Little Responsibilities

Today's mobile clinic took us to a church-mid-construction outside the city. Although lacking funds for completion, the church boasted lofty goals with high peaking ceilings and a cavernous sanctuary. Without the finishing touches, the skeleton-cinder-block state it stood in left it feeling stark and echoing emptiness. Our clinic space was set up in a corner of the vacant sanctuary with blackboards and sheets walling off a little space for myself and Miss Fanor. Our clinic-day of patients were all sitting on school benches waiting for us at 7:30am, so we hustled about getting things set up. High above our heads men were starting their work for the day on the tin roof. Hammering. On the tin roof.

I had a "if they could see me now" moment this morning as I attempted to politely commence clinic over the racket of nails breaking through aluminum. Lets just say patients one through four took will-full deep breathing and tolerance. Soon however the physical exam was becoming an exercise in the absurd as I found myself placing my ear centimeters from my patient's mouth in order to hear their story, attempting to differentiate a heartbeat through my stethoscope from the pounding in my brain, and screaming instructions about treatment over the din in the room.

The pastor eventually took pity on my, seeing how slow I was plodding through the group of patients, and called a cease-hammer to the workmen above. Ah, silence is certainly golden.

My most heart-warming patient encounter came with the last two faces of the day: a twelve year old boy escorting his 3 year old cousin to our clinic. Both of their parents were working, but the children had colds and fevers, so were sent in for an exam. The boy wrapped his arms protectively around his cousin, much like a father would his child. The little girl leaned against her guardian, all eyes and smile, feeling brave with her protector wrapping his arms around her. Both children presented their symptoms like little adults, describing to me their cough, how hot they get at night, and what they can't eat. When giving instructions about medicines they would need to take, the boy had me repeat the instructions several times until he had all memorized for both he and his tiny cousin. He repeated my instructions back to me like a star pupil before he left, proving that he had all information locked safely away in his mind.

Poverty often forces children to grow up too fast, take responsibility before their years. As you travel down any street in Port-au-Prince, you can often see children working along-side their parents in the side-walk restaurants, carrying water down the street, dumping out waste water into the gutters, hauling produce on their little heads. Children play along the side of the road sans over-protective-parent ushering them back away from traffic. In the countryside, little boys carry machetes half their size as they stride along the fields. Yet somehow most seem to adapt to the responsibilities thrown at them. I think often of the overprotective nature of my own culture, of my own parenting style. Once again, it is a luxury to allow children to grow up under the eagle-eye of their parents, tucking them far from danger and lecturing about staying close. American children often rebel against such luxuries eventually, wanting to break free into independence. If only each culture could walk a mile in the other's shoes. I wonder who would be more ready to go back home.

Today's encounter with my littlest of patients made me proud of the responsibility this 12 year old was grasping with determination, and heart-warmed over the trust that flowed from his tiny, bright-eyed cousin. I pray that they always look out for each other in a world that often looks the other way.