One year ago (#3)...

Haiti bound!
We finally had a charter flight…as well as a scheduled landing slot in Port au Prince! We headed to the airport …our team of five, an anesthesiologist, a pastor, and an engineer. And our luggage… 600 pounds of supplies that we had flown in with, as well as medical supplies from the hospital in the DR.


There was nervous anticipation as we landed in Port au Prince as we all braced for the unknown before us. We had tried so hard to prepare ourselves…but were we ready? Later that week, I wrote about my initial thoughts and emotions when we landed…


We landed in Port au Prince, taxied close to the door, and jumped out to unload our luggage. As we made our way across the tarmac to the open door, things looked so much different. There were planes parked everywhere…along the edge of the tarmac, in the grass, and close to the airport building. An area in the shade of the building was roped off, and filled with chairs for people waiting to get out of the country. Military personal were dispersed among the crowds of people. Although things seemed so different as we crossed the tarmac, if felt right…it felt like Haiti. We stepped inside, and my feelings were confirmed. A women sitting at a classroom desk took our passports and stamped them, not questions, no paperwork, just a stamp, and we’re in. We walk through an almost empty airport, and out through a door, that used to be the employee only entry. We stepped outside the door, and the reality of the change that had happened in Haiti hit me. The crowds of people who are typically surrounding the airport exit are all but gone today. The airport workers who are usually plentiful, at least one for every piece of luggage, have been reduced to a handful of men willing to help, hoping you’ll slip them a tip.



We were met by a member of the CURE team who had been in Haiti for several weeks, loaded all of our luggage into a couple vehicles, and headed across the city to the hospital.

As we pulled away from the airport, our driver told us we would be going down a street that had a lot of buildings that had fallen. As we drove past collapsed buildings, and piles of rubble, our driver told us that his mother had been killed, and his sister had broken her arm. I could see the pain is his eyes as he shared his story, and I wondered how he could be back to work. It was a harsh reality that hit me; he, like so many others, had no choice. He had to move on, despite the pain and loss. We continued to travel away from the airport and towards the hospital, and with every passing moment I fought back the tears. We had been warned it was bad, but to be driving through the streets brought it to a new level for me.



We arrived at the Haitian Community Hospital, and I knew I was supposed to be there. There was tragedy, pain, and sickness all around…and everything within me wanted to reach out and offer healing and relief. We headed towards the main doors of the hospital and I braced myself for what would meet me inside- the sights, the smells, the sounds.

We had a brief tour of the hospital, and within 15 minutes of our arrival, Jen and I were being given a room assignment. There were two American nurses, on a floor with about 50 patients. The room we were assigned to had 10 patients; slightly overwhelming, but we were up for the challenge. We made our way around the room, and gathered what information we could- the charts were a mixture of English, Creole, and French. Oral medications weren’t being charted, as family members were administering them. We went back to find the nurse that had been named “charge nurse” to ask her for some direction, and tell her which patients had been told they were ready for discharge. By the time we got to the desk, the news had gotten out that I could translate, and my assignment was being changed… the orthopedic surgeons were doing rounds, and needed a translator!

The next seven hours are a blur in my memory… I had the incredible opportunity of doing rounds with the surgeons- one American surgeon had been there for the past 10 days, but was flying out later that night; another surgeon had just arrived from the UAE and was taking over. Together, we went from room to room, bed to bed, discussing each patient’s condition. We talked to each patient, heard a little bit of their story, asked how they were recovering, and explaining to them what would need to be done next.
We helped deliver several babies that afternoon. The maternity ward consisted of two delivery tables, and a bed in the hallway. There was one American doctor doing deliveries, as well as trying to keep up with post partum care. It was a beautiful to witness the birth of the precious innocent babies. And yet with each delivery, I would ask myself what the future would hold for that child. I would find myself wondering what that child’s life would look like, starting life in the midst of so much tragedy.
The hours slipped away as we worked. We had come with a willingness to do whatever was needed…and welcomed every challenge set before us. We helped with transports to the x-ray department, cleaned beds after patients were discharged, sorted through piles of donations to find boxes of gloves, and took water to thirsty patients. I translated for several doctors, helped change bandages, gave medications, and hung IVs.

Seven hours later my team finally pulled me away. Everything in me wanted to stay…there was still so much that need to be done. But they insisted that it was time to leave the hospital, and go back to the house we were staying. I followed them out, and climbed in the waiting vehicle.

It was dark our, the vehicle was packed, people were talking… in that moment, my mind started to comprehend what I had just experienced. I realized that since we had arrived, I had not taken time to sit, to eat, to drink. The faces of the patients were running through my mind. I could hear each of them telling me their story. I could again see the looks of fear, pain, and desperation in their eyes. A tear slipped down my cheek… and I cried out to God for strength. And in that quiet moment, He answered! A soothing calm flooded over me…and I knew that He would be with me, giving me the strength to continue on, and be the confident smile that brought hope to each patient.

One year ago (#2)...

Day two in the DR…
We were still waiting to get our flight into Port au Prince arranged, so it was decided that we would spend the day visiting CURE patients in the DR. First on our list of priorities was to go to the CURE hospital, and see the Haitian patients that were being treated there! We were anxious to get to the hospital and see these patients, mainly because that is what we were there for- to help the people of Haiti who had been injured in the earthquake. However, there was also the added incentive that there were few Kreyol speakers at the hospital, and the CURE team was excited that I would be able to communicate with these patients.
The interactions with the patients that morning had a deep impact on me. I later wrote about the experience…

We were given a tour of the facility… but getting to see and talk to the different patients had the most impact on me…
We went upstairs to the private patient rooms, where they had a few patients who had been brought over from Port au Prince. The first patient, a young mother was stable, and very obviously thankful to be alive. She told us she had two children, one 2 years old, the other 2 months old, that she had left in Haiti with her family. She had somehow gotten to Santo Domingo to have surgery for a broken leg. As we spoke to her, she and the family members in the room shared over and over how thankful they were that God had spared her life. When we asked if we could pray with her, her face split into a beautiful smile. What a joy to join in prayer with this precious woman, thanking God for her life, and praying healing, protection, and provision over her entire family.
We entered the next room, and met Bernagene, a young girl, with a broken heart. Although her aunt was with her, neither of them spoke any English, so I was asked to translate. I went to her bedside, and immediately felt my own heart breaking. As I looked at her beautiful face, her eyes spoke it all to me…pain, fear, confusion, and loneliness. Bernagene’s right leg was in a large cast, and her right hand was wrapped in a large bandage.

We were told that she had been at school when the earthquake hit. The ceiling of the room she was in had collapsed, leaving only about 3 feet of space. Her leg had been fractured, and three of the fingers on her right hand had been severed. As she lay in the hospital bed, her world seemed to be crashing in on her. I asked her how she was feeling; she looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears, and said, “Li fe mal anpil (It hurts a lot.).” She took my hand, and as the tears started to spill down her cheeks, told me how she had almost completed secondary school, and was looking forward to graduation- but now, she wondered if she would ever walk again. I assured her that the doctors at CURE would take care of her, and that before too long, her leg would heal, and she would be able to walk again. “But my hand, what about my hand?” As we talked, she told me that she was right-handed, and without her fingers, she didn’t think she’d ever write again. As the tears slipped down her cheeks, Jen grabbed a tissue and wiped them away…Bernagene looked at her, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. Someone suggested we pray for her, and asked that I lead out…I hesitated, afraid I too would cry, but then held her hand as we prayed for her, asking God to heal her, and allow her walk, asking God surround her with peace, and give her an understanding of just how much she is loved.
We left Bernagene’s room, and walked out onto a balcony. As I looked out over the city, my heart ached, and I found myself asking, “Why?” Why did this tragedy have to happen? Why the devastation? Why the pain? Why Bernagene? I walked away from the group as the tears began spilling down my own cheeks…

I don’t think I will ever forget the heaviness, the pain, and the brokenness that overwhelmed at that moment. And yet as the tears streamed down my face, it was as if God whispered, “This is why I have you here. To show my love to those who are hurting, and to bring healing to those who need it most.” I was reminded of the lyrics to a song I love so much, “Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours…” and in that moment I understood the broken heart of the Father.