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Light bulbs 

It is so easy to take for granted the things that are always there. One of the great things about being in Haiti is that you can hardly take anything for granted, nothing is consistent enough. Not water, or electricity, or supplies. We almost had a party in the Peds unit this week when we got a special delivery of blue UV light bulbs to treat our jaundice babies. For quite some time we have had 3 semi-functioning bili lights out of the 12 bulbs that are needed for our three units. I almost danced a jig this weekend when my friends shared their chocolate candy with me. I feel such immense relief every evening that I get to take a hot shower, since there have been many times that I have been super nasty and we haven’t had water or electricity to take one. I was so excited when I started an IV on a tiny baby this week. Hopefully that will one day be a simple thing for me and even then I want to be glad each time that I have the ability to do it.

Furthermore, it’s hard to take for granted things that people around you don’t have. I have never in my life worried about having enough to eat. But when I hold a malnourished baby or talk to a parent who is thrilled with a single meal in a day, how can I not be thankful? I guess this means I am always going to be a cheap date. It’s refreshing to be easy to please; your heart is always joyful.

As I get nearer to heading stateside I find that I’m fearful. Here my heart is so content, so thankful. Life seems simple and beautiful and such a gift. I never want to lose this. I always want to get excited over the little things like light bulbs and hot showers. I want to be content with hardly anything. I want to sit and watch the stars or the sunrise or sunset and feel as rich as royalty. As I walk back into America’s holiday season consumerism I want to be a fortress, my heart immovable. This is my prayer.

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“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” -Frederick Buechner

In orientation classes this week we practiced code situations, when the patient needs CPR and respiratory support. It turns out that was great timing. Thursday afternoon we received a six-month old from another clinic that was in respiratory failure and needed to be intubated. Nothing like walking out of class and seeing the procedure and giving the meds you just talked about- getting the supplies, sedatives, paralytics, problems getting the tube in, bagging the patient in between attempts, taping the tube, setting up the ventilator. Knowledge in action.

On Friday I walked on the unit and took up my post for the next few hours. That same girl was not getting enough respiratory support from the ventilator and so I spent two and a half hours bagging her with an ambu bag while half a dozen people tried every different setting on the vent to get it to support her oxygenation. I would have to switch hands every so often when my hand was getting tired. My friends and I joked about how muscular my thumbs were going to be and I told them how I was going to dominate them at thumb war after that workout. Despite our joking we knew that she was not in good shape. When there weren’t people buzzing around us I would stroke her head with my free hand. She was so beautiful. Please God, this girl needs your help. 

Her lungs sounded like they were underwater. She was developing signs of shock. We alternated between giving her diuretics to try and get fluid out of her lungs and giving her fluid to try and maintain her perfusion. The ventilator didn’t work as well as my bagging because the fluid made so much resistance in her lungs and I had to use a lot of pressure to push air in. We had to start her on dopamine to support her circulation. We needed to start another IV and no one could get one in. I felt like my eyes were glued to the monitor willing the little waveforms and numbers to stay high enough: enough oxygen, enough blood pressure, enough heartbeats in a minute. After bagging her for almost three hours we finally got the settings on the ventilator to replicate the motion of my tired hands and I got to go have a break and get some breakfast.

It wasn’t long after I came back to the unit before her body gave up the fight. For about thirty minutes we fought for her. We pushed meds in her veins, pumped her heart, bagged her lungs, and willed her body not to give up, willed it to keep on living. I was mostly on medication duty- drawing up doses of epi, bicarb, calcium gluconate. But I took my turn at chest compressions and it was my very own hands that had to stop pumping her heart when we decided to let her go.

When we finished pulling off monitor leads and tape, taking out tubes, washing off blood and fluids, changing her and wrapping her up she was the prettiest, most peaceful little girl. I didn’t cry for her. She is home. And God is still good. He is always good, even in the hard things that I don’t understand. Especially in the hard things.

I recently re-read the Chronicles of Narnia. The final book, The Last Battle makes me long for heaven like nothing else. That is our home. Glory be to God that He made a way for us to get there.

“It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried: ‘I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it til now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!’” (C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle)

We had another little boy, about a year old, at the hospital on Friday that was abandoned by his parents. That afternoon we didn’t have a bed for him, so I just held him and we snuggled while he fell asleep on my chest. I thought about how God was holding that little girl who died. I thought about how precious that little orphan was to him. Snuggling that sweet boy blessed my soul. It was one of those moments when this world feels a little like my real home. He is so dear to our Father’s heart. What a privilege that I got to love on him. I love my job. The hard things are hard. The beautiful things are so beautiful. God is at the center of both.

Escape

Yesterday my friend Cody took me to the new Rebo coffee shop. Uhh-mazing. What a freaky experience, in stepping into that swanky, air-conditioned building we stepped right out of Haiti. Seriously, I was transported back to Italy, thinking of sipping cappuccinos in Castiglion Fiorentino. It was far too fancy to remind me of the coffee shops that I practically lived in throughout my time at A&M. It was a perfect little escape. Weird to step back out and find myself in the noise and dirt and crowds of hungry people. I love a good coffee shop. And I love Haiti, too. Thanks, Rebo.

Pray 
For every second of my time here. For boldness in speaking of the Lord to the people I work with and care for, to pray for them. For remembering whose I am in all of my interactions. For what comes next.