched up and in their beds.

And with a heaving sigh of relief, I bid you good night.