Suze and the Power of Prayer:
Suze was one of three Haitian Hearts patients who stopped by to see us yesterday. She is one of my favorites, in part because John and I hosted her for two weeks in November 2004 before she had her mitral valve replaced at Provena St. Joseph Medical Center in Joliet. But, mainly, I like her so much because she has an intelligent grace that transcends class and nationality.
I have a vivid memory of this past February when John and I took Suze and Katia to O’Hare in the middle of the night for their return flight home. As we scrambled to get them to the gate in wheelchairs, Suze and Katia clutched pink, heart-shaped pillows that the hospital had given them. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for us,” they kept repeating. I was pained by their gratitude as I knew we were sending them back to hell on earth, albeit with much healthier hearts.
Yesterday, Suze looked wonderful. She’s put on some good weight, her heart sounds great, and her blood pressure is normal. We re-supplied her with warfarin, a blood thinner she will need to take for the rest of her life to keep clots from forming on her artificial St. Jude’s valve, which Dr. Bryan Foy so expertly installed last December.
I was allowed to witness this maestro of the operating room work his medical magic on Suze. Open heart surgery is a miracle to behold. The heart was stopped. Dr. Foy removed the mitral valve, trashed by rheumatic fever, and sewed in the St. Jude’s valve. He coordinated a team of nurses and specialists—El Capitan, they call him—who operated the bypass machine, which oxygenated Suze’s blood while her heart was stopped, suctioned the blood from the operating field to keep it visible, regulated the amount of drugs she was given to keep her under, and had at the ready the instruments he needed to do his delicate work.
When they opened Suze’s chest, which Dr. Foy did with a small electric saw, her heart ballooned out of her chest cavity in a way that even a layperson like me could tell wasn’t usual. Her heart was huge—“her right ventricle is as big as a room”—probably four times the normal size. “A big heart is a bad heart,” John always tells me, as the sick heart grows large to compensate for its poor function. In Suze’s case, it also caused fluid to back up throughout her body, particularly in her abdominal organs. The new valve was so effective that before Dr. Foy’s nurses began closing Suze up, her liver had already shrunk in size.
One of the tensest moments of the surgery for me came when it was time to re-start Suze’s heart. Dr. Foy, shocked it once with metal paddles—no beat, twice—no beat, multiple times—no beat. “C’mon baby, beat,” he urged it. Finally, on I forget which attempt, her heart lurched into action and began its rhythmic pumping, the sound most associated with being alive.
Yesterday Suze came to see us after attending Mass at the Missionaries of Charity orphanage. She is a devout Catholic. She wore a skirt, black blouse, silver cross, and on her right wrist, a yellow Lance Armstrong “Live Strong” bracelet. We talked about Haiti and how bad things are. U.N forces are present in Carrefour, the slum adjacent to Port-au-Prince where Suze lives, but she doesn’t think they do much, other than get girls pregnant. “They don’t care if Haitians are shooting at other Haitians,” she said.
We discussed the rash of kidnappings that is sweeping Haiti this year. “It’s not just white people,” she said. “One of my friends who was carrying $600 U.S. for her father’s prostate surgery was kidnapped on Airport Road.” Her friend hid the money in her bra, and the kidnappers never found it. “If they had found the money, they would have taken it and killed her,” she said. But her friend’s priest raised funds for her ransom. She was released, the kidnappers gave her $50 Haitian, and she rode on a motorcycle out of Cité Soleil, the most dangerous place in Haiti, where she was held. Her father went on to have successful prostate surgery, so all’s well that end’s well.
As we continued to talk, I told Suze that John and I walk around some of the streets of Haiti. “Why don’t you think that we’ve been kidnapped?” I asked her. It is a question I often wonder about. Why have others been kidnapped and not us? “Do you think we will?” I continued. Suze looked at me, shook her head, and with certainty replied, “No, you won’t. Because I always pray for you.”
Monday, December 12, 2005
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Painful Limits:
Frandy and John are reading at one of the tables in our open air dining room. John is studying his notes, and Frandy is reading a book on basketball stars and an English/Creole dictionary. He has tap tapped it here from his home at the top of a mountain in Carrefour, a seaside suburban slum. Frandy is a 17-year-old, tall, handsome, driven young man whom Haitian Hearts brought to St. Louis last year for a cardiac workup. As it turned out, Frandy didn’t need heart surgery. But he and his mother had a nice two month stay with Jim and Jane Ebel in St. Louis. The Ebels are also paying for Frandy’s school this year. He attends Grand College du Bicentenaire d’Haiti, where he studies French, English, history, Spanish, and physics among other subjects. Frandy is one of the more motivated young Haitians we’ve seen. He has largely taught himself English; each time we see him, his proficiency has improved. Frandy wants to be a diplomat.
One of the realities of our trips to Haiti is that we have lots of people stopping by to see us. I joke with John that for a guy who never wanted to be tied down working in a medical practice in Peoria, he has one in Haiti. So far this trip, Jackson, Heureuse, Samuel, Katina’s father, Katia, and Faustina and her mother have come by. They are either Haitian Hearts patients or their relatives. For those who need it, John does an exam and gives them medicine. Many times they will ask for other things: money, food, a visa. Sometimes we give them a little money, and sometimes not.
I find it excruciating to say no to these additional requests. “If this was my first trip here, I’d be trying to give them everything they asked for,” said John. What you learn is that the requests never stop, though our ability to meet them would. We have to set limits.
Frandy hasn’t asked for anything. Well, I guess he kind of asked for a tape to go along with the ESL books I gave him earlier in the year—I will pick up one of these for him; we like to support educational efforts. And he’s dropped obvious hints that he has no money—his mother didn’t accompany him to see us because they don’t have the tap tap fare for her. While this could be true, tap tap fare is only five gourdes (about 15 cents) a ride. If they truly couldn’t afford the fare for Frandy’s mother, he probably shouldn’t have come also, though they probably look at it like an investment. The last time they visited us, we agreed to pay for school.
What’s certain, though, is that Frandy and his family don’t have much money. As I look over at him reading, wearing a orange and black University of Missouri t-shirt and blue jeans, he looks as thin and angular as a coat hanger, and his hair isn’t as dark as it should be. This is a country full of people like him.
We give him $20. It isn’t much, but Frandy and his family will be able to buy food for at least a week. “They’ll have chicken tomorrow,” said John. And my conscience will be a little assuaged as we eat our evening meal.
Frandy and John are reading at one of the tables in our open air dining room. John is studying his notes, and Frandy is reading a book on basketball stars and an English/Creole dictionary. He has tap tapped it here from his home at the top of a mountain in Carrefour, a seaside suburban slum. Frandy is a 17-year-old, tall, handsome, driven young man whom Haitian Hearts brought to St. Louis last year for a cardiac workup. As it turned out, Frandy didn’t need heart surgery. But he and his mother had a nice two month stay with Jim and Jane Ebel in St. Louis. The Ebels are also paying for Frandy’s school this year. He attends Grand College du Bicentenaire d’Haiti, where he studies French, English, history, Spanish, and physics among other subjects. Frandy is one of the more motivated young Haitians we’ve seen. He has largely taught himself English; each time we see him, his proficiency has improved. Frandy wants to be a diplomat.
One of the realities of our trips to Haiti is that we have lots of people stopping by to see us. I joke with John that for a guy who never wanted to be tied down working in a medical practice in Peoria, he has one in Haiti. So far this trip, Jackson, Heureuse, Samuel, Katina’s father, Katia, and Faustina and her mother have come by. They are either Haitian Hearts patients or their relatives. For those who need it, John does an exam and gives them medicine. Many times they will ask for other things: money, food, a visa. Sometimes we give them a little money, and sometimes not.
I find it excruciating to say no to these additional requests. “If this was my first trip here, I’d be trying to give them everything they asked for,” said John. What you learn is that the requests never stop, though our ability to meet them would. We have to set limits.
Frandy hasn’t asked for anything. Well, I guess he kind of asked for a tape to go along with the ESL books I gave him earlier in the year—I will pick up one of these for him; we like to support educational efforts. And he’s dropped obvious hints that he has no money—his mother didn’t accompany him to see us because they don’t have the tap tap fare for her. While this could be true, tap tap fare is only five gourdes (about 15 cents) a ride. If they truly couldn’t afford the fare for Frandy’s mother, he probably shouldn’t have come also, though they probably look at it like an investment. The last time they visited us, we agreed to pay for school.
What’s certain, though, is that Frandy and his family don’t have much money. As I look over at him reading, wearing a orange and black University of Missouri t-shirt and blue jeans, he looks as thin and angular as a coat hanger, and his hair isn’t as dark as it should be. This is a country full of people like him.
We give him $20. It isn’t much, but Frandy and his family will be able to buy food for at least a week. “They’ll have chicken tomorrow,” said John. And my conscience will be a little assuaged as we eat our evening meal.
Hunger and Boredom:
I hate being hungry, and I hate being bored. And, come to think of it, they’re similar: hunger is absence of food in the stomach and boredom is the absence of stimulation in the brain. Unlike many Haitians, I don’t have to worry about being hungry. To ward off boredom, I bring way more books to Haiti then I will possibly have time to read, especially given my ferocious writing schedule. I think the books are transitional, security objects.
Here’s a list of the books I’m reading in Haiti, in the order I plan to read them, along with a short review of the first: Teaching Man, It’s About Time, The Kite Runner, My Losing Season, Burmese Days, The Brothers Karamazov, The Collected Works of Mark Twain, The Jane Austin Book Club, Learning Creole Made Easy, and Among Heroes.
Teacher Man by Frank McCourt: McCourt’s Irish charm and way with words is apparent from the first page of this book as he chronicles his 30 years teaching composition, literature, creative writing and the like to the sons and daughters of New York City immigrants. McCourt disdains many of the responsibilities of teaching even as he excels at other aspects, like telling stories which entertain and engage his class.
This book, like My Losing Season, makes me wonder about the role memory plays and its reliability in reconstructing long ago events. When does a faded memory that is creatively described venture into the territory of fiction? How honest does an author have to be in admitting the license he takes filling in dim outlines? What is reality anyhow and is our description of what is happening as it happens any more “real” then our memories of said event? Eyewitnesses get things wrong hours after seeing what they think they see. These are writing questions for the ages. Despite my metaphysical conjurings, Teacher Man is a fun, fast read for which I feel special affection because my husband John gave it to me.
I hate being hungry, and I hate being bored. And, come to think of it, they’re similar: hunger is absence of food in the stomach and boredom is the absence of stimulation in the brain. Unlike many Haitians, I don’t have to worry about being hungry. To ward off boredom, I bring way more books to Haiti then I will possibly have time to read, especially given my ferocious writing schedule. I think the books are transitional, security objects.
Here’s a list of the books I’m reading in Haiti, in the order I plan to read them, along with a short review of the first: Teaching Man, It’s About Time, The Kite Runner, My Losing Season, Burmese Days, The Brothers Karamazov, The Collected Works of Mark Twain, The Jane Austin Book Club, Learning Creole Made Easy, and Among Heroes.
Teacher Man by Frank McCourt: McCourt’s Irish charm and way with words is apparent from the first page of this book as he chronicles his 30 years teaching composition, literature, creative writing and the like to the sons and daughters of New York City immigrants. McCourt disdains many of the responsibilities of teaching even as he excels at other aspects, like telling stories which entertain and engage his class.
This book, like My Losing Season, makes me wonder about the role memory plays and its reliability in reconstructing long ago events. When does a faded memory that is creatively described venture into the territory of fiction? How honest does an author have to be in admitting the license he takes filling in dim outlines? What is reality anyhow and is our description of what is happening as it happens any more “real” then our memories of said event? Eyewitnesses get things wrong hours after seeing what they think they see. These are writing questions for the ages. Despite my metaphysical conjurings, Teacher Man is a fun, fast read for which I feel special affection because my husband John gave it to me.
Patient of the Week:
A baby who I guarantee you is sicker with curable diseases than any child in the United States—she is one of many in Haiti who holds this title—is sitting in front of us as her mother tries to comfort her. Little Walma at 19 months should really be a toddler, but she only weighs 11 lbs and hardly has the strength to hold up her head much less walk. We can count not only her ribs but her vertebrae too. She has an ominous grunting cough. Her life hasn’t been happy.
While John is examining Walma, Dr. John Francois, a young Haitian pediatrician, is on the other side of the desk seeing a four-year-old boy. As the boy sits on his mother’s lap, he lets loose with not a small amount of urine, the stream arching from his bare penis and splashing on the white tile floor.
Despite this distraction, Dr. John Francois is looking at John’s patient. “What is your diagnosis?” he asks. “She’s dying,” John responds. “She needs to be admitted to the hospital. She’s malnourished and she could have TB or lots of things.”
John gets up and walks around the desk to the sink. I think he is washing his hands, but he is only wetting them. He walks over to the baby and bends over her. “Now, you’re baptized,” he says.
A baby who I guarantee you is sicker with curable diseases than any child in the United States—she is one of many in Haiti who holds this title—is sitting in front of us as her mother tries to comfort her. Little Walma at 19 months should really be a toddler, but she only weighs 11 lbs and hardly has the strength to hold up her head much less walk. We can count not only her ribs but her vertebrae too. She has an ominous grunting cough. Her life hasn’t been happy.
While John is examining Walma, Dr. John Francois, a young Haitian pediatrician, is on the other side of the desk seeing a four-year-old boy. As the boy sits on his mother’s lap, he lets loose with not a small amount of urine, the stream arching from his bare penis and splashing on the white tile floor.
Despite this distraction, Dr. John Francois is looking at John’s patient. “What is your diagnosis?” he asks. “She’s dying,” John responds. “She needs to be admitted to the hospital. She’s malnourished and she could have TB or lots of things.”
John gets up and walks around the desk to the sink. I think he is washing his hands, but he is only wetting them. He walks over to the baby and bends over her. “Now, you’re baptized,” he says.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Blog Logged
This blog has been like a new Christmas toy to me, and you know how fickle we spoiled children are. After blogging like fury for the first week of the trip, I tired of my play thing and took a day off.
Besides being slightly blog-logged, we were roiling with the details of dealing with the U.S. consulate. The almighty consulate grants or doesn’t grant the visas that children with medical problems need to enter the United States. Even though we are now fortunate to be only peripherally involved with the consulate (i.e. we have wonderful full-time American residents in Haiti who do the actual interacting with the employees), it is still a frustrating experience.
Yesterday, a consulate official denied Raphaella’s mother a visa, stating that he believed she wouldn’t return home to her four other children and husband. Raphaella is six-years-old and has burn scar tissue all over her face, arm, and chest. I guess the official thinks she can get to Boston by herself. Pardon my sarcasm.
We are grateful that Raphaella will be granted a visa, but if she isn’t accompanied by her mother a whole new raft of paperwork needs to be completed and translated into French for the Haitian social services department, so that she can leave the country without a parent. Our helper extraordinaire hasn’t given up, and is pursuing other means to procure a visa for Raphaella’s mother. Between gathering the necessary paperwork (letters from doctors, the hospital, the host family), waiting at the consulate in the hopes someone will see you, having the interviews, returning for the visa, etc. it’s just so darn time consuming. We’re going through this process with five other children now. We've been sending non-stop e-mails to the States to obtain the letters needed for the visa process.
Why is dealing with the U.S. consulate an especially painful bureaucratic nightmare? Here’s my theory: the consulate is the intersection between the First World with all its bored excess and the Third World with its urgent despair. I think working in this overlap does weird and unhappy things to the personalities and souls of those U.S employees. Plus, it’s not like the United States has an exactly enlightened position toward Haitians. If Cubans touch U.S. soil, they’re in the club; Haitians in their rickety boats get intercepted by the U.S. Coast Guard 50 miles off the coast of Haiti and are returned to their unloving homeland. Could it have anything to do with the fact they are black? Naw, we Americans, we’re over that.
John has made a vow of no complaining for 24 hours. It appears I will have to follow him.
This blog has been like a new Christmas toy to me, and you know how fickle we spoiled children are. After blogging like fury for the first week of the trip, I tired of my play thing and took a day off.
Besides being slightly blog-logged, we were roiling with the details of dealing with the U.S. consulate. The almighty consulate grants or doesn’t grant the visas that children with medical problems need to enter the United States. Even though we are now fortunate to be only peripherally involved with the consulate (i.e. we have wonderful full-time American residents in Haiti who do the actual interacting with the employees), it is still a frustrating experience.
Yesterday, a consulate official denied Raphaella’s mother a visa, stating that he believed she wouldn’t return home to her four other children and husband. Raphaella is six-years-old and has burn scar tissue all over her face, arm, and chest. I guess the official thinks she can get to Boston by herself. Pardon my sarcasm.
We are grateful that Raphaella will be granted a visa, but if she isn’t accompanied by her mother a whole new raft of paperwork needs to be completed and translated into French for the Haitian social services department, so that she can leave the country without a parent. Our helper extraordinaire hasn’t given up, and is pursuing other means to procure a visa for Raphaella’s mother. Between gathering the necessary paperwork (letters from doctors, the hospital, the host family), waiting at the consulate in the hopes someone will see you, having the interviews, returning for the visa, etc. it’s just so darn time consuming. We’re going through this process with five other children now. We've been sending non-stop e-mails to the States to obtain the letters needed for the visa process.
Why is dealing with the U.S. consulate an especially painful bureaucratic nightmare? Here’s my theory: the consulate is the intersection between the First World with all its bored excess and the Third World with its urgent despair. I think working in this overlap does weird and unhappy things to the personalities and souls of those U.S employees. Plus, it’s not like the United States has an exactly enlightened position toward Haitians. If Cubans touch U.S. soil, they’re in the club; Haitians in their rickety boats get intercepted by the U.S. Coast Guard 50 miles off the coast of Haiti and are returned to their unloving homeland. Could it have anything to do with the fact they are black? Naw, we Americans, we’re over that.
John has made a vow of no complaining for 24 hours. It appears I will have to follow him.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Jackson's Status
I am looking at Jackson stretched out on the chaise lounge in our room. He has the hands and feet of a man but the rest of his body—narrow torso and shoulders, thin arms—looks like that a 13-year-old adolescent and not of a 22-year-old. Malnutrition and heart disease have ravaged his body. At the end of Jackson’s last trip to Peoria, I remember seeing him standing in the darkness of his host parents’ front yard, with broad strapping shoulders, but the last two years of Haiti and heart disease have worn them down.
While staying with us, Jackson has dining on nice fattening American cuisine—cheeseburgers, pizza, and spaghetti. John has been making him eat mangoes and bananas to replace the potassium the diuretics drain from his body. He wanders the hotel grounds while we are gone. People befriend him; Carol from Canada let him watch “National Treasure” in her room. Jackson is quiet and low maintenance. It’s often difficult to know how he is feeling because his demeanor is the same whether he is very sick or better. I think this place must seem a little like a high class prison to him, especially when the television service was out. But the important thing is, he’s alive and we want to keep him this way. We are hoping a hospital in the U.S. will play Santa Claus to this very sick young man.
I am looking at Jackson stretched out on the chaise lounge in our room. He has the hands and feet of a man but the rest of his body—narrow torso and shoulders, thin arms—looks like that a 13-year-old adolescent and not of a 22-year-old. Malnutrition and heart disease have ravaged his body. At the end of Jackson’s last trip to Peoria, I remember seeing him standing in the darkness of his host parents’ front yard, with broad strapping shoulders, but the last two years of Haiti and heart disease have worn them down.
While staying with us, Jackson has dining on nice fattening American cuisine—cheeseburgers, pizza, and spaghetti. John has been making him eat mangoes and bananas to replace the potassium the diuretics drain from his body. He wanders the hotel grounds while we are gone. People befriend him; Carol from Canada let him watch “National Treasure” in her room. Jackson is quiet and low maintenance. It’s often difficult to know how he is feeling because his demeanor is the same whether he is very sick or better. I think this place must seem a little like a high class prison to him, especially when the television service was out. But the important thing is, he’s alive and we want to keep him this way. We are hoping a hospital in the U.S. will play Santa Claus to this very sick young man.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The Vote and Tap Taps
As we were walking to clinic yesterday, and I was thinking, “Gee, I hope we don’t get kidnapped,” a man driving a shiny navy blue SUV rolled down his window and asked us if we wanted a ride. Kidnappers usually aren’t so polite, so we jumped in. Our chauffeur was a minister who had spent 10 years in the U.S. On our five minute ride, we discussed the upcoming elections, which after being postponed several times, will be held on January 8. Thirty-five candidates are running for president. “Most of the people here can’t even read or write. How can they know how to select a presidential candidate?” We hear this from educated Haitians and others.
I asked the nice American computer guy Zach staying at our place what he thought about this philosophy. Here was his succinct and, in thinking about the history of voting restrictions (do you own land? where’s your poll tax? are you a man?), I know correct response. “Whenever you create a barrier the vote, you are undemocratic.” Here! Here!
Today John and I caught a ride to an attorney’s office to conduct a little business. We took tap taps on the way back. Tap taps are small, battered pickup trucks with a top on the back. They get their name by the tapping that riders do to let the driver know he’s reached their stop. In the bed of the truck are benches, where the riders sit. Tap tap transportation is one of the few public services that kind of works in Haiti. The vehicles are cheap and ubiquitous.
Each of the darkened interiors is a small community, kind of like an elevator, only Haitians are far less self-conscious than Americans. Some of the tap taps are quiet or chatty, or staring at the blancs (but not in unfriendly way). People climb in and out of the back of the truck at every corner, ducking their heads and putting their hands on your legs to balance themselves. At one stop, a couple of women with five children dressed in rust checked school uniforms crowded on our tap tap, which already was almost full. I pulled one of the kids onto my lap. She put her hand on mine, with the kind of trusting instinct that children who haven’t been harmed by adults have.
I’ve postponed the tuberculosis tutorial until tomorrow.
As we were walking to clinic yesterday, and I was thinking, “Gee, I hope we don’t get kidnapped,” a man driving a shiny navy blue SUV rolled down his window and asked us if we wanted a ride. Kidnappers usually aren’t so polite, so we jumped in. Our chauffeur was a minister who had spent 10 years in the U.S. On our five minute ride, we discussed the upcoming elections, which after being postponed several times, will be held on January 8. Thirty-five candidates are running for president. “Most of the people here can’t even read or write. How can they know how to select a presidential candidate?” We hear this from educated Haitians and others.
I asked the nice American computer guy Zach staying at our place what he thought about this philosophy. Here was his succinct and, in thinking about the history of voting restrictions (do you own land? where’s your poll tax? are you a man?), I know correct response. “Whenever you create a barrier the vote, you are undemocratic.” Here! Here!
Today John and I caught a ride to an attorney’s office to conduct a little business. We took tap taps on the way back. Tap taps are small, battered pickup trucks with a top on the back. They get their name by the tapping that riders do to let the driver know he’s reached their stop. In the bed of the truck are benches, where the riders sit. Tap tap transportation is one of the few public services that kind of works in Haiti. The vehicles are cheap and ubiquitous.
Each of the darkened interiors is a small community, kind of like an elevator, only Haitians are far less self-conscious than Americans. Some of the tap taps are quiet or chatty, or staring at the blancs (but not in unfriendly way). People climb in and out of the back of the truck at every corner, ducking their heads and putting their hands on your legs to balance themselves. At one stop, a couple of women with five children dressed in rust checked school uniforms crowded on our tap tap, which already was almost full. I pulled one of the kids onto my lap. She put her hand on mine, with the kind of trusting instinct that children who haven’t been harmed by adults have.
I’ve postponed the tuberculosis tutorial until tomorrow.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Katia
We received an e-card with the following message from 22-year-old Katia, a young woman who had valve replacement surgery last year at Provena St. Joseph Medical Center in Joliet.
hi, how are you, to day is a good day for me because that make me 1 year. i can’t forget that day because when i finish my operation, you gave me support. i never had no one. that country you give me all you represent. my mother thanks for all. 3 dec is a memorial day for i have 1 year now after my operation. kiss for you. i don’t know what i can do to give you. i miss you. God bless you. don’t forget me.
Thinking of you,
Katia
We received an e-card with the following message from 22-year-old Katia, a young woman who had valve replacement surgery last year at Provena St. Joseph Medical Center in Joliet.
hi, how are you, to day is a good day for me because that make me 1 year. i can’t forget that day because when i finish my operation, you gave me support. i never had no one. that country you give me all you represent. my mother thanks for all. 3 dec is a memorial day for i have 1 year now after my operation. kiss for you. i don’t know what i can do to give you. i miss you. God bless you. don’t forget me.
Thinking of you,
Katia
Haitian Hearts Patients
Besides trying to find a hospital for Jackson—he’s doing better, but he’s still a very sick young man—we have four other patients who’ve been accepted at hospitals and we’re working on the frustrating, mind-numbing, bureaucratic details of getting them up here:
Raphaella is a 6-year-old girl who was badly burned over her face and upper body when a propane tank exploded last January. She has been accepted at a hospital in Boston. We have the paperwork from the hospital and an American friend of ours, who lives here, is working on getting Raphaella and her mother American visas. Hopefully, they will be coming to the States before Christman.
Emmanual is a 14-month-old baby who weighs 10 lbs. No, that’s not a typo. Emmanual is going to an Ohio hospital to have a congenital heart defect surgically corrected. We are in the process of getting him a host family and a visa to travel to the magic land.
Faustina, a 12-year-old girl who has been to the States for surgery before, has been accepted by a Joliet-area hospital. She needs a new heart valve. Faustina’s passport has expired, so we’re trying to get her a new one. When she gets it, and we receive the paperwork from the hospital, we will proceed with the visa process.
Widner, a toddler, has been accepted at a hospital in Guatemala City founded by the great pediatric heart surgeon, Dr. Aldo Castaneda. Widner and his mother have passports and the hospital is working on his Guatemalan visa.
The precious U.S visa is the common denominator for getting children out of Haiti. This entails working with the American consulate in Port-au-Prince. Earlier in the year, the consulate sent all its non-essential staff home, so they’ve been working with a skeleton crew. Everyone’s back now, so hopefully, we will be able to expeditiously get the visas we need. In order to grant a visa, the consulate requires letters from hospitals and doctors stating that they are donating their care and that no public monies will go toward the treatment of the Haitian children.
There are a bunch of other awful details I won’t bore you with. Suffice to say, we have to deal with two governments, one of them of a Third World country. We are fortunate to have people in PAP help us with this time consuming process.
Besides trying to find a hospital for Jackson—he’s doing better, but he’s still a very sick young man—we have four other patients who’ve been accepted at hospitals and we’re working on the frustrating, mind-numbing, bureaucratic details of getting them up here:
Raphaella is a 6-year-old girl who was badly burned over her face and upper body when a propane tank exploded last January. She has been accepted at a hospital in Boston. We have the paperwork from the hospital and an American friend of ours, who lives here, is working on getting Raphaella and her mother American visas. Hopefully, they will be coming to the States before Christman.
Emmanual is a 14-month-old baby who weighs 10 lbs. No, that’s not a typo. Emmanual is going to an Ohio hospital to have a congenital heart defect surgically corrected. We are in the process of getting him a host family and a visa to travel to the magic land.
Faustina, a 12-year-old girl who has been to the States for surgery before, has been accepted by a Joliet-area hospital. She needs a new heart valve. Faustina’s passport has expired, so we’re trying to get her a new one. When she gets it, and we receive the paperwork from the hospital, we will proceed with the visa process.
Widner, a toddler, has been accepted at a hospital in Guatemala City founded by the great pediatric heart surgeon, Dr. Aldo Castaneda. Widner and his mother have passports and the hospital is working on his Guatemalan visa.
The precious U.S visa is the common denominator for getting children out of Haiti. This entails working with the American consulate in Port-au-Prince. Earlier in the year, the consulate sent all its non-essential staff home, so they’ve been working with a skeleton crew. Everyone’s back now, so hopefully, we will be able to expeditiously get the visas we need. In order to grant a visa, the consulate requires letters from hospitals and doctors stating that they are donating their care and that no public monies will go toward the treatment of the Haitian children.
There are a bunch of other awful details I won’t bore you with. Suffice to say, we have to deal with two governments, one of them of a Third World country. We are fortunate to have people in PAP help us with this time consuming process.
Sick Patients at Grace Children’s Hospital
“She’s not going to take big breaths, but thank you very much.” John is sitting in front of his first patient of the day, a four-year-old with a slight temp. He has asked her to breathe hard so he can listen to air move in and out of her lungs, and her mother is even demonstrating the technique, but she looks at them both and continues breathing normally.
We’ve arrived for the first day of work at the Grace Children’s Hospital pediatric clinic. There’s been no fall off in business since our last visit; the low wooden benches in the two waiting rooms are crammed with women holding babies and children, a few hundred in all.
Among the children will mild respiratory problems and fevers are some children who if they were in the U.S. would be admitted to intensive care. One delicate, six-year-old girl with short dreadlocks, wearing a blue dress sits on her father’s lap. Her nostrils flare and she grunts as she breathes. The crackling sound of her breathing fills the stethoscope, indicating pneumonia. The question is, what’s causing it: bacteria, a virus, or TB. “This is Haiti, so you think TB,” says John of the country where this disease is rampant. “She’s been sick for a long time. We’re going to see if there’s a bed for her in the hospital.”
The father explains he took his daughter to another doctor who didn’t listen to her lungs and prescribed Tylenol, vitamin C and cold medicine, poor soldiers in the fight against pneumonia. Thankfully, there is a bed in the inpatient unit across the hospital. Grace specializes in treating children with TB. If she has TB, it won’t kill her tomorrow, but a bacteria pneumonia will, so she’ll be treated with a heavy duty antibiotic called ceftriaxone, AKA Rocephin. There’s nothing to be done for a viral pneumonia, and they’ll do some tests to see if she has TB. Tomorrow, kids, we’re going to have a little tutorial on TB; it’s a big killer in Haiti and throughout the world. Let’s arm ourselves with knowledge.
“She’s not going to take big breaths, but thank you very much.” John is sitting in front of his first patient of the day, a four-year-old with a slight temp. He has asked her to breathe hard so he can listen to air move in and out of her lungs, and her mother is even demonstrating the technique, but she looks at them both and continues breathing normally.
We’ve arrived for the first day of work at the Grace Children’s Hospital pediatric clinic. There’s been no fall off in business since our last visit; the low wooden benches in the two waiting rooms are crammed with women holding babies and children, a few hundred in all.
Among the children will mild respiratory problems and fevers are some children who if they were in the U.S. would be admitted to intensive care. One delicate, six-year-old girl with short dreadlocks, wearing a blue dress sits on her father’s lap. Her nostrils flare and she grunts as she breathes. The crackling sound of her breathing fills the stethoscope, indicating pneumonia. The question is, what’s causing it: bacteria, a virus, or TB. “This is Haiti, so you think TB,” says John of the country where this disease is rampant. “She’s been sick for a long time. We’re going to see if there’s a bed for her in the hospital.”
The father explains he took his daughter to another doctor who didn’t listen to her lungs and prescribed Tylenol, vitamin C and cold medicine, poor soldiers in the fight against pneumonia. Thankfully, there is a bed in the inpatient unit across the hospital. Grace specializes in treating children with TB. If she has TB, it won’t kill her tomorrow, but a bacteria pneumonia will, so she’ll be treated with a heavy duty antibiotic called ceftriaxone, AKA Rocephin. There’s nothing to be done for a viral pneumonia, and they’ll do some tests to see if she has TB. Tomorrow, kids, we’re going to have a little tutorial on TB; it’s a big killer in Haiti and throughout the world. Let’s arm ourselves with knowledge.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Sabbath Update
Sunday Mass in Haiti is no 45 minute affair. We walked to the Missionaries of Charity (Mother T’s order) orphanage, which is not far from where we are staying, for the 9 am children’s Mass. And when I say children, I mean children: about 500 of them, sitting stilly, singing proudly—all Haitians seem to have good voices; they even say “Bonsoir” musically—nicely dressed—boys dressed in yellow shirts and pants, girls in dresses. Between the singing and the praying and the homily and the announcements, Mass is close to two hours. Every once in awhile, one of male adult monitors in the congregation palms a kid’s head and turns it toward the alter, but, really, no need for a cry room here.
Other activities included: going to see a sweet boy, who is doing great. We rode home after sunset; between the darkness and bumps (thank goodness for the handles at the top of the windows to hold onto) the ride was like a Disney ride gone bad. The night is dark in Port-au-Prince because there is no electricity at that time and tonight, only a sliver of a moon. People materialize like apparitions in the foggy rays of the headlights.
Jackson is still with us and continues to improve. The swelling all over his body has gone down. Yesterday, he was able to eat a hamburger and fries. We continue to hope a hospital will come through for him.
Sunday Mass in Haiti is no 45 minute affair. We walked to the Missionaries of Charity (Mother T’s order) orphanage, which is not far from where we are staying, for the 9 am children’s Mass. And when I say children, I mean children: about 500 of them, sitting stilly, singing proudly—all Haitians seem to have good voices; they even say “Bonsoir” musically—nicely dressed—boys dressed in yellow shirts and pants, girls in dresses. Between the singing and the praying and the homily and the announcements, Mass is close to two hours. Every once in awhile, one of male adult monitors in the congregation palms a kid’s head and turns it toward the alter, but, really, no need for a cry room here.
Other activities included: going to see a sweet boy, who is doing great. We rode home after sunset; between the darkness and bumps (thank goodness for the handles at the top of the windows to hold onto) the ride was like a Disney ride gone bad. The night is dark in Port-au-Prince because there is no electricity at that time and tonight, only a sliver of a moon. People materialize like apparitions in the foggy rays of the headlights.
Jackson is still with us and continues to improve. The swelling all over his body has gone down. Yesterday, he was able to eat a hamburger and fries. We continue to hope a hospital will come through for him.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
The Difference Between Blogging and Journaling
I thought blogging would kind of be like journaling on line and it is, except for a few notable differences. First of all, I have to start coming up with better leads for these posts. In a journal, how I start doesn’t really matter, ‘cause I’m the only one whose going to read the lazy words, at least in their initial form.
Secondly, I do a lot of complaining in my journal, complaining that I’m way too much of a hypocrite to do in public. You might not think nicely of me. I also reveal other thoughts that, to put it too kindly, don’t cast me in the absolutely greatest light. Haiti brings me face to face with unattractive truths about the world (e.g. how come Jackson is dying of a bum heart and 600 miles away he’d get care—artificial boundaries, John calls them. They certainly are if you’re the one who is sick) and unattractive truths about myself (e.g. how can I care so much about what brand of soda the hotel has on stock). I think some public personal revelation is fine, but I don’t want to send you scampering for the domestic blogs in fear and disgust. You'll have to wait until my journals are published posthumously to learn all the unattractive details.
Thirdly, some of the stuff we learn and witness about other people’s lives is confidential.
Some observations may be too sensitive or personal to report. Sometimes I’ll use pseudonyms to disguise people’s identities. None of us would want everything we do or say (see above) reported for lots of people to read.
Lastly, it makes me a little nervous putting a first draft of what I write out for public consumption. I am the writer for whom someone invented the saying, "It's all in the rewrite." I have to get over this because we're living in the world of the web i.e. instant communication. Hopefully, I will get better at writing first drafts.
My main goal for this blog, as I think I said in my first posting, is to give you a little idea of what Haiti is like, for a couple of Americans who spend a lot of time here and also for many of the Haitians who are essentially trapped on this poor, one-third of an island nation.
I thought blogging would kind of be like journaling on line and it is, except for a few notable differences. First of all, I have to start coming up with better leads for these posts. In a journal, how I start doesn’t really matter, ‘cause I’m the only one whose going to read the lazy words, at least in their initial form.
Secondly, I do a lot of complaining in my journal, complaining that I’m way too much of a hypocrite to do in public. You might not think nicely of me. I also reveal other thoughts that, to put it too kindly, don’t cast me in the absolutely greatest light. Haiti brings me face to face with unattractive truths about the world (e.g. how come Jackson is dying of a bum heart and 600 miles away he’d get care—artificial boundaries, John calls them. They certainly are if you’re the one who is sick) and unattractive truths about myself (e.g. how can I care so much about what brand of soda the hotel has on stock). I think some public personal revelation is fine, but I don’t want to send you scampering for the domestic blogs in fear and disgust. You'll have to wait until my journals are published posthumously to learn all the unattractive details.
Thirdly, some of the stuff we learn and witness about other people’s lives is confidential.
Some observations may be too sensitive or personal to report. Sometimes I’ll use pseudonyms to disguise people’s identities. None of us would want everything we do or say (see above) reported for lots of people to read.
Lastly, it makes me a little nervous putting a first draft of what I write out for public consumption. I am the writer for whom someone invented the saying, "It's all in the rewrite." I have to get over this because we're living in the world of the web i.e. instant communication. Hopefully, I will get better at writing first drafts.
My main goal for this blog, as I think I said in my first posting, is to give you a little idea of what Haiti is like, for a couple of Americans who spend a lot of time here and also for many of the Haitians who are essentially trapped on this poor, one-third of an island nation.
Kidnapping Part III
Okay, okay, okay. I promise, no more about kidnapping . . . at least for today. It’s just that John’s down in our room, examining the buckshot-sprayed shoulder of the kidnap victim, Phillip, who was released this afternoon. At the end of this post is a newspaper article about his release. Read on for the real scoop.
Phillip’s SUV was ambushed by some rock-throwing dirt bandits near Cité Soleil, a large and dangerous slum filled with more than 200,000 desperately poor people, almost all of whom are victims also. For some reason, (God’s instinct), Phillip ducked to the right just as bullets were flying through both front seat windows, so the bullets missed his chest and hit his shoulder. He got out of the truck along with a Haitian man and a 4-year-old boy whom Phillip was taking to the U.S. embassy to get a medical visa for.
“Six hands were in my back pocket trying to get out my wallet, which was jammed in at an angle,” said Phillip. “I worked my hand in there and pulled out my wallet, and handed it to them.” The thieves ran with his wallet, and as Phillip stood there, dazed, a U.N tank rumbled by offering no assistance.
It was really Phillip’s unlucky day as it wasn’t this first group of criminals who kidnapped him, but a second, who pounced upon this bleeding, vulnerable American. The kidnappers commandeered Phillip’s phone and proceeded to call everyone in his address book demanding money. His son Chad negotiated with the criminals and the price proceeded downward from $300,000. As the day wore on, the bandits demands dropped to $2,000 U.S. and $10,000 Haitian.
At this point, Phillip’s family was a little worried that something really bad had happened to him. Why the dramatic decrease in the ranson demand? However, Phillip told us that about the time the price dropped, another Cité Soleil leader came into talk with him. He told Phillip, “If I had you, I’d let you go. You’ve been here 26 years (as a missionary) trying to help our people.” Apparently, this gang leader’s influence along with the fact that it was Friday and the kidnappers wanted to party and buy some guns (now there’s a recipe for trouble) convinced the kidnappers to drop their price.
A brave Haitian family friend (it’s always the Haitians who get the really dirty jobs) was drafted to drop off the money. He walked into Cité Soleil, and while he walked the kidnappers called him 5 times on his cell phone giving him directions. They led him to a place where he met a guy who insured he had the money and then put a gun to his head, saying he was going to kill him. Nice. Instead, Phillip and the little boy came out and they all took a tap tap to safety.
Phillip’s shoulder is okay. He’s a cool dude; I don’t think everything’s sunk in yet. The darling little boy who was kidnapped with him needs surgery because he ran into a nail sticking out of the wall at eye level, and he has to have his eye removed. Do the wonders of Haiti ever cease? Now, a U.S. senator has arranged for a plane to pick up this little boy and fly him to the States. We’d love Jackson to be on that plane, too.
Here’s the A.P. article on Phillip’s release.
AMERICAN KIDNAP VICTIM IN HAITI FREED
By ALFRED de MONTESQUIOU
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Dec 2 (AP) -- Gunmen have released 14 Haitian children
and an American missionary who were abducted in separate incidents, police
said Friday.
The missionary, Phillip Snyder, was released Friday after a ransom was
paid, said police Commissioner Francois Henri Doussous, head of Haiti's
anti-kidnapping unit. He would not specify how much was paid but said it
was "much less" than the $300,000 the kidnappers initially sought.
The gunmen released the children and their school bus driver unharmed
Thursday night, hours after their bus was hijacked by gunmen on the way to
school.
The kidnappings came five weeks before national elections to restore
democracy to Haiti, which has seen a sharp increase in abductions amid the
chaos following the ouster of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide in February
2004.
Doussous said police did not believe the latest kidnappings were
politically motivated. "This is purely criminal activity, the gangs need
money," he said.
It was not immediately clear who paid the ransom for Snyder. Doussous
said the kidnappers were members of criminal gangs based in Cite Soleil, a
sprawling seaside slum that is a base for heavily armed gangs blamed for
numerous kidnappings.
Snyder, 48, was treated for a gunshot wound to his shoulder and released
from a U.N. military hospital, police said. The president of Zeeland,
Mich.-based Glow Ministries International was abducted Thursday on the main
road leading north from the Haitian capital.
"My father is fine," Chad Snyder, the kidnapped missionary's son, said
in a brief telephone interview in Port-au-Prince.
The missionary's wife, Amber Snyder, said before his release that she
and her husband were aware of the dangers in Haiti but kept it in the back
of their minds. She said her husband's family has worked in Haiti for more
than three decades helping the poor.
"He's a foreigner. They assume every foreigner has money or has
resources," Amber Snyder, who met her husband on a Christian mission trip
in Haiti when she was 17, told The Associated Press before hearing of her
husband's release.
A young boy kidnapped along with Snyder was freed and in good condition.
The missionary had been helping the boy obtain a medical visa so he could
have eye surgery, Amber Snyder said.
"There's a tremendous sense of relief," Amber Snyder's uncle, Denny
Bull, said from Zeeland after Snyder was freed. "We had confidence that
this would happen. We just did not know when."
Haitian radio reported that an unspecified ransom was paid for the
kidnapped children, but Doussous said the gunmen received no money. He said
they released the hostages because of intense public attention and because
police checkpoints prevented them from returning to Cite Soleil on the
outskirts of Port-au-Prince.
The children were aged 5-17. There were no arrests.
Doussous said police favored negotiating with the gangs, fearing that a
raid on Cite Soleil would ignite a large-scale gun battle, endangering
innocent bystanders.
A U.N. peacekeeper was killed by gangs in October during a raid in Cite
Soleil to release a kidnap victim.
------
Associated Press Writer David Eggert in Zeeland, Mich., contributed to
this report.
Okay, okay, okay. I promise, no more about kidnapping . . . at least for today. It’s just that John’s down in our room, examining the buckshot-sprayed shoulder of the kidnap victim, Phillip, who was released this afternoon. At the end of this post is a newspaper article about his release. Read on for the real scoop.
Phillip’s SUV was ambushed by some rock-throwing dirt bandits near Cité Soleil, a large and dangerous slum filled with more than 200,000 desperately poor people, almost all of whom are victims also. For some reason, (God’s instinct), Phillip ducked to the right just as bullets were flying through both front seat windows, so the bullets missed his chest and hit his shoulder. He got out of the truck along with a Haitian man and a 4-year-old boy whom Phillip was taking to the U.S. embassy to get a medical visa for.
“Six hands were in my back pocket trying to get out my wallet, which was jammed in at an angle,” said Phillip. “I worked my hand in there and pulled out my wallet, and handed it to them.” The thieves ran with his wallet, and as Phillip stood there, dazed, a U.N tank rumbled by offering no assistance.
It was really Phillip’s unlucky day as it wasn’t this first group of criminals who kidnapped him, but a second, who pounced upon this bleeding, vulnerable American. The kidnappers commandeered Phillip’s phone and proceeded to call everyone in his address book demanding money. His son Chad negotiated with the criminals and the price proceeded downward from $300,000. As the day wore on, the bandits demands dropped to $2,000 U.S. and $10,000 Haitian.
At this point, Phillip’s family was a little worried that something really bad had happened to him. Why the dramatic decrease in the ranson demand? However, Phillip told us that about the time the price dropped, another Cité Soleil leader came into talk with him. He told Phillip, “If I had you, I’d let you go. You’ve been here 26 years (as a missionary) trying to help our people.” Apparently, this gang leader’s influence along with the fact that it was Friday and the kidnappers wanted to party and buy some guns (now there’s a recipe for trouble) convinced the kidnappers to drop their price.
A brave Haitian family friend (it’s always the Haitians who get the really dirty jobs) was drafted to drop off the money. He walked into Cité Soleil, and while he walked the kidnappers called him 5 times on his cell phone giving him directions. They led him to a place where he met a guy who insured he had the money and then put a gun to his head, saying he was going to kill him. Nice. Instead, Phillip and the little boy came out and they all took a tap tap to safety.
Phillip’s shoulder is okay. He’s a cool dude; I don’t think everything’s sunk in yet. The darling little boy who was kidnapped with him needs surgery because he ran into a nail sticking out of the wall at eye level, and he has to have his eye removed. Do the wonders of Haiti ever cease? Now, a U.S. senator has arranged for a plane to pick up this little boy and fly him to the States. We’d love Jackson to be on that plane, too.
Here’s the A.P. article on Phillip’s release.
AMERICAN KIDNAP VICTIM IN HAITI FREED
By ALFRED de MONTESQUIOU
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Dec 2 (AP) -- Gunmen have released 14 Haitian children
and an American missionary who were abducted in separate incidents, police
said Friday.
The missionary, Phillip Snyder, was released Friday after a ransom was
paid, said police Commissioner Francois Henri Doussous, head of Haiti's
anti-kidnapping unit. He would not specify how much was paid but said it
was "much less" than the $300,000 the kidnappers initially sought.
The gunmen released the children and their school bus driver unharmed
Thursday night, hours after their bus was hijacked by gunmen on the way to
school.
The kidnappings came five weeks before national elections to restore
democracy to Haiti, which has seen a sharp increase in abductions amid the
chaos following the ouster of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide in February
2004.
Doussous said police did not believe the latest kidnappings were
politically motivated. "This is purely criminal activity, the gangs need
money," he said.
It was not immediately clear who paid the ransom for Snyder. Doussous
said the kidnappers were members of criminal gangs based in Cite Soleil, a
sprawling seaside slum that is a base for heavily armed gangs blamed for
numerous kidnappings.
Snyder, 48, was treated for a gunshot wound to his shoulder and released
from a U.N. military hospital, police said. The president of Zeeland,
Mich.-based Glow Ministries International was abducted Thursday on the main
road leading north from the Haitian capital.
"My father is fine," Chad Snyder, the kidnapped missionary's son, said
in a brief telephone interview in Port-au-Prince.
The missionary's wife, Amber Snyder, said before his release that she
and her husband were aware of the dangers in Haiti but kept it in the back
of their minds. She said her husband's family has worked in Haiti for more
than three decades helping the poor.
"He's a foreigner. They assume every foreigner has money or has
resources," Amber Snyder, who met her husband on a Christian mission trip
in Haiti when she was 17, told The Associated Press before hearing of her
husband's release.
A young boy kidnapped along with Snyder was freed and in good condition.
The missionary had been helping the boy obtain a medical visa so he could
have eye surgery, Amber Snyder said.
"There's a tremendous sense of relief," Amber Snyder's uncle, Denny
Bull, said from Zeeland after Snyder was freed. "We had confidence that
this would happen. We just did not know when."
Haitian radio reported that an unspecified ransom was paid for the
kidnapped children, but Doussous said the gunmen received no money. He said
they released the hostages because of intense public attention and because
police checkpoints prevented them from returning to Cite Soleil on the
outskirts of Port-au-Prince.
The children were aged 5-17. There were no arrests.
Doussous said police favored negotiating with the gangs, fearing that a
raid on Cite Soleil would ignite a large-scale gun battle, endangering
innocent bystanders.
A U.N. peacekeeper was killed by gangs in October during a raid in Cite
Soleil to release a kidnap victim.
------
Associated Press Writer David Eggert in Zeeland, Mich., contributed to
this report.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Kidnapping Part II
I'm one of those people who can't get away with anything, so I should have known that when I made light of a behavior as serious as kidnapping, it would turn around and bite me. Yesterday, the father of a young American man we know was kidnapped as he drove to PAP from a town about an hour away. He called his son and told him that he'd been shot more than once and thought he was bleeding to death. The kidnappers were demanding ransom of $300,000. This man and his family, including the son, have lived in Haiti for a long time (the son was raised here), working as missionaries.
A friend of ours who employs the son and is staying where we are told us about all of this. Negotiations proceeded and our friend briefed us on what was going on. Today, just a short while ago, the man was released after much less money than was originally demanded was paid. There was scariness and more goofiness, too, that we can chuckle about only because no one was killed. Apparently, no American kidnap victim has been killed. But as our friend says, you don’t want to be the first.
I'm one of those people who can't get away with anything, so I should have known that when I made light of a behavior as serious as kidnapping, it would turn around and bite me. Yesterday, the father of a young American man we know was kidnapped as he drove to PAP from a town about an hour away. He called his son and told him that he'd been shot more than once and thought he was bleeding to death. The kidnappers were demanding ransom of $300,000. This man and his family, including the son, have lived in Haiti for a long time (the son was raised here), working as missionaries.
A friend of ours who employs the son and is staying where we are told us about all of this. Negotiations proceeded and our friend briefed us on what was going on. Today, just a short while ago, the man was released after much less money than was originally demanded was paid. There was scariness and more goofiness, too, that we can chuckle about only because no one was killed. Apparently, no American kidnap victim has been killed. But as our friend says, you don’t want to be the first.
You Won’t Waste Water After Reading This
John asked Jackson and his family what they do to get the elixir of life. Their answer warrants its own post.
For drinking water, the family buys Culligan, as the PAP water cannot be trusted to be safe (we’re very careful in the shower not to accidently swallow). For water needed for bathing and other activities. Jackson’s mom and sisters get it twice a week. Here’s the drill, and I do mean drill . . .
The family lives on the side of a mountain. Four of them walk and hour and a half down the mountain to a river, each carrying three large buckets. They fill the buckets and carry one in each hand and the third on their heads. They walk up the mountain; the return trip takes two hours. Then they repeat this process two more times. It takes them two 11 hour days of grueling hiking and even more grueling carrying-of-the water to get to get the H2O the family needs. When John said, “This is difficult,” Jackson, who can’t help because of his heart, replied, “Very.”
John asked Jackson and his family what they do to get the elixir of life. Their answer warrants its own post.
For drinking water, the family buys Culligan, as the PAP water cannot be trusted to be safe (we’re very careful in the shower not to accidently swallow). For water needed for bathing and other activities. Jackson’s mom and sisters get it twice a week. Here’s the drill, and I do mean drill . . .
The family lives on the side of a mountain. Four of them walk and hour and a half down the mountain to a river, each carrying three large buckets. They fill the buckets and carry one in each hand and the third on their heads. They walk up the mountain; the return trip takes two hours. Then they repeat this process two more times. It takes them two 11 hour days of grueling hiking and even more grueling carrying-of-the water to get to get the H2O the family needs. When John said, “This is difficult,” Jackson, who can’t help because of his heart, replied, “Very.”
Jackson Update: He's Improving!
Jackson passed the night with us. I awoke to hear him using the bathroom, which was truly an uplifting sound. Go kidneys! Go! The diuretics were reaching these important organs, and they were doing their job, expelling some of Jackson's unwanted fluid. John also explained to me in technical medical language I don't fully understand how lasix gets rid of fluid in the lungs, even when it doesn't leave the body.
The good news is that today, Jackson's physical exam was much better. John could get a blood pressure on him--in the 90s, which is what it has been in the past. Yesterday, he could get no pressure. His lungs are clear, he has a little appetite, and it's easier for him to move around. He had some crackers and trail mix this morning. I don't think he slept too much last night, but at least he could lie down. His mom and sister came to visit this morning and they will return on Sunday, so Jackson will be hanging with us for at least a couple more days. Keep him in your prayers.
Jackson passed the night with us. I awoke to hear him using the bathroom, which was truly an uplifting sound. Go kidneys! Go! The diuretics were reaching these important organs, and they were doing their job, expelling some of Jackson's unwanted fluid. John also explained to me in technical medical language I don't fully understand how lasix gets rid of fluid in the lungs, even when it doesn't leave the body.
The good news is that today, Jackson's physical exam was much better. John could get a blood pressure on him--in the 90s, which is what it has been in the past. Yesterday, he could get no pressure. His lungs are clear, he has a little appetite, and it's easier for him to move around. He had some crackers and trail mix this morning. I don't think he slept too much last night, but at least he could lie down. His mom and sister came to visit this morning and they will return on Sunday, so Jackson will be hanging with us for at least a couple more days. Keep him in your prayers.
Caleb's Dad: A Profile in Dignity
Caleb's dad, Provener, was our first visitor yesterday. Caleb is receiving treatment in St. Louis for a rare cancerous condition called sinus histocytosis, which produced tumors around his eyes and neck. Caleb is being hosted by the Kennys in Peoria. I had called Caleb from O'Hare to tell him that we needed to see his father while we were in Haiti for him to sign some forms.
Provener showed up our first full day, having left from his home at 1:30 am. Though he lives in a town only 90 miles away, it took him five hours by tap tap to get here, which gives you some idea of what the roads are like. To give you a further idea, when we asked Provener how the roads are between his home and Port-au-Prince, he replied, "The roads are good."
When I approached the table, he rose, took my hand and kissed it. He thanked us profusely for all we are doing for Caleb and said that God will bless us. We told him Caleb is a good boy and he said, "He is your son." This high compliment also carries with it implicit obligation. Caleb is the middle of 7 children ranging in age from 7 to 21; he has one older brother, two older sisters, two younger sisters, and one younger brother.
It's good for his family that Caleb is in the U.S: first he is receiving life-saving treatments and second, he is economically helping his family as do so many Haitians in the U.S. Caleb sent his family $400 that he made from a summer job. "It was a huge blessing," said Provener as a drought in the area had made economic conditions even more difficult.
Provener, who is has two years left of his study to become a minister, is a slight, neatly dressed man. He will become a pastor in the Mission Evangelist Baptist of South Haiti (MEBSH) Church. This is the same church that runs Hopital Lumiere, a hospital where John has worked.
After he signed the forms, he left to be on his way, singing our praises and kissing my hand twice before he left.
Caleb's dad, Provener, was our first visitor yesterday. Caleb is receiving treatment in St. Louis for a rare cancerous condition called sinus histocytosis, which produced tumors around his eyes and neck. Caleb is being hosted by the Kennys in Peoria. I had called Caleb from O'Hare to tell him that we needed to see his father while we were in Haiti for him to sign some forms.
Provener showed up our first full day, having left from his home at 1:30 am. Though he lives in a town only 90 miles away, it took him five hours by tap tap to get here, which gives you some idea of what the roads are like. To give you a further idea, when we asked Provener how the roads are between his home and Port-au-Prince, he replied, "The roads are good."
When I approached the table, he rose, took my hand and kissed it. He thanked us profusely for all we are doing for Caleb and said that God will bless us. We told him Caleb is a good boy and he said, "He is your son." This high compliment also carries with it implicit obligation. Caleb is the middle of 7 children ranging in age from 7 to 21; he has one older brother, two older sisters, two younger sisters, and one younger brother.
It's good for his family that Caleb is in the U.S: first he is receiving life-saving treatments and second, he is economically helping his family as do so many Haitians in the U.S. Caleb sent his family $400 that he made from a summer job. "It was a huge blessing," said Provener as a drought in the area had made economic conditions even more difficult.
Provener, who is has two years left of his study to become a minister, is a slight, neatly dressed man. He will become a pastor in the Mission Evangelist Baptist of South Haiti (MEBSH) Church. This is the same church that runs Hopital Lumiere, a hospital where John has worked.
After he signed the forms, he left to be on his way, singing our praises and kissing my hand twice before he left.
Letter From Prison: Father Gerry Jean-Juste
When we visited Father yesterday, he wrote a letter to his American attorney Bill Quigley. We have sent the letter to Bill. Father doesn't mind publication of the letter, so excerpts are below.
It’s great to have the visit of Dr. John and Maria today. I answered all their medical questions. . . I enjoy using my neck problem to keep the pressure on. . . So talking to Dr. John, I said my neck problem calls for attention and freedom. We use this phrase now: The Freedom Neck. It’s painful once in a while. I may live with it even though it diminishes my hearing some days. If I can use it to secure freedom for all the political prisoners and I, let it be. Do not worry too much when I say the truth about ache from the neck. The ache in Jesus’ body during His passion and crucifixion was hundred times more hurting. It’s nothing comparable. . .
As I am writing you today, my heart unfortunately is still bleeding. From my cell window, I watched some ugly events yesterday, the last day of Nov. 2005. . .
Early in this morning by 4 am more or less, the poor children, young ladies, and some young males, rush as usual everyday with usually two empty white jugs (a gallon each) to a pit half a mile north of the jail to get some water. They travel so far away from the top of Golgotha to the bottom pit for some water. It hurts me so much. Finally I yelled and talked to some close to my window cell and said, “Why don’t you come together and put pressure on the defacto gov’t so they can build a fountain or two near your place so you won’t pain so much to satisfy your thirst?” They were scared and walked away. This area is plagued with police headquarters and a jail. The repression keeps them docile, quiet. Oh, I remember Jesus yelling for some water while at the cross on the top of Golgotha. He said, “I am thirsty.” The soldier brought him vinegar. I breathe a little bit with the hope that maybe I may place a call for them with the next President. We never know. . .
The big event that makes my heart bleeding, the most touchy one for the day:
A (probably 8 month) pregnant woman- at 4 pm, I looked out the window, watching a pregnant woman leaning on a wall cross the street of my cell window. She was heartbreath. She laid on the wall with her 2 white jugs for almost 30 minutes without help. Facing south toward the mountain that she may have to climb, pitifully looking, she waits and waits. . . Meanwhile I call upon a cellmate Jack to find out what we can do for the woman. My emotion stops me from coming with a solution. I suffer, suffer, and still suffering as I’m writing these pages. The woman looks at the passer byers; no one offers help. Suddenly, she took her courage in hands and grabbed the two jugs, one in each hand and leaned upon the wall and made one step and two. I watched her going up the Golgotha. . .
Oh, Bill, Jesus was passing by and I was in awe not able to make any offering to him.
I forget, the Archbishop has taken away my priestly faculties.
Too bad. Too bad—
How long are we in Haiti going to thirst like Jesus and find no relief yet?
Let’s hope that some of God’s miracles may work thru us soon upon freedom, upon the return of democracy—
Keep up the good work! God’s Blessing always! Happy Holiday Season to you and all!
OUR GOD IS A LIVING GOD—
I SMELL FREEDOM COMING
THIS DECEMBER
&
WINNING OF THE ELECTIONS
BY THE PEOPLE
IN JANUARY
&
HAPPY HOLIDAY,
HAPPY HOLIDAY—
GOD WILL SHOW HIS
POWER THRU US ALL
Your brother,
Gerard Jean-Juste
When we visited Father yesterday, he wrote a letter to his American attorney Bill Quigley. We have sent the letter to Bill. Father doesn't mind publication of the letter, so excerpts are below.
It’s great to have the visit of Dr. John and Maria today. I answered all their medical questions. . . I enjoy using my neck problem to keep the pressure on. . . So talking to Dr. John, I said my neck problem calls for attention and freedom. We use this phrase now: The Freedom Neck. It’s painful once in a while. I may live with it even though it diminishes my hearing some days. If I can use it to secure freedom for all the political prisoners and I, let it be. Do not worry too much when I say the truth about ache from the neck. The ache in Jesus’ body during His passion and crucifixion was hundred times more hurting. It’s nothing comparable. . .
As I am writing you today, my heart unfortunately is still bleeding. From my cell window, I watched some ugly events yesterday, the last day of Nov. 2005. . .
Early in this morning by 4 am more or less, the poor children, young ladies, and some young males, rush as usual everyday with usually two empty white jugs (a gallon each) to a pit half a mile north of the jail to get some water. They travel so far away from the top of Golgotha to the bottom pit for some water. It hurts me so much. Finally I yelled and talked to some close to my window cell and said, “Why don’t you come together and put pressure on the defacto gov’t so they can build a fountain or two near your place so you won’t pain so much to satisfy your thirst?” They were scared and walked away. This area is plagued with police headquarters and a jail. The repression keeps them docile, quiet. Oh, I remember Jesus yelling for some water while at the cross on the top of Golgotha. He said, “I am thirsty.” The soldier brought him vinegar. I breathe a little bit with the hope that maybe I may place a call for them with the next President. We never know. . .
The big event that makes my heart bleeding, the most touchy one for the day:
A (probably 8 month) pregnant woman- at 4 pm, I looked out the window, watching a pregnant woman leaning on a wall cross the street of my cell window. She was heartbreath. She laid on the wall with her 2 white jugs for almost 30 minutes without help. Facing south toward the mountain that she may have to climb, pitifully looking, she waits and waits. . . Meanwhile I call upon a cellmate Jack to find out what we can do for the woman. My emotion stops me from coming with a solution. I suffer, suffer, and still suffering as I’m writing these pages. The woman looks at the passer byers; no one offers help. Suddenly, she took her courage in hands and grabbed the two jugs, one in each hand and leaned upon the wall and made one step and two. I watched her going up the Golgotha. . .
Oh, Bill, Jesus was passing by and I was in awe not able to make any offering to him.
I forget, the Archbishop has taken away my priestly faculties.
Too bad. Too bad—
How long are we in Haiti going to thirst like Jesus and find no relief yet?
Let’s hope that some of God’s miracles may work thru us soon upon freedom, upon the return of democracy—
Keep up the good work! God’s Blessing always! Happy Holiday Season to you and all!
OUR GOD IS A LIVING GOD—
I SMELL FREEDOM COMING
THIS DECEMBER
&
WINNING OF THE ELECTIONS
BY THE PEOPLE
IN JANUARY
&
HAPPY HOLIDAY,
HAPPY HOLIDAY—
GOD WILL SHOW HIS
POWER THRU US ALL
Your brother,
Gerard Jean-Juste
Thursday, December 01, 2005
We have a dying boy in our hotel room.
Jackson Jean-Baptiste is sitting in a chaise lounge in front of our television, dozing and watching a French documentary about bears. He came at 8 this morning. His mother and his sister had to carry him down the mountain on a chair, and then they rode 3 tap taps to get here. Jackson can barely walk and needs help getting out of a chair. We were so alarmed by the state of his health, we told his mother and sister to leave him with us.
Jackson is in congestive heart failure. His abdomen, legs, and feet are all swollen with fluid his body cannot get rid of. More ominously, his lungs are water-filled also, making it difficult for him to breathe. John has been giving him mega doses of furosimide, a heavy duty diuretic to help his body get rid of fluid. The problem is, because of Jackson's reduced bloodflow, his body isn't absorbing the diuretic and he's not getting rid of much water. He is going to spend the night with us, and we will figure out our next step tomorrow. Jackson is reclining in one of the pool side chairs we dragged down to our room as he cannot lie down flat and still breathe.
Jackson has been to Peoria twice to have his aortic and mitral heart valves repaired. These valves were damaged by rheumatic fever. He has been back in Haiti for a couple of years. This past spring, John examined Jackson and had concerns, which caused him to send Jackson for an echocardiogram in Port-au-Prince. This scan revealed that Jackson's mitral valve was malfunctioning and that he needs more surgery, most likely a valve replacement. On multiple occasions, including as recently as this morning, we have offered OSF St. Francis Medical Center $10,000 to accept Jackson, their former patient for a valve replacement but they have either refused or not responded. We are praying they will change their minds.
Now, our primary concern is keeping Jackson alive. He is a very sick young man and has probably been critically ill for several weeks. It is a helpless feeling having him in our room, but we are doing what we can. Jackson needs help.
Jackson Jean-Baptiste is sitting in a chaise lounge in front of our television, dozing and watching a French documentary about bears. He came at 8 this morning. His mother and his sister had to carry him down the mountain on a chair, and then they rode 3 tap taps to get here. Jackson can barely walk and needs help getting out of a chair. We were so alarmed by the state of his health, we told his mother and sister to leave him with us.
Jackson is in congestive heart failure. His abdomen, legs, and feet are all swollen with fluid his body cannot get rid of. More ominously, his lungs are water-filled also, making it difficult for him to breathe. John has been giving him mega doses of furosimide, a heavy duty diuretic to help his body get rid of fluid. The problem is, because of Jackson's reduced bloodflow, his body isn't absorbing the diuretic and he's not getting rid of much water. He is going to spend the night with us, and we will figure out our next step tomorrow. Jackson is reclining in one of the pool side chairs we dragged down to our room as he cannot lie down flat and still breathe.
Jackson has been to Peoria twice to have his aortic and mitral heart valves repaired. These valves were damaged by rheumatic fever. He has been back in Haiti for a couple of years. This past spring, John examined Jackson and had concerns, which caused him to send Jackson for an echocardiogram in Port-au-Prince. This scan revealed that Jackson's mitral valve was malfunctioning and that he needs more surgery, most likely a valve replacement. On multiple occasions, including as recently as this morning, we have offered OSF St. Francis Medical Center $10,000 to accept Jackson, their former patient for a valve replacement but they have either refused or not responded. We are praying they will change their minds.
Now, our primary concern is keeping Jackson alive. He is a very sick young man and has probably been critically ill for several weeks. It is a helpless feeling having him in our room, but we are doing what we can. Jackson needs help.
Father Gerard Jean-Juste
We wound our way through the hills of Port-au-Prince up the road that Father Jean-Juste calls Golgotha to the Annexe Pententiare Nationale, where he has been incarcerated the last several months. The Haitian National Police and U.N. soldiers from Senegal patrol the prison. Father's health condition continues to be serious and, in fact, has worsened since September, according to Dr. John Carroll who examined Father then and also today (12-01-05). Father is need of a complete medical work up and a surgical intervention.
As to his legal and ecclesiastical situations, he is waiting to hear from authorities on both. A judge in Haiti has his dossier and is reviewing the information. This "review" has been going on for months now. As there is no evidence that Father has committed a crime of any kind, we can only believe that he is being kept in jail until after the elections, which keep being postponed. They are currently scheduled for January 8.
Though Father is eager to leave jail, he hopes to hear from Rome first about his status as a priest. He was recently told by the bishops of Haiti that he could no longer officially act as a priest. "It would be a great hardship on me if I couldn't say Mass after I am released from prison," Father said. He has little support from Catholic priests and bishops in Haiti or abroad. "Many of the Haitian priests who would be supporters of mine are dead," he said. Bishop Gumbleton from Detroit has visited Father and advocates for Father Jean-Juste's release.
Father's spirits continue to be strong; no one can keep him from God. The feeding program at his parish, St. Clare's is going full force, four days a week, feeding 750 people each time possibly the only meal they will eat that day. If you would like to donate to this absolutely vital cause, contact Margaret Trost at margarettrost@yahoo.com or visit the What If Foundation website at www.whatiffoundation.org.
Father appreciates the support he receives from people in Haiti and all over the world.
We wound our way through the hills of Port-au-Prince up the road that Father Jean-Juste calls Golgotha to the Annexe Pententiare Nationale, where he has been incarcerated the last several months. The Haitian National Police and U.N. soldiers from Senegal patrol the prison. Father's health condition continues to be serious and, in fact, has worsened since September, according to Dr. John Carroll who examined Father then and also today (12-01-05). Father is need of a complete medical work up and a surgical intervention.
As to his legal and ecclesiastical situations, he is waiting to hear from authorities on both. A judge in Haiti has his dossier and is reviewing the information. This "review" has been going on for months now. As there is no evidence that Father has committed a crime of any kind, we can only believe that he is being kept in jail until after the elections, which keep being postponed. They are currently scheduled for January 8.
Though Father is eager to leave jail, he hopes to hear from Rome first about his status as a priest. He was recently told by the bishops of Haiti that he could no longer officially act as a priest. "It would be a great hardship on me if I couldn't say Mass after I am released from prison," Father said. He has little support from Catholic priests and bishops in Haiti or abroad. "Many of the Haitian priests who would be supporters of mine are dead," he said. Bishop Gumbleton from Detroit has visited Father and advocates for Father Jean-Juste's release.
Father's spirits continue to be strong; no one can keep him from God. The feeding program at his parish, St. Clare's is going full force, four days a week, feeding 750 people each time possibly the only meal they will eat that day. If you would like to donate to this absolutely vital cause, contact Margaret Trost at margarettrost@yahoo.com or visit the What If Foundation website at www.whatiffoundation.org.
Father appreciates the support he receives from people in Haiti and all over the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)