Sunday, August 25, 2013

re-acclimating. or something.


51 days. 2 countries. 8 states. 4 flights. 35+ hours of driving. Births. Deaths. New & old friends. Tears. Laughter. Hope.  (repost from 8/22)

Adjusting to being back in the States is always hard for me (for many reasons), and not too surprisingly, coming back this time has been harder than ever. Yes, I know that I need to be in the States right now; I need to work and to finish school so that I can be in Haiti full-time next year. And I'm definitely glad to get to see and catch up with friends and family again -- it was especially good for my heart to get to catch up with several friends at church tonight. For those reasons, then, it is good to be back. 

But am I glad to be back? Not so much. Or at least, not yet anyway. Although I'm trying my best to not mope around missing Haiti, there's no denying that so much of my heart is still in that little country that I love, with my friends at Heartline, with the ladies and their babies in our programs, with Christina...and re-acclimating to Stateside life has been a bit of a challenge thus far. Doesn't take much for my mind to make the leap from a dosage calculation review session and a question on methyldopa to memories of giving that drug to a sweet Heartline mom who developed high blood pressure during labor and who still struggles with that postpartum. Or when a classmate makes a comment about wanting another week of vacation with her son (and who wouldn't?), all I can think is that it's been a week since I've seen Christina, and it'll be at least another 4 months before I see her again. Or when our instructors are explaining how important it is to be precise with dosage calculations, always, but in particular when you're giving medication to a 3lb baby -- then my mind is off thinking about the preemie I helped care for at Heartline in May, and the teeny little baby that Paul and Hannah cared for last month at Real Hope for Haiti. Not that I'm hosting myself pity parties (again, I know, I really do, that it is good that I'm here for now), but these are just a few examples of how it doesn't take much right now to put me in a somewhat disoriented state of melancholy.

All of that to say, I guess, please be patient with me, Texas friends, as I try to find the balance between loving/missing Haiti and being fully involved again in life here. It may take me a little bit to regain enthusiasm for things here, but slowly but surely I am getting there. And prayers, of course, are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Clockwise from top right: Paul & Hannah; Agathe, Anna,
Cherline & Beth M; Schnieder; Sherly, Jonathan & Taylor;
Kevin & Danielle; Alix, Katia & me; Christina & Sherly;
Richard
Center: Wini, Marie Alineda, me & Sarah



Tuesday, August 20, 2013

summing it up

The passage of time can be such a strange thing; how can six weeks seem like forever (in a good way) and yet go by so mind-spinningly quickly? How is it that it simultaneously seems like it's just been a few days since Taylor and I arrived in my Haiti home...and yet it also feels like a lifetime ago? Don't ask me to make sense of this.

Six weeks. 43 days in that place that I so love. How do I sum up all of the joy - the tears - the hopes -the pain - the laughter that I both saw and experienced in that short-long time? The gift of being present to witness the first breath of a new little life, of seeing a mother connect with her child for the very first time. The heartache of knowing so many whose stories are difficult to hear, let alone to comprehend the reality of what they face. The renewed realization that we serve a God who alone can (and does!) rescue and redeem and save. 

Joy and sadness intermingle in much of the day-to-day life at the maternity center, in many of the lives of the women we are blessed to get to know and serve. Being there for a little bit longer this time allowed me to begin to see that more fully, to start to learn more than just names and due dates. It allowed me the privilege of hearing their stories, of being invited to share in even a small piece of their lives. For this, I am both immensely thankful and humbled to have been given such a gift. I've shared some of this quote from Beth McHoul before, but I'm going to post it again, because it so profoundly expresses the heart behind the ministry of the maternity center: 
The heartbeat of our maternity center is our relationship with our women...Our maternity center sees a lot of joy, we have a lot of fun and witness the miracle of birth over and over.  Sometimes it is required of us to dip our cups into a well of sorrow and grieve with people in loss.  And this we willingly do because the word midwife means to be “with women” and Christian means to be “like Christ”.
Se sa. What a privilege it is to get to come alongside so many women and walk with them through such a significant time as pregnancy, childbirth, and the early months of parenting. To be given the opportunity to enter into their joy and hopes and dreams and, yes, at times, even their sorrow. To get to know so many wonderful, strong, resilient, faith-filled women. To share even a piece of life together. What an incredible, beautiful gift.

I am so grateful for the time I was able to spend in Haiti this summer. Thank you, thank you, thank you to each of you who made it possible for me to be there and, especially, for all of your prayers. Being able to spend the summer in my Haiti home means more to me than I can say, and I am all the more excited (and impatient!) now for next year (hopefully) when I can be there full-time. But, in the meantime, for the next several months at least, back to Texas/Starbucks/nursing school (via Nashville ;) I go!


Tuesday, August 6, 2013

glimpses


She moans as another contraction begins. "Oy, mezanmi, li fè mal!" Oh my goodness, it hurts! She sinks to the ground, resting her head on the low couch on the maternity center porch. "Mwen pa ka fè  sa anko!" I can't do this anymore.  We coach, we encourage, we get stern... "Try this position, this will help the baby descend...You can do this, you are strong...Get up, keep going, you cannot just lie here and give up."  It's been nearly three days, but her labor has not yet become "cho"; she still has a long way to go, and lots of hard work to do before her little one is in her arms. But she is tired. She is young. She is scared. She has little support from her family. Her ability to cope with being in labor has deteriorated rapidly; if this goes on much longer, her baby, too, will start exhibiting signs of distress.


She comes to the maternity center for a pregnancy test. Positive. "Is this your first baby?" we ask. Yes. Are you happy? No answer is needed; she is glowing with excitement and joy.


Midnight. There is banging at the gate. Sleepily, I stumble to the door of the apartment above the maternity center where I am staying. There's a woman here, and she's bleeding, the night guard tells me. As I unlock the door to the birth room, I question the woman: Are you having pain? When did the bleeding start? Have you felt the baby move? I check her blood pressure and fetal heart tones. Both are good. I am relieved, for the moment. She stands up to go to the bathroom, and there is blood. So much blood. I call another midwife: "It could be a previa! I'm on my way!" She arrives with the ambulance, and we quickly load up the woman and drive through quiet streets to the hospital. Port au Prince is eerie at 1am. We pull up to the entrance of the hospital and give the woman instructions on what to tell the staff, knowing that we won't be allowed in to tell them her history and our suspicions. We hope and we pray that the doctor is there, that the operating room can be quickly readied if necessary, that she will be treated with dignity, that she and her baby will be well. We head back to the maternity center with heavy hearts, thinking of all the pain and the sorrow she has already endured in recent months and years.


She places her baby on the scale for his weekly weigh-in. We both smile; he is continuing to gain. This once tiny baby, born long before his due date, is thriving, thanks to his mother's complete dedication to the hard, never-ending work of keeping him alive in a country where all odds are against him. His now-chubby cheeks are a testimony of her love; they both are a testimony of God's mercy and grace.


She sits quietly on the exam table, as her new guardian begins to tell us her story. Barely a teenager, yet she is a mother. She never knew she was pregnant, and it is hard for her to believe that she actually had a baby. Working as a child-servant in a family member's home, raped by someone more than twice her age, her experience is beyond heartbreaking, though tragically all-too-common. Thankfully, she is safe now, having been rescued by an organization that has taken her in and will send her to school and teach her a trade. May beauty rise from the ashes of the childhood that was stolen from her.


"Sa se kè pitit ou!" That's your baby's heartbeat! she is told, as the midwife holds the fetal doppler to her belly. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, as this teenager, who is all alone in the world, connects for the first time with the tiny person who is growing inside her. From this moment, she is changed; she is excited about and invested in this new little life in her womb. She picks out names and cuddles with other mothers' babies. She exudes fresh hope.


She flees the hospital in the middle of the night, unable to face the possibility of losing another child. Her baby hovers between life and death, and only God knows if this little one will survive to know her mother's love.


She steps onto the porch, clearly feeling out of place among the other moms who are visiting with each other. I step over to welcome her and ask how she knew to come. She says she was given a flyer by a woman in her neighborhood. I can feel the smile on my face freeze as I uncover her baby. His wrinkled skin and gaunt appearance leave no room for question; this child is starving to death, and something must be done immediately. We examine the baby and talk with mom. We explain the severity of the situation and teach her how to breastfeed him, and we tell her that if she is committed to this, she can save his life. Other moms surround her, telling their stories and giving encouragement. She is so young, not even eighteen, but she seems to get it. We tell her to bring the baby back in two days, and she does. We weigh him, and he has gained! We celebrate, and we commit to continue to walk through this journey with her.

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It is with a bit of hesitation that I share these glimpses into the lives of these women and babies that we're blessed to serve here at the maternity center. I share these things not to garner either sympathy or praise, but to give a picture of both the joy and the heartache that are a part of daily life here, and to say again how very desperately we need and appreciate your prayers as we seek to best serve those who come through our gate.

I am so incredibly thankful for the opportunity to get to know the women here and to share in some pretty pivotal moments in their lives, to laugh together, to cry together, to pray together. As Beth McHoul wrote so beautifully a few months ago,
Our maternity center sees a lot of joy, we have a lot of fun and witness the miracle of birth over and over.  Sometimes it is required of us to dip our cups into a well of sorrow and grieve with people in loss.  And this we willingly do because the word midwife means to be “with women” and Christian means to be “like Christ”.
That is why we're here. To love, to serve, to rejoice and to mourn with the women that God brings into our lives through the ministry of the maternity center--and ultimately, to point not only them but our own hearts as well to the only One who can meet all of our needs and satisfy our deepest longings. What an incredible, amazing, wonderful gift.


Monday, August 5, 2013

melancholy and photos

To say that I love being back in Haiti would be an understatement. This place, to which I have traveled for over half of my life, has really and truly become home.

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That's as far as I got with attempting to blog while I was in Haiti back in May, and I just now rediscovered this beginning to the-post-that-never-was, as I'm again trying to figure out how to put into words some of my thoughts, some of my experiences, some of my feelings about my Haiti home.

I've been back one month so far, this go around, with a mere 10.5 days left. Some people (Paul) might say it's premature, but yes, I am already getting slightly panicky at the thought of leaving again so soon. Yes, I know it's necessary -- I have to go back, to attempt to survive my fourth semester of nursing school, to go back to brewing coffee to make money and drinking coffee to maintain (achieve?) my sanity -- but oh, how I dread that moment when I have to pack up my bags, to say goodbye (just for now!) to my Haiti friends...to Christina... Because yes, Haiti has my heart. Has had it since the moment I first set foot on Haitian soil nearly 15 years ago.

But, enough of the melancholy for now. I may only have ten days left, but still, I am so thankful for ten more days. That's longer than I had when I was here over Spring Break, and just a little shorter than the time I spent here at Christmas, and a lot can happen in a week-and-a-half. May I make the most of and be grateful for each moment! And speaking of gratitude -- thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who are praying for me, for Heartline, and for the women and babies in the maternity program and in this community. I cannot overemphasize how much your prayers are needed and how much they are appreciated. Thank you, too, for those of you who have made it possible for me to be here this summer. I am so grateful.

I'm thinking this is going to be a bit of a cop-out post, resorting to posting pictures rather than actually saying much at this point, but...let's start with this, and hopefully soon I'll be ready to share more in words. So, here's a quick* photo summary of the past month (in no particular order):

making cookies with Wini and Nirva

Agathe, Ana, Cherline, and Beth

with baby Richard

Guernise and Alexander

Mama E and Emmanuel

twins! with Mom and Grandma


self-defense class at the OK

miss you, Melissa!

Taylor with just-born baby Richard


Jude and Christina

Shelly and Taylor, about to give blood at MSF


lunchtime at Notre Maison 

Jonathan and Christina

TJ and Christine

Taylor and Christina


Beth and Tara - love these two!

horse therapy!

Jephte

back in the same country!

Michael

Lernie and Woodson

Schnieder

the Big Latch On - representing Haiti

Guernise, sharing her story with Yolande

Fabienne and Lochemie

Yolande and Schnieder

excited about her positive pregnancy test

*Just kidding, not so quick. It's hard to narrow down a month's worth of pictures, especially when so many of them contain cute babies!