The hospital story.

So, I have decided that tomorrow, for at LEAST a week, I am going to stop talking about all the depressing things happening in Haiti. I mean, yes, it's important that people know the real story, BUT... I am kind of tired of always having downer posts.

However, that starts tomorrow because I HAVE to share this story that I believe highlights what the current medical situation is here in Jacmel.

Friday night I got a frantic call from Guernia, (my Pwojè Konekte employee who lives in Pinchinat) saying that the father of a friend of hers was very sick and barely breathing. Haiti doesn't exactly have 911 (though they did go through a billboard campaign last year where they had an emergency number you could call if you got kidnapped... but I digress.)

I jumped in our truck (aka "The Golden Tap Tap") and sped down the road not really sure what to expect. When I arrived, the man, Jean Bernard, was in bad shape. 58 years old but still a burley, strong-looking guy, he was not able to walk on his own. His breathing was very labored.

We went to the public hospital, Hospital St. Michel (if you google it, you will see that this hospital has a nickname of "the morgue" here in town.) We arrived and were seen quickly in the "Urgency" department, the Haitian equivalent of the ER. I actually have a lot of experience lately with this particular urgency department. I had stitches there (during my streak of accidents), I brought Edwinson there when he was very sick, and now I was bringing Jean Bernard in.

The nurse comes in and right away starts showing exceptional bedside manner (is the sarcasm too obvious there?) I am not going to get into all the details except to mention that at one point, as she was taking his vitals, she was also talking on the telephone to a friend of hers describing Jean Bernard as, "Preske anba pye mwen." (Almost under my feet-- or in simpler terms, almost dead.)

They tell us that he needs to go over to radiology to have some chest x-rays done. I ask where that is and they point me over to a building in the distance. I ask for a stretcher since he can't walk and they say to me, "He can walk."

I tell them that he, in fact, CANNOT walk. And they just look at me and say, "He can walk." So four of us get up under him and help him "walk" him over to radiology. He needs to stand for the x-ray, and he can't do it on his own, so me and his daughter (sans lead aprons might I add) held him up to the machine while he had his x-rays.

The results showed that one of his lungs was partially collapsed, he had early TB, and his heart was enlarged. When we arrived back in the ER with his films, they also said he was severely anemic and needed a blood transfusion. They started talking about all they were going to do for him-- get him admitted, do a transfusion, start him in the TB program, etc. etc. etc.

At that point, I had to go get my family to Friday night church, so I made my exit and that's pretty much all I thought about it until the next morning at 7AM when Guernia called me to tell me that Jean Bernard was getting worse, now he was vomiting too, and could I come back to Pinchinat to bring him to the hospital? I was confused by that because it was only 12 hours later. So I asked why he wasn't still in the hospital. Apparently shortly after I left the night before, they discharged him. !?!?!? He had TB, a collapsed lung, an enlarged heart and severe anemia and they DISCHARGED HIM TO A REFUGEE CAMP.

I headed back over to Pinchinat and arrived just as the Czech medical people were loading him into one of their Jeeps. I don't know if he was kept at this point, all I know is that the next day Guernia called me and told me that he passed away at 11PM the night before. Seeing the condition he was in, that didn't come as much of a surprise, but seriously, is this the best that can be done for a dying man?

Aargh!

People talk about how medical care is better in Haiti than it has ever been. Yeah, this latest interaction leads me to believe that "business as usual" is on its way back.