Editor's note: This is part one of two.
On a warm, moist evening my oldest daughter Jenny, a physician, flew into in the shattered city of Port-au-Prince in Haiti. From the jet's window she saw the denuded mountains edging the city twinkle from countless fires built for warmth and cooking. The air smelled strongly of smoke.
One of her suitcases groaned with food -- cans of tuna, chicken, power bars, powdered drinks, rice, crackers, peanut butter -- everything she'd need to survive for a week. (MREs, the Army's endless supply of boxed Meals Ready to Eat, were also available to personnel.) Another suitcase contained toilet paper, soap, mosquito lotion, a towel, toiletries, her stethoscope, and 2 sets of scrubs. She selected a cot inside a giant circus-like air-conditioned co-ed tent that houses 180 volunteers, and claimed it with her sleeping bag. Although the days can be hot and muggy, it didn't always banish the cool night air.
Everyone works in loose, regular shifts, breaking off if they need to nap or eat. Crude cold-water outdoor showers are available, but, as the days can be hot, they're refreshing. People take military showers to conserve precious water.
There are rows of porta-potties; other toilets consist of chest-high, partitioned plywood barriers with slats to stand on inside to do your business. Bottles of sterile hand gel hang outside.
Jenny worked in the ER, a tent with a dirt-and-pebble floor and two open sides, which shelters nurses, paramedics and other volunteers. Surgeons operate in other tents, from wooden supports holding flat surfaces bearing a thin mattress, and clean sheets. Anesthesia is administered from tables situated behind. Special tents are set apart for those patients with infectious diseases, like TB.
It's Haiti's rainy season. During downpours the ER's roof leaked; rain poured from above into the interior. Undaunted, the staff and the patients' families simply put down buckets to accommodate the drips. Jen's motto: "Adapt, Improvise, Overcome."
Although she speaks fluent French, Jenny still needed an interpreter for the many patients who spoke only Creole. She saw malaria (there were mosquitoes everywhere), diarrhea, tuberculosis, fever, stroke, worms, heart attacks, festering wounds, and a myriad of other miseries that plague Haiti's undernourished children and adults.
Volunteers came from all walks of life, not just medical backgrounds. One Florida paving contractor who spoke Creole, for example, helped with wound care. Other folks dealt with camp logistics or helped keep patients and their grateful families comfortable.
Jen told me of "M," her 29-year-old translator, a man fluent in Haitian Creole, French, and English. He was passionate about improving his language skills, so Jen gave him a couple of her language references, which he pored over between stints of interpreting. She asked him to write out a short book list; she'd mail them to him. Thrilled, he painstakingly complied, and added an address, which read like directions to a spot near the airport.
"M" dreams of becoming an engineer. He's earned a certificate in English, but wants to attend a U.S. college, earn a degree, and return to Haiti to help rebuild. Jen is researching the daunting logistics of doing that, which range from passport to entrance exams to student visa. And then there is the money problem. Possessing little but determination, "M" will need a sponsor to cover his college and living expenses.
The Haitians, unfailingly polite, haven't lost their smiles, or their faith in God. Jenny made lots of friends, loved working with and among these beautiful people, and she wants to repeat the experience, soon. But next time her dad, who's a cardiologist/internist, may join her.
What a grand team they'd make!
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are closed for the season. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.






