Get Up!-It's Monday....

  The other morning I woke up and ran to the door. "What?" I yelled.

   Nobody was there. It was just a bad dream.

   Well, this morning, someone WAS there, when I ran to answer the call.

   "Are you up yet?" Steve wondered.

   "Yes," I said, trying to make it sound like I had been up a long time, but tricking no one.

   "There is a pregnant lady at the clinic," he informed us.

   By the time we saw her, she was not pregnant anymore. In fact, they told us that the small baby had been born sometime after midnight. I was wishing it was a bad dream. But it was for real. A little midget of an angel was lying there, to remind us of heaven before we started the week.

   By the time we felt comfortable to leave her, it was time for a bit of coffee and then a U-turn to the clinic again. We were planning to put an IV in the lady who had come first thing this morning, but... A lady came in screaming and holding out a blood-dripping thumb. So, everyone stood back a little as we helped her into a bed, and got out the sterile scissors. A few stitches and steri-strips later, we thought it looked a bit more like a thumb again.

   Then, before we even got her bandaged, another little boy arrived. He was breathing hard, bleeding into his cornea, and not able to urinate. So, the attention shifted to him. His oxygen stats were unstable, so we put him on oxygen, and made plans to send him out to the hospital after Mis Leda administered a catheter.

   Meanwhile, another patient showed up. We are highly suspicious that he has tuberculosis, and so we also sent him out today, to a special faculty where they help tuberculosis patients. 

   So, back to the IV and the lady with the miscarriage. She joined the machine and went out to TiGoave for further care. I wanted to cry with her, when I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. What a hard day. "My children at home, they don't have anything," she whispered in my ear.

     Here is a little girl we have been seeing every day this week. She had an abscess on her chest, and a draining wound above her eyes. It is so exciting to see her improving.

                                                    It's Madeline!

   Now, as the day fades away, we are waiting to hear from Steve and Whitney, who have not yet returned from TiGoave, where they took our transfer cases. 

      The day doesn't want to stop. I try to write this little epistle and end up going down to clinic to help a few more people with skin conditions, or little problems. I know it is Monday! And that God is still in control! Thank-you for all your prayers! Mis Woda

    

    

     

It's About Time

...for another blog post!  Sometimes we have a hard time finding something interesting to blog about.  Sometimes we have lots to blog, but we get so busy with everything happening that we just don't have time to blog anything.  And then sometimes we have something to blog and the time to blog it, but really bad internet connection.  And that's how it's been lately.  :)  So we're sorry for the silence, but it will probably be awhile yet before we have good enough connection again to be able to post anything.   So until then... :)

In Search of Good Moms...

   
     It was a busy day, and I kept passing Whitney in the hall, as she sailed around, checking on her patients, and bandaging the burn boy. Have you met him yet?
     We love him. His name is Jean Franz, and, in spite of the pain of a very serious burn,  he is often very cheerful.

      He is on a daily dose of Antibiotic, via IV, and we are bandaging his burns with sterile precautionary techniques.We are holding him in a hospital bed, so we can keep a better eye on his progress. It is so refreshing to find him passing the day reading in the Bible story book that Whit gave him, or see an open Bible on his dad's bed when we come in the morning.
     So far, we feel like things are headed in a right direction with his wounds, but it will be a long road uphill to recovery. His tendons and veins stare dangerously out from a moist, white wound. And we stare back, prayerfully hoping they soon are covered with skin. I think Whit will give you a nice, detailed update on him later this week. His wound looks a lot different now, with all the dead skin peeled away.
     "I have a baby for you to look at," Mis Josalaine called.
     I stare at the little face, and realize this baby is only about 9 pounds at four months old. Maybe I should try to feed him and see how he acts. He acts lethargic. He wants to gag. I look again. Is his breathing steady?
    Oxygen stats show that he is not doing well at all. And that is how we decided that this baby needs to go somewhere where he has a chance. Which isn't home to his family. Our team called a machine down and in a few more minutes the baby was on its way to a hospital, where big doctors will do what they can to save the miserable existence of one more sweet baby.
    And the next day, we sent another baby out to a specialized malnutrition center. His poor little swollen feet sported open, bloody sores, and in spite of drinking donated protein-rich milk every day, he wasn't thriving. Hopefully, with 24 hour, specialized care, he can do a bit better.

     We were just finished with our beans and rice, when another person called for a nurse. I slowly walked down to the clinic, wondering why the parents hadn't brought the baby in earlier in the day. And then, as the reality of what I was being showed struck me, I couldn't help but pity the creature before me. It was a baby. One baby-with how many heads? An ugly abscess-a watery lump of fibrous tissue. The baby smelled bad. He was all wrapped up in a towel, and covered with a sheet. Poor thing. Poor living creature. We tried to get it to drink a bit of milk, which it did lazily, and then we sent the dad and baby out to the hospital to search for help. Ache. Big ache for that big head. But hopeful that somewhere some kind physician will have the wisdom and love to help him somehow.

     Mis Leda got the chance to cut a cast off this week, too. Bless her for all her help these busy days with Mis Katie gone!

   
   
   

The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away

...blessed  be the name of the Lord!   That verse has been on my mind the past few days, seeing the miracle of new life beginning, and the finality of life on earth ending.
Monday morning we heard there was a mother in labor on her way to the clinic.    Rho ran down to the clinic to prepare for her arrival, and soon called me on the radio telling me that the baby was already born when the lady got there.  A tiny premie baby boy, she said.    He was just a little over 3 lbs.    When I got to the clinic, Rho had him on a heating pad 'cause his temperature was way too cold.   We kept him on the heating pad all morning, keeping a close eye on him, and checking his temp regularly.   Slowly but surely, he soaked up the warmth, occasionally peeking out at the world from his little cave of blankets.  His cry sounded just like a little baby kitten, and he ate like one too, from a tiny dropper.   
Thankfully we had a very easy clinic day, which gave us more time to work with him.    We went home for lunch and came back again soon after that to check on him.   It was time to feed him again.  His mother really loved him, and very carefully fed him dropper by dropper of milk.    He didn't seem to be eating well, and then threw up all the milk he had gotten.  He was getting cold again, and his color didn't look good, so we decided to put him back on the heating pad again.  We realized then that something was more seriously wrong.  He wasn't responding well, and his hands were turning blue.  We gave him oxygen and tried stimulating him, but he made no response.  Rho called Nate and 'Nita down, and they helped us do CPR, but his heart rate just kept dropping until it finally stopped.   There was nothing more we could do.   It was sad, especially having to tell the mother.  She cried, and so did we, but it wasn't a hopeless cry...   We felt the peace of God there with us, and knew that He was in control.   

                                                      The mother with her tiny baby...

                                                        Several hours before he died...

Just as we finished praying with the mother, another laboring mother came in to the clinic.   A couple hours later, another baby boy was born, this one perfectly healthy and strong.   It was bittersweet to see one life taken, and another given so close together like that.  I wondered how the first mother felt seeing the joy of the other mother when we gave her her new healthy baby boy to hold.  She's not converted yet, and the next morning before she left, she asked Rhoda if she had any pills she could give her to help her get over the shock of losing her baby.   Rho took the opportunity to talk and pray with her, encouraging her to read the Bible, and inviting her to come and talk anytime, which she was very appreciative of.
We sang this song together that evening.  It's a comforting reminder of how safe we are in the love and care of Jesus!   With things like Kate's close encounter Saturday night and then this experience, it tends to puts life in a new perspective.  It truly is a gift from God...

Children of the heav'nly Father, safely in His bosom gather;
Nestling bird nor star in heaven, such a refuge e'er was given.

Neither life nor death shall ever, from the Lord His children sever;
Unto them His grace He showeth, and their sorrows all He knoweth.

Though He giveth or He taketh, God His children ne'er forsaketh;
His the loving purpose solely, to preserve them pure and holy.

Hives Alive-On Nurse Katie

     "Katie, what is wrong?" I looked hard at Katie writhing on the bed, and thought I heard her sniffing.
    "I don't know," she moaned. And she kept moaning. And moaning. Then she started to gasp and sat up straight on the edge of the bed.
    Since she had just showed me a lot of hives that were big and welting on her skin, I really took this seriously. She seemed to be in major distress.
    "Katie can't you breathe well?"
    "I don't know what is wrong," she said.
    I picked up the radio and called Anita. Then she called Steve's down to our house.
    "We need to put her on oxygen," someone said. And that was where we all took her next. A few of us carried Katie out to the Bobcat, and from there to the clinic bed.
    Kate's oxygen stats were not good. And she was still struggling to breathe. "Hold me tight, I can't feel right. My hands are numb."
     "We don't have any epinephrine here," I said.
     "Get me some albuterol," Kate gasped. We gave her some, but it helped very little. She was still calling out for us to hold her. People were gathered around praying out loud while we tried to put ice packs on her hot, swollen skin.
    "Hold me tight," she kept begging pitifully.
    "We're right here, Kate."
     Other wonderful people were swarming around getting oxygen ready to send out with us for our trip to the hospital, and finding clothing for Katie, in case she stayed at the hospital for awhile.
    Then the trip to town started. Kate was wearing out. Anita was checking Katie's heart rate, and holding her feet, while we continued reminding her to breathe....or holding ice on her hot skin.
     It was so long. That hour and fourteen minutes.
     I kept praying that we could get there faster. And we did break a record in our speed!
     Kate would say, "I can't do it anymore."
     And we would pray and tell her to breathe again.

     After an IV was administered, it was only a matter of minutes before Katie was breathing better.
    After an hour or two of vigilance at the hospital, we asked if we could take her to Darvin and Joanna's house in town, if we took some medicine along and were prepared to administer it at any time.
    The doctors eventually agreed, and we spent the rest of the night vigil at Darv's house.
    After a somewhat restless night, Kate was starting to get really itchy again.
    "I think we better start another IV," we said to each other. Poor Katie, all this pain. And so unrelenting! She was so exhausted.
    After the IV she could breathe a bit better again, but she was so itchy. Her skin was just so warm. Just sad. Looking at Katie made me want to cry. Why did God allow this?
     But the point is that God would be glorified. And I want to thank and bless Him

for allowing Kate life again. Please keep praying for her, because she is still very weak, and feels a need for prayer. Especially. The spiritual battle is a real thing here, and we really depend on the power of God to sustain and work for us. We are hoping that as Katie returns to the States for a bit of a break, that we all can rest that God has a plan in what He is up to.
   We haven't been writing a lot from our clinic corner in the last weeks. So much has happened. We had a Sunday when four people were brought in after a motorcycle accident, and our hospital beds were completely filled up with people. And there was a premie baby that blessed us with life for one day. And there was a big splinter we pulled out of a poor little boy's foot. But it is all a part of January in Haiti which struggles to find a normal. If you know what I mean.
   

Happy Holidays!

     "Good-morning, world! It's Christmas!" Some of us needed to drink a cup or two of coffee before we could actually feel the holiday spirit, but after that we had such a happy day. Throughout the day we checked up on our patients at the clinic.
   One little boy had come with a prolapsed bowel, and another lady who was pregnant with twins was resting on our delivery bed, moaning through a very slow labor.
     Thank you to everyone who helped to make our day delightful.We got emails, gifts, and lots of love sent from our friends and family in the States.

     We enjoyed a few beautiful parties with our Haitian friends this week, and also had some of our own. I will just throw on one picture of the Christmas story we told to the neighborhood children, and then leave you all to dream up ways to make your Holidays the best yet. I doubt you will be able to pass up our joy. The Haitians have an excellent party spirit and just watching their joy, makes anyone feel pretty good about the moment! Love, and Good Tidings from the Ahlege Team
   

A Four Hour Fight

Today I walked in the clinic gate and gasped when I saw an enormous face...all swollen with a serious abscess.   It protruded out of the side of his face like a tumor.  It was huge! The man looked dirty and scary.  I drew a deep breath and started getting supplies together. Iodine.  Peroxide.  Applicators.  Sterile packing.  I love doing abscesses; draining them brings such quick relief- if you have a cooperative patient that is.  After I had him laying on the exam table I realized I have a serious case on my hands because he was perfectly terrified.  His heart was racing so hard his shirt was pulsing.  I tried to calm him.

 20 minutes passed.  He wouldn't let me get near with the lidocaine needle.  I explained the entire process over and over again... all to no avail.  He cried and yelled and told me he's leaving.  An hour passed.  We had a conversation about Jesus.  I sensed a dark spirit in the room... he was so so unconverted.  I lay my hands on him and prayed out loud.  Finally, he sat up and let me lidocaine him up.  I breathed a sigh of relief... and reached for the tiny razor I used to slice it open.  He lunged back... kicking and screaming and yelling.  I lay down my razor, determined that neither me or him would have sliced eyes or fingers before it was over.  The talk started over.  After another hour he lay back down, exhausted and still determined I could open his abscess in another way.  The lidocaine had worn off.  I was weary, and other patients were calling.

 

Finally, after more coaxing, he let me near with the razor.  I did a quick slice and he lunged back in terror, squirting an unbelievable fountain of pus.  It ran and ran and ran.  I soaked a blue pad and grabbed another.  He moaned and yelled and wouldn't let me touch him for a second.  Problem, as these abscesses need pressure to release all the infection.  I lay my head down on the med counter and prayed for patience.  When I put my hands on either side of the drainage hole to increase the pressure he smeared pus all over me and pushed and yelled.  Now I will say, these abscesses must hurt more then anything.  I hate putting my patients through it... and can't blame them for screaming.  But, this man wouldn't even let me clean the pus off his face.

Finally, I said, " Ok, I got it.  You can drain your own abscess."  I put gloves on both his hands and showed him how.  For the next hour, I stood by the bed and coaxed him to push.  The pus ran and ran and ran... Green and clumpy and terribly smelly.  Still, he wouldn't let me touch it.  All the Haitians in the clinic were furious.  "Leave him, Mis Katie!  Leave him to die.  He deserves nothing."

I looked straight into those hateful dark eyes and knew I couldn't leave him.  He was so unsaved.  Finally, I had reached my limit.  I had yelled and held him down and coaxed and urged for hours.  I gave him a lollipop and a juice to drink.   He didn't want to leave and he begged me to help him.  But I couldn't touch him.  I turned away and cried.  He looked up in utter shock.  All the Haitians were furious.  "You've made the Mis CRY!" they yelled.

He pleaded with me to make the others leave... so I shooed them out and closed the door.  And another battle ensued.  Finally, for his sake, I knew I had to just constrain him and get it over.  He was exhausted and wouldn't even let me clean the pus off his skin.  I called for Glendon and 4 of our Haitian clinic workers.  It took 5 men.  I felt awful... as I don't believe in doing that at all.  Neither do I believe in yelling at my patient for hours.  As soon as his head was restrained, I squeezed out the last of the pus plug.  It was huge.  Then I cleaned it out and found it was almost as deep as my applicator.  Poor, poor, man!  I had it packed and bandaged in a few minutes, and he could sit up.  He looked up at me with bleary, weary eyes. "Thank you Mis," he said, " I'll come to church now."

~Mis Katie